How Nelson Mandela in absentia conducted the political philharmonic

We grew familiar with the image of a grey haired man and his smiling face, who spoke as the president of South Africa and the architect of democratic South Africa. But that is not what comes to mind today. I am overwhelmed with the images of a yellow poster. That was Mandela to us in our student days — a tough looking man just past his youth with his hair parted in the middle and a simple caption “Free Mandela”.

This was the image which inspired me and others into voicing our protest and being part of the British anti-apartheid movement in the 1980s. The poster hung on many walls and we vowed not to bank with Barclays and to boycott products from South Africa and not to visit that beautiful country until it was free. That was the image that provided a glimmer of hope that one day South Africa would belong to all its citizens irrespective of colour. We had behind us the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr, and the American civil rights movement. We wanted another bastion of segregation to fall.

As graduate students we worked hard, had fun and travelled. We learnt about art, music and cinema. We were moved by the plays of Athol Fugard and the Johannesburg Street Theatre. One particular one I remember vividly was called Woza Albert! That was a cry to raise from his grave Albert Luthuli, and others too, who had fought in the struggle, but did not live to see the end of apartheid.

We also learnt about the man whose vision for a nonviolent struggle had to be abandoned in the face of brutality of the white South African regime. While Margaret Thatcher bullied the unions, shut down mines and called the ANC a “terrorist” organization, the rest of us with dreams for a better world, picketed in support of the miners, marched against US invasion of Grenada and hung posters of Gone with the Wind where Ronald Reagan carried Maggie Thatcher. Most of all we campaigned against apartheid.

It was easy not to bank with Barclays. It was more difficult to face a fruit seller in the market and ask if his produce came from South Africa. As an Indian, my passport did not allow me to travel to South Africa (one of the few steps of the Indian government which did us proud). But there were friends, who had to make a tough decision not to visit relatives and friends. We did it all with total commitment because by then it was clear that the economic and cultural sanctions were having an effect.

The anti-apartheid movement was born in Britain before the Sharpeville massacre. People from the Communist and left-liberal parties to church groups, united for a common cause. The South African exiles were part of this alliance and the demand for boycott became a political reality. It gained momentum as Soweto erupted in protests after 1976. It united members of the university across the social and political divide. I remember my friend from the Blackfriars church, who was a member of the ANC, and how we sat together on many evenings talking about the movement in South Africa. The group called ‘Oxford dons against apartheid’ gave a voice to the movement too.

Campaigns for disinvestment in South Africa had begun. Fund-raising and political mobilization among students often happened in discos. Coming from the radical campus of JNU, that was a surprise. Last night we watched the South African dance in their grief.

In November 1985, we marched in London — thousands of us with the cry to “free Mandela” and “end apartheid” and “enforce sanctions”. As we approached Trafalgar Square and the ANC colours were visible, there was excitement. I remember Oliver Tambo and Jesse Jackson addressing a sea of people.  There must have been music and dancing. All that is blurred in my mind. What I remember is that the atmosphere was electric and that there was hope.  

Soon after, a non-stop picket began outside the South African embassy organized by the anti-apartheid group of the City of London. That was to last until Mandela’s release. In 1987, the students at the London School of Economics occupied the main building demanding disinvestment from South Africa. We felt involved in making history. The next image which comes to mind is a shadowy figure on our TV screens — this was Mandela in prison. Nobody had seen an image, a photograph of Mandela since the days of the yellow poster.

There was already a hint that the attitude of the South African government was changing. Then came the “walk to freedom”, Mandela holding hands with his wife at that time, Winnie. Few of us were not moved by the events of that day and were proud to have somehow been part of this struggle for a free South Africa. My comrades from the movement are not with me today, but I know we are united in our emotions.

Mandela is an icon not only because he led this movement, not only because he spent 27 years of his prime in prison, but because he forgave those who tortured him, those who killed his friends and comrades, those who destroyed his family. He built a new South Africa. He also gave up power, when the time was right. Some of the powerful images in my mind are Mandela wearing the jersey of the Springboks at the Rugby World Cup, one of the symbols of white South Africa and lighting a candle in his cell on Robben Island.

Today, I remember being in the audience at the London School of Economics, where Mandela was speaking in 2000. He danced to Joan Armatrading’s tribute to him called The Messenger. I want to stay with that image of a great man, a great leader and above all an inspiration.

Last year I was in South Africa and walked across the square in Cape Town, where Madiba had addressed his people on the day he walked to freedom. I was shocked by the racial inequality that remains. But Mandela has shown us that everything is possible. Farewell and thank you for showing us how to build a better world. WE SHALL OVERCOME…

The author was a student in Oxford in the 1980s. She currently teaches at the University of Warwick

Mandela is an icon not only because he led this movement, not only because he spent 27 years of his prime in prison, but because he forgave those who tortured him, those who killed his friends and comrades, those who destroyed his family.