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- Nelson Mandela in the movies
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- Nelson Mandela: tributes and reaction to his death
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- Nelson Mandela: a beacon for black Britain, too | Hugh Muir
- Australian flag not lowered over parliament for Nelson Mandela’s death
- The best memoirs of 2013
- Qunu: the place where Nelson Mandela was at home
- Nelson Mandela's death throws South Africa into uncharted waters
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| Posted: 06 Dec 2013 03:00 AM PST  In film, the role of the former ANC activist and president of South Africa has traditionally been approached with great reverence The voice. The gentle, mysterious smile. The walk – generally an older man's walk, across a garden, or presidential office, or prison exercise yard. The enigmatically polite manner: intimidating, even awe-inspiring for allies and adversaries alike. The list of actors who have tried all this is long: Morgan Freeman, David Harewood, Terrence Howard, Danny Glover, Sidney Poitier, Clarke Peters, Dennis Haysbert, Idris Elba — and Lindane Nkosi, the one South African actor who has managed to make some sort of impression as this character in Anglo-Hollywood circles, for a film called Drum, about the 1950s anti-apartheid campaign, that played at festivals in London and Cannes. Nelson Mandela has been a role to be approached reverently, a difficult part and a career hurdle in some ways, like a royal figure in a Shakespearian play, a figure with fewer lines than the younger principals, but with richly poetic speeches – like the exiled Duke Senior in As You Like It. It is perhaps because Mandela himself entered the general conscience as a prisoner: someone who was able to impose his legend on the world in enforced and martyred inactivity. British film-maker Peter Kosminsky got into hot water a couple of years ago by proposing a film called Young Mandela, when Mandela was a fiery ANC soldier who very much did not believe in non-violence. The film has not yet been made, although Idris Elba's performance in Justin Chadwick's Mandela: The Long Walk To Freedom touches on the subject. The stately Mandela of the cinema screen has been shaped by the man's status as a liberal icon of the 1980s and 1990s and also, I think, by two screen performances that have nothing to do with him: Ben Kingsley's Gandhi in Richard Attenborough's classic 1983 epic, and, at one further remove, Paul Scofield's Sir Thomas More in Fred Zinnemann's A Man For All Seasons (1966). These are saintly figures who have mastered the grubby political arts, but rise above them, figures who are in retreat for much of the time, but who can smilingly and even effortlessly best their enemies in debate – and who are themselves pretty wily. Perhaps without the actors fully realising it, their Mandela performances are influenced by Kingsley and Scofield. The most famous screen Mandela is probably that of Morgan Freeman in Clint Eastwood's 2009 movie Invictus, which is not about his prison existence, but his first presidential term when, with inspired political nous, Mandela reached out to white South Africa by taking a passionate interest in the Springbok rugby team. In truth, it is a stately, inert movie. Freeman's own performance is detailed, well-observed, with the occasional twinkle-eyed touch of fun and in many ways a pleasure to watch, the end result of a long-nurtured actor's dream and indeed Freeman's own personal friendship with Mandela. But it is very statesmanlike – and statesmanlike does not make for very exciting cinema. It is also tied to the ancient rule of liberal Hollywood: it is acceptable to portray a black activist, as long as he is balanced with a sympathetic white character, in this case the rugby captain played by Matt Damon. Exactly the same factors are in play in Mandela and De Klerk, a TV movie from 1997, featuring Sidney Poitier as Mandela and Michael Caine as FW De Klerk: the same understandable and heartfelt respect brought to the role of Mandela, which possibly has the unfortunate effect of cladding the figure in cotton wool, and the same liberal balancing act. Reading on a mobile? Click here to watch the video The respect/balance template is also followed in Bille August's Goodbye Bafana aka Colour of Freedom, the 2007 movie which features Dennis Haysbert as Mandela, in prison, and striking up a relationship with his white guard, played by Joseph Fiennes. The film was based on the memoirs of the actual guard himself – and his close relationship with Mandela was disputed. But Haysbert is able to put a little more edge into his performance as Mandela, and it is rather more interestingly written. Reading on a mobile? Click here to watch the video Danny Glover's performance in the 1987 TV movie Mandela was looser-limbed than the ones we got used to later on. There is much more for an actor to get his teeth into, tackling Mandela's early firebrand life of political activism, and it is an honest, forthright, gutsy portrayal, but it it still doesn't capture the complexity of Mandela as a politicianwith a grownup grasp of when and when not to compromise. Terrence Howard played the younger, fuller-faced and bearded Mandela in Winnie, the 2011 film starring Jennifer Hudson as Winnie Mandela, which made the festival rounds without getting a release in the UK. The emphasis of the film was almost equally on Nelson and Winnie Mandela and critics were reportedly struck, as so often, by the careful and honest job of impersonation carried out by Howard — yet somehow it was felt to be lifeless, and lacking the gusto this actor brings to darker roles with less baggage. Idris Elba came to the role perhaps knowing that he would be the last actor to portray Mandela in his lifetime. Based on Mandela's autobiography of the same name, The Long Walk to Freedom gives us a sweeping overview of Mandela's struggles - personal and political. Elba is required to play Mandela from young lawyer, to ANC recruit to the elderly freedom fighter that walked out of Robben Island. It is a necessarily big performance - self-consciously hefty at times - but Elba has the great man's underlying sparkle. Reading on a mobile? Click here to watch the video For my money, the most interesting screen Mandela was one which was not the most exact impersonation. Clarke Peters, who was Det. Lester Freamon in The Wire, played Mandela in Endgame (2009), the story of the negotiations that preceded his release from prison, but here Mandela is not neatly paired with De Klerk; instead, this movie shows his tense, shrewd, eagle-eyed political dealings with a number of players, including ANC delegate Thabo Mbeki, played by Chiewetel Ejifor. Reading on a mobile? Click here to watch the video Not knowing the man himself, it is difficult to say whether it is accurate: but Peters's Mandela always struck me as the most believable portrayal of Mandela as the politician, long-game strategist, survivor and winner. theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds       |
| East coast of Britain hit by tidal surge – live updates Posted: 06 Dec 2013 01:26 AM PST Floodwaters are said to be receding after thousands were evacuated from their homes, with weather warnings still in place in some areas       |
| Flight Centre shares fall after losing price-fixing case against ACCC Posted: 06 Dec 2013 01:25 AM PST Consumer watchdog accused travel agency of trying to persuade airlines to keep prices above those offered by Flight Centre  |
| Nelson Mandela: tributes and reaction to his death Posted: 06 Dec 2013 01:25 AM PST South Africa's first black president, who led the country as it moved from the era of racial apartheid to inclusive democracy, has died at the age of 95       |
| Stock markets await US jobs data – live Posted: 06 Dec 2013 01:20 AM PST US non-farm payrolls could show 180,000 jobs created last month - with some economists forecasting more than 200,000 new posts       |
