It was a man with the will to stop an army tank, by simply standing in its path; it was a hippy sticking a flower in the barrel of a soldier’s rifle.
It was a powerful quote, delivered with brutal honesty...
“I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination...”
It was the image of overwhelming power, overshadowing what seemed like a hopeless cause.
It was a series of symbols, deeds and words...
“I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons will live together in harmony with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for, and to see realized. But my Lord, if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die."
It was the willingness to appeal to humanity that smashed iron clad regimes harder than a hammer to the head. It was the fearless appeal to the heart of their aggressors’ that achieved more than any bullet or bomb could ever do.
These symbols are the words and deeds of three people...defiant... honest, and devoid of all fear.
The words of a condemned lawyer during the 1964 Rivonia Trial reveres through the tainted halls of Lady Justice.
The world saw a man with nothing to say but the forgotten truth; our forgotten truth...
On the other hand a red faced Judges' Bench could hardlydisagree with the puritan context of justice; delivered with so much vigor by an unbroken spirit.
The day Mandela died, we all accepted a responsibility, equally so on the willing and unwilling among us.
This would be the day every soul on this planet is reminded that we should always have the strength to make peace where we can, and to wage war on nothing but evil.
If there is such a thing as the inherent goodness of humanity, the goodness would be epitomized by the will to do what is right,no matter what the cost.
The day Mandela died was a day like any other... with anEastern dawn and a Western set. The day was devoid of divinity; substituted by the reminder of humanity.
This is simply a eulogy to an old man...unwillingly reminding the world of its forgotten profanity; the realization that everyone is different.
At any given moment, the world consists of either one of two types of people. The world consists of those who agree and those who oppose. At any given moment either just or unjust, some will kill whilst others will save.
Some will build, others destroy. Some will go to war... others will die by the hands of those who do...
Yet, every now and again, someone manages to live the type of life expected of us all.
Mistakes will be made and conflict will be caused, and the end will only result in hard earned wisdom... and nothing more.
Every now and again, a person with the influence to change the world has the capacity to be a killerand asavior, a warlord and a peacekeeper... student and teacher...
Every now and again, someone reminds the world of the value of redemption gained through wisdom, and that all conflict is caused by fear and its endless uncertainties.
The day Mandela died; someone existed to exert the opposite of another. Some were doers; others didn't’ even care to speak...
Some lived for good; others for themselves.
Some rich, some poor... Smart or dumb, selfish or selfless. It doesn't matter whether you classify people as liberal, conservative... or just too weak to choose...
We all stereotype in some way or the other. We analyse our views and are brilliant reverse-engineers of causes of effects... some cause, others are affected...
Hence, we reverted to mass-tags in an effort to define the world, relative to our own existence.
The day Mandela died... something happened for us, whilst others are reminded of something that happened to them. Some will spend their lives formulating and complaining, simply because... ‘The other half is to blame’.
A definition of the human condition, as deconstructed to its most basic form, mostly appropriates to one of two possibilities; the possibility that in any given classification of humans by other humans, each person on earth vests in one half of the population, or the other.
Each half of the world is either with us, or against us... simply based on whoever speaks their mind first!
Sometimes a perspective is transformed from thought to word. Sometimes word transforms to deed, which mutates to belief and inevitably ends up as truth... created truth.
The day Mandela died, he wasn't a messiah to South Africa, but rather a reminder to the world of what humanity is all about... flawed, weak, fearful and frail...
Yet, these are but the moulds of compassion, wisdom and ultimate strength.
The day Mandela died we were reminded that there is no destination in life... only a merciless journey... on an undiscovered road.
As with all of us, Nelson Mandela was not perfect. However, it is in the very essence of the imperfection of humans that he stumbled upon the strength of humanity.
I’m sure he was filled with disgust and hatred that day in 1964... I’m sure the speech he made may just as well have been an emotional barrage of rage...
... but it wasn’t.
An existence made up of retribution and fear could never lead to the realization that reminded the world of its brave capacity for profanity; I suppose when it needed to be reminded most.
Just as the army tank never crushed the defiant protestor, just as the flower was never returned with a bullet...
Those words, uttered by wisdom and intelligence in 1964, would cement today’s hope and pride for this country...
...and for the world, it will echo in eternity.
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