| Nelson Mandela: a beacon for black Britain, too | Hugh Muir Posted: 06 Dec 2013 01:07 AM PST  Mandela epitomised struggle. In his floral shirt, with his soft hands and ready smile, he became the father of whichever nation he was in at the time The first thing we learned whenever Nelson Mandela visited London in the latter portion of his triumphant life was that great warrior leaders defy any template. I was introduced to him once, at South Africa House in London. Was this the man who led a people from subjugation, turned an evil societal system on its head and rose majestically to become the moral leader of the world and South Africa's first black president? Hardly seemed so. In his floral shirt, with his soft hands, soft grip and ready smile, this was a favourite uncle. Father of a nation. Which nation? Wherever he was at the time. Why was he important here and why particularly to black Britain? Because he epitomised journey and epitomised struggle. Stripped to essentials, those are the key components of our diasporic lives in Britain and he symbolised both in purest form. The journey from feisty lawyer to rebel leader to war leader. His trajectory from Robben Island and the other jails, where over 27 years his body grew old but not his spirit; to the presidency, elected by the first multiracial ballot. All of us who yearn to move our narrative forward and only ever manage to do so in feet and inches marvelled at a man who looked like us and who made history with a people against fantastic odds in leaps and bounds. We admired him, and that appeal was magnified by the quality of enemies he attracted. It registered when Margaret Thatcher dismissed the ANC as a "typical terrorist organisation"; when extremist Tory students donned T-shirts saying he should hang. It cemented his place on our side of the battle line. And yet his true impact was as a unifier on our shores, even during his imprisonment. The long campaign here, in his support and against the tyranny of apartheid played a crucial and continuing role in bringing Britons of many backgrounds together over two generations. A phenomenon recurred during my years reporting. I would visit a black Briton of wealth or fame or prestige and inevitably they would carry the ego befitting their status. But those that had met Mandela would always have a photo to show, on the desk or on a sideboard, and they would talk of the occasion in the adoring tones of the teenybopper. Whatever their level of self-esteem, their esteem for him was greater still. He changed the course of black British history, for when it seemed that Scotland Yard might have been able to cover up the botched investigation of the murder of Stephen Lawrence and deny the calls for justice from the family and the wider community, Mandela stepped in. No fiery words were necessary, because he carried moral authority. "I'm deeply touched by the brutality of this murder. It's something we are all too used to in South Africa where black lives are cheap" was the observation. Devoid of rage or bitterness, yet scathing enough to jolt the complacent authorities, and suspects were soon arrested. With that critical help from Mandela at a critical time, the Lawrences set off that chain of events that saw our police and race relations subjected to unprecedented review; that led black and white to a new area of understanding. And, ultimately led to two of Stephen's murderers being tried and sent to jail. So Black Britain; most of Britain, revered his life. What can it learn after his death? That no struggle is won in the short term. His was a long trajectory, with the defining feature of durability. That few lasting victories are secured on the battlefield. As with the ANC and the National party of Vorster and later Botha, even the most resolute combatants ultimately talk. There is a time for intransigence – for protesting outside the tent – and a time for negotiation – for stepping inside it. And then there's that moral authority. For battles for racial and social justice must be fought on the high ground if they are to have meaning and resonance. If that's all we glean from the smiler in the floral shirt, that will be a start. theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds  |
| Australian flag not lowered over parliament for Nelson Mandela’s death Posted: 06 Dec 2013 01:02 AM PST Tony Abbott did not request national flag be lowered while Downing Street and White House lower flags to half-mast  |
| Posted: 06 Dec 2013 01:00 AM PST  From David Jason to Julian Barnes, our critics round up the best memoirs of the year David Jason's My Life (Century) is widely expected to lead the field in the now traditional Christmas celebrity memoir-off. It deserves to. The mistake lots of such memoirs make is to scant the childhood and jump straight into a barrage of arid and self-congratulatory anecdotes about having lunch with David Niven. David Jason (or David White as he was before he got his Equity card) is on about page 300 before he gets to Only Fools and Horses, and his story's all the better for it. Written with real charm (we can even forgive him the odd "Dear Reader"), it has lots to say about childhood in wartime Finchley, life as a jobbing electrician, and finding his way into acting via Crossroads, friendship with Ronnie Barker and association with Kay Lyell, "perhaps the most celebrated panto goose of her generation". Gotta love that "perhaps". Fun facts: David Jason is a qualified divemaster; he once dated Phil Collins's sister. The comedian Al Murray (aka the Pub Landlord) has a still more lateral approach to the showbiz memoir. Watching War Films With My Dad (Century) isn't about showbiz and it's barely a memoir. It's actually a book about being a military history buff. "Calling me a historian would be like calling someone who likes fish and chips a trawlerman," he says – but he writes the history of his enthusiasm, which entails a lot of groaning at war films containing anachronistic tanks. Sounds odd; works delightfully. And it's this year's only celeb memoir with a substantial digression on Christopher Hill's Marxist reading of the English civil war. Becoming Johnny Vegas (HarperCollins) takes as its conceit the idea of Michael Pennington – nice, shy Catholic boy; likes making pots and once trained to be a priest – having a Jekyll and Hyde relationship with his rage-and-loathing-filled alcoholic stage persona Johnny Vegas. It's funny and a bit horrifying – with, at its best in the early sections, an almost Alan Bennettish feel for bathos. You come away relieved that he calmed down and (sort of) sold out, doing normal comedian things such as memoirs and ads for PG Tips. When I saw his act in 2001 I felt quite sure he'd be dead within a couple of years. At one point Jennifer Saunders (left) may have had the same thought about herself. It brought out the depressed persona she calls "Evil Jennifer". The digressive Bonkers: My Life in Laughs (Viking) doesn't contain all that many actual laughs, but it has a touching account of her chemotherapy, and of her two long partnerships, with Dawn French and her husband Ade Edmondson. Fun fact: Jen and Dawn have matching tattoos. Alexa Chung's It (Particular Books) was apparently put together from a series of emails she sent to her editor, along with a dump from her Instagram feed. She likes using "reference" as a verb, describes various looks she admires – Twiggy, Winona Ryder in Heathers, Marianne Faithfull etc – and provides a flowchart on how to get dressed (roughly: 1) plan look 2) find clothes 3) put on clothes 4) look in mirror). She comes across as likable, but there's nothing much to it. How Many Camels Are There in Holland?: Dementia, Ma and Me (4th Estate) is the actor Phyllida Law's undernoticed memoir of caring for her mother as she died of Alzheimer's disease. Scatty, funny and brisk, it reads like a series of postcards from a posh, dotty relative and then – quite by stealth – becomes completely heartbreaking. Also heartbreaking is Julian Barnes's remarkable account of losing his wife to brain cancer in Levels of Life (Cape). The memoir is the third of three sections – the first dealing with the early years of ballooning and the second a fictionalised account of an affair between two historical figures, the actor Sarah Bernhardt and the adventurer Fred Burnaby. The obliquity of the opening makes the directness of the final section all the more forceful. I should add mention, too, of Damian Barr's memoir Maggie and Me (Bloomsbury), about growing up gay in working-class Scotland during the 80s. He's a friend, so I should direct you rather to what others have said about it – it was widely and rightly admired. Rupert Christiansen's spare and unsparing memoir I Know You're Going To Be Happy: the Story of a Sixties Family (Short Books) wins the ironic title of the year award. It's about how his shit of a father walked out on his family when the author was four, and the way the stigma and pain of his abandonment went down through the years. It is exact and fierce. theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds  |
| Qunu: the place where Nelson Mandela was at home Posted: 06 Dec 2013 01:00 AM PST  The former South African president always returned to the modest village where he grew up Nature was our playground," wrote Nelson Mandela in his memoir, Long Walk to Freedom. "The hills above Qunu were dotted with large smooth rocks which we transformed into our own rollercoaster. We sat on flat stones and slid down the face of the rocks. We did this until our backsides were so sore we could hardly sit down." Mandela's "sliding stone" is still visible today, a big granite boulder with a track worn smooth and shiny by his childhood sport nearly a century ago. It is one of the rocky outcrops overlooking the bucolic valley of Qunu, the place where he grew up and always returned. "Some of the happiest years of my boyhood were spent in Qunu," Mandela wrote. The old men and women of Qunu smile to remember, remembering themselves. If Mandela's death inspires pilgrims, it is to this modest village in Eastern Cape province, where chickens scarper at the sound of a car and maize grows ad hoc in the yards, that they will come. It is hard to look at the green hills of the former Transkei, designated during the apartheid era as an "independent homeland" and as such a great source of political unrest, and not find in them some sympathy of scale with the man who emerged from them. Mandela was born in the nearby village of Mvezo, schooled in neighbouring Mqekezweni and made his name in Johannesburg. But it was Qunu he called home, both as a child and after his release from prison when he returned to build a house. It was here that he retired to spend his twilight years, preferring the tug of the ancestors to the brash metropolis. The remoteness and poverty of the region have ensured that Qunu is almost as quiet as it was in the 1920s when Mandela was a herd boy, looking after sheep and calves in the fields. There is a museum dedicated to him, one of three in the area, but this is no Graceland. Modernity is still a relative stranger here. The huts Mandela knew in his childhood, with their beehive-shaped structures of mud walls and their floors made of crushed ant-heap, have given way to matchbox brick houses that dot the undulating landscape. There are still rondavels with thatched roofs, but now rondavels with iron roofs too. Small farms are ringed by wire fences, containing maize crops and livestock pens fashioned from corrugated sheets and crooked branches. At dusk, the gloom is pierced by open fires. "A humble man" is how the custodians of Qunu choose to remember Mandela, resisting the urge to eke posthumous glory from his boyhood antics. It was a long time ago. But even during the early years, there were incidents that distinguished him from his peers. Mandela was the only boy in the village who learned to speak English. One day, a white man on a motorbike broke down while passing through Qunu. A group of raggedly dressed children crowded round to watch him, out of which Mandela stepped forward and asked, in English, if he could help. Surprised, the man asked his name. "Nelson," he said, offering the English name he had been given at school, rather than his Xhosa name Rolihlahla, meaning "one who brings trouble on himself", and proceeded to help the man fix his motorbike. The man gave him three pennies. As the villagers tell it, Mandela gave one to each of his sisters and kept the third for his school fees. His school friends are gone now, but Victoria Msiwa, an octogenarian, said it was her grandfather who founded the school that Mandela attended. Like most rural South African boys, he learned the art of stick fighting. Msiwa said: "He took the sticks to school, but they were not allowed there, so all the boys had to leave the sticks on the other side of the school. "If he was defeated in a stick fight, he would go back and fight the next day. He was a fighter. He liked fighting and he did not want to be defeated by anybody." Unusually, Msiwa's mother owned an organ. She recalled: "Nelson came to play the organ at my home. He was a school pupil at the time. It was a game. These were the things that used to entertain us in the rural areas." After his release from jail in 1990, Mandela returned to Qunu, catching up on gossip about old acquaintances, some of whom were no longer alive. Msiwa, a great-grandmother wearing a woolly hat and apron, said: "He was friendly when he came out of prison, visiting us all. But when he became president, that made him another prisoner. People were not allowed to talk to him. He was cut off from us by the government." The house that Mandela built when he gained his freedom is conspicuous beside a national motorway; a peach-coloured mansion with tiled roof behind guardhouse, multiple security walls and satellite dishes. Cars speed by the famous property but so too do cows and sheep at a gentler pace. When Mandela was in residence, the South African flag and police flag flew at full mast. His nearest neighbour lives across the road, behind a modest hut that serves as a spaza (convenience) shop and post office. Nokwanele Balizulu, the "chieftainess" of Qunu, said Mandela stopped to wave to her every time he came home. "Here in Qunu," she said, "he didn't wear a suit. He wore a big shirt and walked around without bodyguards. Here he was home. He loved this place." What stories do people in the village tell about him? "There is one," Balizulu said. "When Madiba [Mandela's clan name] was a young boy, he was given his first pair of proper shoes to wear. But they were too large for him. He was so proud of them – he was a proud boy – but when he wore them through the village, all the girls laughed at him." Close by, in a small house where flies swarm in the afternoon heat, are a couple in their 80s, Manquma and Noluzile Gamakhulu, who knew Mandela all their lives. Even as a young man, they recalled, his homecomings were a big event in the village: he would arrive in a black car and hand out apples and oranges. Noluzile, wearing a checked red dress and speaking through a Xhosa interpreter, said: "If he was giving out money, he gave everyone the same amount. He would go to the bigger children and tell them they must sing, 'South Africa is going to be free'." The Gamakhulus lived next door to Mandela's mother, Noqaphi Nosekeni, until her death in 1968. "His mother went to see him in prison," Noluzile said: "She'd come back and be very annoyed because they gave her very little time to be with her son. She died because she was very depressed. She got sick and there were no cows and no sheep. "We had to get donkeys and load her on a sledge to be pulled up to the shop, where the doctors could regularly visit. This doctor said: 'This lady is very depressed, what is the thing worrying her so much?' After we came from the doctor at five o'clock, the old lady passed on. "Everyone said the son has to be informed, but those in authority totally refused to allow him to come. The people in the village donated livestock, food and money so the old lady could be buried even though her son wasn't there." The standard of living in Qunu and neighbouring villages is still desperately poor. But for Noluzile, Mandela was a generous spirit who built houses with access to electricity and water, renovated a clinic and schools and helped pay for the mourning to bury their dead. "He was very kind. He was a gift." Along a bumpy dirt track is another brick house bequeathed by Mandela. Inside is a picture of the former president with raised fist and an image of an unknown boy with the slogan: "I have a dream." It is the home of Morris Mandela, a cousin. "I remember Madiba well as a boy," he said. "He used to come and visit the homestead on his way home from school. I was looking after cattle as a herd boy. We would eat together: samp (dried corn kernels) and beans. I saw him as someone humble. To the present day we see him as someone humble." Morris Mandela died last year. A short walk away is an iron fence, bits of litter and a gate secured by a rusty chain and padlock. A sign says: "Mandela graveyard. Monuments designed, manufactured and erected by Transkei Tombstones, Butterworth." Eighteen headstones poke out of the long grass. The air is still and silent, at peace save for the crowing of a cock. The cemetery looks out across the endless brown and green hills to the horizon. "They say he was a good stick fighter," muses Theminkosi Ntshebe, head of a nearby village. "When he grew up, he played sticks so well but he didn't want to hit anyone on the head because 'if I hit you on the head, you will die.'" Ntshebe added: "Nelson Mandela will be remembered by what he has done for his people: he emancipated them. I've never seen God but I take it Mandela is the god you can see with your eyes." theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds  |
| Nelson Mandela's death throws South Africa into uncharted waters Posted: 06 Dec 2013 12:59 AM PST  President Jacob Zuma needs to move swiftly and decisively to quell fears rainbow project has died along with Mandela The death of Nelson Mandela will shake South Africa to its core, no less than the deaths of John F Kennedy and Diana, Princess of Wales delivered shell-shocked newscasters, public demonstrations of grief and interrogations of the American and British psyches. That death in old age does not fit the proper definition of "tragedy" will not console the millions who grew up with him as a constant presence, like a grandfather, and feel the loss just as keenly. There will be days of mourning that will probably bring the country together as never before. If, as expected, Mandela's body lies in state, the line of citizens paying homage is likely to dwarf even the snaking queues of voters who put him in power in 1994. Drawn from all races, they will conjure much talk of a rainbow nation united in diversity. But what next? Mandela's mortality will also be a source of bewilderment. Robbed of the founding father who defined its sense of self, South Africa's teenage democracy suddenly stands alone. "I don't think anybody can call what psychological impact it will have," said Verne Harris, head of the memory programme at the Nelson Mandela Centre of Memory in a 2009 interview. "Those of us who work for him and see him on a regular basis have no idea how it's going to impact, but I think it's reasonable to expect it will be huge. What direction that will take is hard to say." That gives Jacob Zuma one of the severest tests of his presidency. In the first hours and days he will be expected to hit the right tone and capture the nation's mood – striving to emulate Tony Blair's "people's princess" tribute to Diana. South Africans will also look to Zuma to provide leadership at a time of national mourning and, some say, national crisis. They will need him to move swiftly and decisively to quell fears that Mandela's rainbow project might lose its moorings, stoking racial tensions and political instability. This will be all the harder because Mandela looms like a one-man Mount Rushmore over his successors, throwing their flaws into sharp relief. And Zuma has flaws. Charges of racketeering, corruption, money laundering and fraud were controversially dropped against him shortly before he was elected in 2009. Since taking office his reputation has suffered a series of setbacks. In 2012, it emerged that 206m rand (then £14.4m) of taxpayers' money had been spent upgrading his residence in Nkandla, in KwaZulu-Natal province, officially for security reasons. Meanwhile, Zuma was criticised for a sluggish response to the police massacre of 34 miners at Marikana. This, and a perceived sense of drift amid high unemployment and inequality, has led some to question his competence and draw unflattering comparisons with the first black president. One striking cartoon by the satirist Zapiro shows South African leaders evolving from ape-like figures to Mandela, who stands tall as a man, only to regress back to an ape-like Zuma. No doubt aware of his inexhaustible political capital, Zuma has often sought to bask in Mandela's glory, frequently citing him in speeches and kneeling before him during the former's 2009 inauguration. Such tactics appeared to backfire in 2013 when Zuma and other ANC leaders visited Mandela at home shortly after he was discharged from hospital. The televised meeting, in which Mandela appeared frail and disengaged, prompted cries of exploitation from family members and viewers. Much will depend on the presidential spokesman, Mac Maharaj, who like Mandela and Zuma is a former political prisoner on Robben Island. After chaos and discord around communications during Mandela's hospital stays, it was decided Maharaj would be the point man for the global media bombardment. He has issued regular statements during health scares but some journalists and others accuse him of being less than straightforward. Maharaj, 78, is a seasoned political operator but not an experienced spin doctor or crisis communicator. He is pursuing legal action against a newspaper that linked him to an arms deal and raised allegations of kickbacks being paid into a Swiss bank account, which he denies. For him the death of Mandela will be first and foremost the loss of a friend at a time when cool heads are required. But one asset Zuma does possess is an easy charm that wins over even political foes. He will need every ounce of it as leaders fly in from around the world to witness South Africa's first, unsteady steps into the post-Mandela era. Post-heroic age Mandela was truly loved in a way that can seem quaint in the post-heroic age of politics. Buildings, bridges, streets and squares were named after him in life, commonplace in a dictatorship but remarkable in a democracy. When the national broadcaster organised a poll to find the 100 greatest South Africans, one man dominated the vote in a way hard to imagine in any other country. Even those born after Mandela was released from prison in 1990 fear a future without him. Jabulil Mlaka, a student from Tembisa township near Johannesburg, predicted: "It'll be like the death of Jesus. A lot of people will be impacted in a bad way. Everyone knows Mandela – even my sister who was born in 2004. It's going to feel like a world war or something like that. Some people may lose their hope in getting a democratic and non-racist country." But in truth, Mandela had not been active politically for a long time. Even as president, he was largely a figurehead who left the day-to-day running of the country to his deputy and successor, Thabo Mbeki. After 1999, apart from occasional interventions on issues such as HIV/Aids, he slowly but surely left the stage. The ANC continued to exploit his star power at rallies until 2009, but by the time of his death he was a virtual recluse and politically mute. Notably, South Africa did not implode. Allister Sparks, a veteran political analyst and journalist who knew Mandela well, said: "I don't think his death will have political implications at all. Most people outside the country think we'll fall apart when it happens, but they thought we were going to fall apart before he came out anyway. There's a kind of theological pessimism, particularly in Britain, about South Africa. "He's a saint. It's rather like the Queen Mother. She was very old and the whole country loved her. The whole country loves this man. It's going to be very similar to that. But he hasn't played a political role for a long time." Lauren Beukes, a novelist and journalist, added: "People who think the whole country will go downhill the moment he dies … it's ridiculous, it's preposterous. He's an icon of this country, he represents an amazing change in this country, but he isn't South Africa and we will endure without him." More difficult to quantify, however, was Mandela's symbolic power. He was described as the glue that held together this most disparate of nations. He persuaded white people that he was not a terrorist and dissuaded black people from seeking vengeance for apartheid. While Mandela lived, so did his spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation, making conflict unthinkable. One urban myth has it that black people have been waiting until Mandela's death before unleashing "Operation Uhuru", which proponents claim means "night of the long knives" (it actually means "freedom") – a genocide of whites to "cleanse" South Africa. This has reputedly spurred a tiny number of white South Africans to stockpile food in bunkers or prepare to flee. They point to murders of white farmers and a perceived threat of Zimbabwe-style chaos. However, the longer Mandela has lived in retirement, allowing democracy to mature without him, the more the myth has been sapped of its power. Political economist Moeletsi Mbeki, brother of Thabo, dismisses talk of a race war but believes a different kind of unrest is possible. "Ironically, if there is a conflict, it will not be between black and white," he said. "That story is past history. If there is any conflict, it will primarily be a class conflict among the blacks, which is where we're heading. "There are massive inequalities that have emerged among blacks. There's huge corruption that is galloping from the black leadership who are running the government in South Africa, massive poverty in the black population and de-industrialisation of the economy because of wayward policies of the black government." This is the mountain facing post-Mandela South Africa. Unions claim that inequalities have become worse even than under apartheid, with the second-worst Gini coefficient (a measure of inequality) among 136 countries. The top 5% of earners take home 30 times more than the bottom 5%. One in three South Africans are unemployed, often having dropped out of school into an underclass scarred by poverty and crime. Two South Africas Ferial Haffajee, editor of the City Press newspaper, said there are "two South Africas: one that tweets on the best technology and one that does not eat". The racial dimension remains. Wealth and management positions are still dominated by the white minority. A 2007 survey estimated that white South Africans earn eight times more than black South Africans. A black male earns an average of 2,400 rand a month while a white male earns 19,000 rand. A white person born in 2009 can expect to live for 71 years, while a black person born that year is likely to die aged 48. There is a school of thought that holds Mandela responsible. Some African nationalists say he "sold out" too easily in the negotiated settlement at the end of apartheid. While he secured political freedom for the black majority, he failed to guarantee their economic freedom too. He left the job unfinished, with the power base of "white monopoly capital" virtually unchallenged. This will not be a popular view in the coming weeks. Mandela's defenders insist he was hardly negotiating from a position of strength against a militarily superior adversary. But it is evident that many of the contradictions and poisonous legacies of the apartheid era remain unresolved. Not even Mandela could work more than one miracle. Now South Africa will have to search for the next miracle within itself. It must prove to the world that it is no longer a problem country, but rather a country with problems. "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves."Moeletsi Mbeki said: "I think Mandela's death will mark the end of an era for South Africa. We have been living since '94 in a certain comfort zone and we have been having lots of factors emerging that are negative, like inequality, rising unemployment. "Up to now people could live with them because somehow we all have a feeling that Mandela is going to help us solve them. I think when he dies it will be a message to the South Africans that hey, that era is gone, you have to come up with real solutions to your problems instead of dreaming about solutions." theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds  |
| WTO trade deal 'very close' as India continues to hold out on food subsidies Posted: 06 Dec 2013 12:44 AM PST  World Trade Organisation officials optimistic as ministers from 160 countries enter final day of negotiations in Bali Ministers from nearly 160 member countries of the World Trade Organisation entered a final day of negotiations on Friday with officials sounding optimistic over chances of salvaging a deal that would save the trade body from sliding into irrelevance. "We are very close," WTO spokesman Keith Rockwell told reporters at the meeting on the Indonesian resort island of Bali. "As things stand now, the prospects are promising." Just a day earlier, a deal that would add hundreds of billions of dollars to the world economy by some estimates teetered on the brink of collapse. In an organisation based on consensus among all of its members, attention focused squarely on India as the main stumbling block to the WTO's first global trade deal in two decades. India has insisted it would not compromise on a policy of subsidising food for hundreds of millions of poor, putting it at odds with the United States and other developed countries. The WTO director-general, Roberto Azevedo, a former Brazilian trade negotiator, told delegates at the start of the last day of talks that there was more work to be done, but sounded upbeat on prospects for success. "He told members they were now very close to something that has eluded us for many years and that the decisions over the next few hours would have great significance beyond this day," the spokesman said. It is 12 years since the WTO launched the Doha Round, but the negotiations have yet to yield any concrete results. Diplomats have warned that failure in Bali would wreck the WTO's credibility as developed nations turn towards regional and bilateral trade arrangements. A Bali trade deal, which is far less ambitious than the Doha Round had aimed for up until two years ago, would open the way to much wider trade reforms and enable the body to modernise its rules for the internet era. The "all or nothing" agreement covers several areas, the largest of which is trade facilitation – a global standardisation and simplification of customs procedures that would tear down barriers to cross-border movement of goods. Another part of the deal – and the one proving to be the most contentious – is focused on agriculture. Members seem largely in agreement over reducing export subsidies and opening borders to the least developed countries. The main obstacle to a deal is food subsidy policy. India, whose government faces the risk of losing elections next year, says that its tough stance has drawn support from developing countries in Asia, Africa and South America, though the meeting's host, Indonesia, has pressed for it to soften its stand. "We are trying to get justice for the poor people," India's trade minister, Anand Sharma, told reporters as he entered the final day of the meeting. Thursday's talks had stretched into the early hours of Friday without reaching any agreement. Asked if there was a deal on the table, Sharma replied: "We are talking." The meeting was set to end at 3.00pm local time (7am GMT) but can be extended. India will next year fully implement a welfare programme to provide cheap food to 800 million people that it fears will contravene WTO rules curbing farm subsidies to 10% of production. The programme, which relies on large-scale stockpiling and purchases at minimum prices, is a central plank of the government's bid to win a third term in office next year. A proposal led by the US offered to waive the 10% rule until 2017. But India has rejected it, demanding the exemptions continue indefinitely until a solution is found. If talks were to fail, the WTO may see its role eroded by regional trade pacts now being negotiated, such as the US-led 12-nation Trans-Pacific Partnership and a US-EU tie-up known as the TTP. Ministers in the TPP are expected to meet in Singapore shortly after the WTO meeting in the hopes of reaching a free trade pact by the end of this year. theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds  |
| Central African Republic: French military operations launched Posted: 06 Dec 2013 12:41 AM PST  Defence minister says streets of capital Bangui calm on Friday after bloodshed in the hours before UN vote on French mission France's defence minister says military operations have begun in the Central African Republic (CAR), with patrols and a helicopter detachment arriving to quell violence in the streets of the capital. Jean-Yves Le Drian told Radio France Internationale that the streets of Bangui were calm on Friday, after a spasm of bloodshed that began before dawn on Thursday and left nearly 100 people dead. The ambush by armed Christian fighters on Muslim neighbourhoods of Bangui came hours before the United Nations voted to send French troops to stabilise CAR. Le Drian said the immediate goal was to keep the streets safe. "You have to ensure that the vandals, the bandits and the militias know they can't use the streets of Bangui for their battles," he said. theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds  |
| Two schoolgirls missing from Sydney’s west spark police search Posted: 06 Dec 2013 12:27 AM PST Appeal for information on teenagers Teagan Lloyd and Skye Keenan, who went missing from Rouse Hill on Wednesday  |
| Android torch app with over 50m downloads silently sent user location and device data to advertisers Posted: 06 Dec 2013 12:00 AM PST US Federal Trade Commission charges 'deception' over app which turned on lights on Android smartphones - but also told advertisers about location and device information. By Charles Arthur  |
| Robben Island prison tours 'honour a legacy of forgiveness' Posted: 06 Dec 2013 12:00 AM PST  'This is not a museum to hatred. Visiting Robben Island should provide a lesson in reconciliation,' says ANC In Long Walk to Freedom, Nelson Mandela described his Robben Island cell as "tiny – I could walk from one side to the other in three steps". Since the island reopened as a museum in 1997, thousands of tourists have taken the 20-minute ferry ride from Cape Town. Guided by former prisoners, they can peer through the bars of Mandela's 2-metre by 3-metre (7ft by 10ft) cell, with its stark grey gloss walls, folded brown blanket, green stool, red bucket, cup and aluminium plate. One of the guides, Sparks Mlilwana – who was 16 when he was jailed for seven years in 1983 – believes the tours should serve to perpetuate Mandela's legacy. "We show tourists the harsh conditions of the island, but not with rancour," said Mlilwana, a former member of Umkhonto We Sizwe, the armed wing of the African National Congress (ANC). "This is not a museum to hatred. Visiting Robben Island should provide a lesson in reconciliation." After Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment at the Rivonia trial, he spent 18 years on Robben Island as Prisoner 466/64 – the 466th prisoner registered in 1964. In 1982 he was transferred to Pollsmoor prison near Cape Town, and later to the low-security Victor Verster prison near Paarl in the Western Cape, from where he was released in 1990. Mandela was held on Robben Island when conditions were harsh, before prisoners campaigned for improvements. "Assaults by warders, racism, inedible food, random punishment and solitary confinement were the order of the day," said Mlilwana. "The opposition politician Helen Suzman led calls for improvements to conditions, so that finally the Red Cross could come and inspect. By 1976, when a new crop of prisoners arrived after the student uprisings, things had improved." In the courtyard adjacent to Mandela's old cell, Mlilwana points out a black-and-white photograph. It shows Mandela with the ANC youth league founder Walter Sisulu. "They are wearing jackets," he said. That is because the photograph was taken the day the Red Cross came to visit. In reality, black prisoners were only allowed short trousers and shirts, whereas Indian and coloured [mixed race] prisoners wore long pants." Robben Island has faced repeated management crises. A 2008 audit revealed years of pilfering – from the gift shop till, fuel siphoned from the ferry – and huge rises in managers' salaries. In 2009, the feral rabbit population soared, leading to fears that their burrows would undermine historic buildings. A cull prompted an outcry from animal rights activists. The management responded by promising to donate the rabbit meat to Cape Town's poor. Mlilwana said his job as a guide was far more rewarding and better paid than anything he could have hoped for after the struggle, had he not been imprisoned. But he is concerned about the attitude of the South African youth. "The foreign tourists who come here understand Mandela's message of forgiveness. But young South Africans who come here on school trips take us to task, and speak of the need for revenge against whites." theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds  |
| Missing WA Senate votes: lax security led to lost ballot papers, report finds Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:55 PM PST Mick Keelty’s report rebukes the Australian Electoral Commission but is unable to pinpoint how the ballots vanished  |
| Nelson Mandela dies aged 95 – as it happened Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:54 PM PST Nelson Mandela has died aged 95 in Johannesburg. His death was announced by the president of South Africa, Jacob Zuma. Follow reaction here       |
| Asylum seekers who camped out on Christmas Island 'have all been found' Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:40 PM PST Scott Morrison says their boat was not detected because it was 'a very small vessel' and 'this is a very big ocean'       |
| Nelson Mandela, South Africa's first black president, dies aged 95 Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:35 PM PST  South Africa's first black president died peacefully in company of his family at home in Johannesburg, Jacob Zuma announces Nelson Mandela, the towering figure of Africa's struggle for freedom and a hero to millions around the world, has died at the age of 95. South Africa's first black president died in the company of his family at home in Johannesburg after years of declining health that had caused him to withdraw from public life. The news was announced to the country by the current president, Jacob Zuma, who in a sombre televised address said Mandela had "departed" around 8.50pm local time and was at peace. "This is the moment of our deepest sorrow," Zuma said. "Our nation has lost its greatest son … What made Nelson Mandela great was precisely what made him human. We saw in him what we seek in ourselves. "Fellow South Africans, Nelson Mandela brought us together and it is together that we will bid him farewell." Zuma announced that Mandela would receive a state funeral and ordered that flags fly at half-mast. Early on Friday morning Archbishop Desmond Tutu led a memorial service in Capetown where he called for South Africa to become as a nation what Mandela had been as a man. Mandela's two youngest daughters were at the premiere of the biopic Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom in London last night. They received the news of their father's death during the screening in Leicester Square and immediately left the cinema. Barack Obama led tributes from world leaders, referring to Mandela by his clan name – Madiba. The US president said: "Through his fierce dignity and unbending will to sacrifice his own freedom for the freedom of others, Madiba transformed South Africa – and moved all of us. "His journey from a prisoner to a president embodied the promise that human beings – and countries – can change for the better. His commitment to transfer power and reconcile with those who jailed him set an example that all humanity should aspire to, whether in the lives of nations or our own personal lives." David Cameron said: "A great light has gone out in the world" and described Mandela as "a hero of our time". FW de Klerk – the South African president who freed Mandela, shared the Nobel peace prize with him and paved the way for him to become South Africa's first post-apartheid head of state – said the news was deeply saddening for South Africa and the world. "He lived reconciliation. He was a great unifier," De Klerk said. Throughout Thursday night and into Friday morning people gathered in the streets of South Africa to celebrate Mandela's life. In Soweto people gathered to sing and dance near the house where he once lived. They formed a circle in the middle of Vilakazi Street and sang songs from the anti-apartheid struggle. Some people were draped in South African flags and the green, yellow and black colours of Mandela's party, the African National Congress. "We have not seen Mandela in the place where he is, in the place where he is kept," they sang, a lyric anti-apartheid protesters had sung during Mandela's long incarceration. Several hundred people took part in lively commemorations outside Mandela's final home in the Houghton neighbourhood of Johannesburg. A man blew on a vuvuzela horn and people made impromptu shrines with national flags, candles, flowers and photographs. Mandela was taken to hospital in June with a recurring lung infection and slipped into a critical condition, but returned home in September where his bedroom was converted into an intensive care unit. His death sends South Africa deep into mourning and self-reflection, nearly 20 years after he led the country from racial apartheid to inclusive democracy. But his passing will also be keenly felt by people around the world who revered Mandela as one of history's last great statesmen, and a moral paragon comparable with Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi and Martin Luther King. It was a transcendent act of forgiveness after spending 27 years in prison, 18 of them on Robben Island, that will assure his place in history. With South Africa facing possible civil war, Mandela sought reconciliation with the white minority to build a new democracy. He led the African National Congress to victory in the country's first multiracial election in 1994. Unlike other African liberation leaders who cling to power, such as Zimbabwe's Robert Mugabe, he then voluntarily stepped down after one term. Mandela was awarded the Nobel peace prize in 1993. At his inauguration a year later, the new president said: "Never, never, and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another … the sun shall never set on so glorious a human achievement. Let freedom reign. God bless Africa!" Born Rolihlahla Dalibhunga in a small village in the Eastern Cape on 18 July 1918, Mandela was given his English name, Nelson, by a teacher at his school. He joined the ANC in 1943 and became a co-founder of its youth league. In 1952, he started South Africa's first black law firm with his partner, Oliver Tambo. Mandela was a charming, charismatic figure with a passion for boxing and an eye for women. He once said: "I can't help it if the ladies take note of me. I am not going to protest." He married his first wife, Evelyn Mase, in 1944. They were divorced in 1957 after having three children. In 1958, he married Winnie Madikizela, who later campaigned to free her husband from jail and became a key figure in the struggle. When the ANC was banned in 1960, Mandela went underground. After the Sharpeville massacre, in which 69 black protesters were shot dead by police, he took the difficult decision to launch an armed struggle. He was arrested and eventually charged with sabotage and attempting to overthrow the government. Conducting his own defence in the Rivonia trial in 1964, he said: "I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. "It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die." He escaped the death penalty but was sentenced to life in prison, a huge blow to the ANC that had to regroup to continue the struggle. But unrest grew in townships and international pressure on the apartheid regime slowly tightened. Finally, in 1990, FW de Klerk lifted the ban on the ANC and Mandela was released from prison amid scenes of jubilation witnessed around the world. In 1992, Mandela divorced Winnie after she was convicted on charges of kidnapping and accessory to assault. His presidency rode a wave of tremendous global goodwill but was not without its difficulties. After leaving frontline politics in 1999, he admitted he should have moved sooner against the spread of HIV/Aids in South Africa. His son died from an Aids-related illness. On his 80th birthday, Mandela married Graça Machel, the widow of the former president of Mozambique. It was his third marriage. In total, he had six children, of whom three daughters survive: Pumla Makaziwe (Maki), Zenani and Zindziswa (Zindzi). He has 17 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren. Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who headed the truth and reconciliation committee after the fall of apartheid, said: "He transcended race and class in his personal actions, through his warmth and through his willingness to listen and to emphasise with others. And he restored others' faith in Africa and Africans." Mandela was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2001 and retired from public life to be with his family and enjoy some "quiet reflection". But he remained a beloved and venerated figure, with countless buildings, streets and squares named after him. His every move was scrutinised and his health was a constant source of media speculation. Mandela continued to make occasional appearances at ANC events and attended the inauguration of the current president, Jacob Zuma. His 91st birthday was marked by the first annual "Mandela Day" in his honour. He was last seen in public at the final of the 2010 World Cup in Johannesburg, a tournament he had helped bring to South Africa for the first time. Early in 2011, he was taken to hospital in a health scare but he recovered and was visited by Michelle Obama and her daughters a few months later. In January 2012, he was notably missing from the ANC's centenary celebrations due to his frail condition. With other giants of the movement such as Tambo and Walter Sisulu having gone before Mandela, the defining chapter of Africa's oldest liberation movement is now closed. theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds       |
| Flood alert continues as tidal surge moves south Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:17 PM PST  Warnings still in place but eased in some areas as coastal communities assess damage and evacuees wait in shelters Floodwaters were reported to be receding after the worst tidal surge for more than 60 years hit coastal towns along the east coast of Britain and sparked a tense night of evacuations and emergency measures. Some North Sea oil platforms were also evacuated, the BBC said. Northern Power Grid said 20,000 properties were affected in the north-east, Yorkshire and North Linconshire. theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds       |
| Large fishing nations fail to agree to deep cuts in Pacific tuna quotas Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:09 PM PST Conservationists and small Pacific nations warn overfishing is threatening the species       |
| Was Nelson Mandela the pinnacle of human psychology? | Chris Chambers Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:01 PM PST Chris Chambers: Mandela was regarded by many as the rarest of psychological gemstones: a self-actualised human being       |
| Nelson Mandela: we are blessed to have shared our lifetime with a colossus Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:00 PM PST  We were prepared for his passing, but still we must face the heartbreaking reality of his death Nelson Mandela, global hero, died on Thursday night. We had steeled ourselves for it in the months of his hospitalisation over the past year and half. Yet, we are in shock. We mourn him. We mourn him because in his 95 years, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela has taught us how to live. He taught us to strive for what is good and right, even as we ourselves stumble; to strain for perfection, even as we are caught up in our own flawed lives; to put the poor and downtrodden at the centre of our endeavours, even as we reach for the good life. As he lay in hospital for months this year, Mandela taught us yet another lesson: just as we have been blessed with the gift of his presence, so too must we accept his inevitable departure. It is the most terrible of Biblical injunctions to perceive, but today it is stark: there is a time to live, and a time to die. Today we face the heartbreaking reality of the latter. Over the past six months the news coming out of Pretoria had been the gravest it had ever been: the presidency had used the word "critical"; the family was sombre and mournful even as it was divided. The man whose walk to freedom was so long, so painful, so inspirational, was well on in his last journey. Outside the hospital, passersby stopped and stared at the massed international and local media. "He is old. He must go," said one to me as, like so many other journalists, we waited outside the hospital for word. It is a refrain that was heard often, at the hospital and elsewhere, even as far away as his home in Qunu. We could not bear to think of Mandela, a man who endured so much in pursuit of all our freedom, being in pain. The heartbreaking reality, as one of our great poets, Chris van Wyk, once put it, is that it was time to go home, now. It is time to go home. Outside his house, at midnight, neighbours were gathering, holding their children. They wept for him, they reminisced, they remembered him, but they were wired: they had lived in the shadow of a great human being. Let us celebrate him. This is not a time to weep. This is a time to celebrate a life well lived, a man who stood fearful – like the rest of us – at the door of history and yet chose to brave the storm. We are blessed beyond measure to have shared a lifetime with such a colossus of the human spirit. We must celebrate a humble man who, even with the fame and the awards and the accolades, looked back on his life and said: "One issue that deeply worried me in prison was the false image that I unwittingly projected to the outside world; of being regarded as a saint. I never was one, even on the basis of an earthly definition of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying." As we all suddenly sat up and waited months ago, it was Max du Preez (an Afrikaner liberal former newspaper editor), who reminded us of the tragedy of death, and the dignity of the man. He told of an old Afrikaans saying: Stil, broers, daar gaan 'n man verby. (Silence, brothers, a man is passing by). And what a man. In the 1990s, as he held out his hand of friendship and reconciliation to his former oppressors, many condemned him as a sell-out. In the 1950s, as apartheid's jackboot came down hard and the State became the people's number one enemy, he decided to push for a tougher stance against the system. He stood for principle, and he fought on principle. In the 2000s, when so many people were cowed by our democratic state's failure on the fight against HIV and Aids, he stood up and declared that his son had died of Aids. It was courage that rose up and showed itself at a time when leadership was deeply and sadly lacking. It was courage that all of us should hope to emulate, even if just once, in our lifetimes. Mandela and his comrades, Walter Sisulu, Oliver Tambo and others, showed us such courage again and again in their lifetimes. We owe them. It will become fashionable to evoke Mandela over the next few months. He will become election fodder not just for his beloved ANC, but for the opposition parties too. His former enemies will laud him, and his former comrades – many of whom have veered off his path – will claim that they emulate him. Yet the true Mandela is very clear: a love for the poor and downtrodden, a great spirit for love and forgiveness, an intolerance of racism and patriarchy, a rejection of corruption and greed. These are the values we should emulate and celebrate. A great man has walked with us, and we are a blessed generation, a blessed people, for this gift. But it is time to go home, now. It is also a time to weep, to accept, to let go and to celebrate a great life well lived. theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds       |
| Black Pete: Dutch relic of Christmas past prompts racism row Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:00 PM PST  Criticism of Santa Claus's sidekick, known locally as Zwarte Piet and usually portrayed by white person in blackface, reaches UN As the Netherlands gears up for its annual Saint Nicholas celebration on Friday, the festivities are in danger of being overshadowed by a growing row over his helper and clown, "Black Pete". While families exchange presents and eat cakes to welcome Santa Claus's slimmer and more sober ancestor, criticism of the crude depictions of his sidekick, known locally as Zwarte Piet, has reached the United Nations. The clown is usually portrayed by a white person in blackface, who goes around offering sweets to good children and, according to legend, threatens to collect naughty ones in a sack to be taken to Zwarte Piet's home in Spain. But he is increasingly reviled by critics as a racist relic of Christmases past. Momentum has been growing against the custom, in part thanks to campaigners such as Quinsy Gario, a poet and activist born in the former Dutch colony of Curaçao who was arrested two years ago for wearing a T-shirt with the slogan "Black Pete is racism" at a Saint Nicholas parade in the city of Dordrecht. Gario's message is that the tradition perpetuates crude stereotypes. In October a United Nations adviser on minority rights described Black Pete as "a throwback to slavery". Verene Shepherd, a Jamaican academic who chairs the UN working group of experts on people of African descent, said on Dutch TV: "As a black person, I feel that if I were living in the Netherlands, I would object to it." Shepherd's intervention prompted an indignant reaction on Facebook from Black Pete's defenders. A Facebook "Pietitie" (Pete-ition) defending the custom earned more than two million likes, a startling number for a country of just 17 million. The populist anti-Islam politician Geert Wilders said it would be better to scrap the UN than Black Pete. Both the prime minister, Mark Rutte, and the mayor of Amsterdam, Eberhard van der Laan, offered carefully worded statements of support. The criticisms have provoked debate about identity and image within the Netherlands, which prides itself on tolerance and social harmony. Peter Jan Margry, a researcher at the Meertens Institute in Amsterdam, said: "For too long, we have seen ourselves as a less racist society, and never thought that the comical Black Pete figure could be offensive." Most Dutch remain stubbornly attached to the custom. An October opinion poll revealed that 91% of Dutch did not want to change the tradition to placate the country's ethnic minorities. In Breda, just north of the Belgian border, Black Pete features as dolls in shop windows, as gingerbread cakes, and in parades alongside Saint Nicholas. Most of the locals say it is an innocent family tradition, hammered by political correctness. "I don't see why this is offensive: he's friendly and fun," says Dirk Bakker, a taxi driver. Sophie de Vries, a café barrista, claims the criticism misses the point: "Some say he is a black man, but I was always told that his face was simply dirty because he climbed down the chimney," she says. Even Edgar Pelkmans, a student from the former Dutch colony of Surinam, said the practice was harmless: "I'm not that offended: he's like one of Santa's elves." However, the tone appears to have changed. In the recent Amsterdam parade for Saint Nicholas, Black Pete's big hoop earrings were deliberately sacrificed, and there were even portrayals of him in colours other than black. "There is a more pronounced sense of cultural embarrassment now," says James Kennedy, an American historian at the University of Amsterdam, who sees this as a turning point. "Although many Dutch see themselves as beyond racism, and insist no offence is intended, there is a definite trend against Black Pete. While he may still be here in 10 years, I don't think he will still be around 20 years from now." theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds       |
| Posted: 05 Dec 2013 11:00 PM PST  This study of Billie Holiday's famous song and its legacy was a salutary reminder of horrors committed in living memory "Mrs Bryant came out, and she was headed towards her car and for some unknown reason … Emmett whistled at Carolyn Bryant. And it scared us so bad, we just couldn't get in our car fast enough to get out of town because in Mississippi, you don't whistle at a white woman. That was suicide. Instant death. But Emmett didn't know that." Simeon Wright's frightening account of the last days of Emmett Till, his 14-year-old cousin visiting the family from Chicago, could stand alone as a must-hear documentary. The year 1955 isn't long enough ago to believe that the torture and lynching of a boy, eyes gouged out and his body thrown into a river, was the expected response to a wolf whistle. It's too bleak to endure. Which is why Maggie Ayre's Strange Fruit, about Billie Holiday's most famous song and its legacy, isn't just gripping – it's significant and necessary. A reminder that those horrors have been committed in living memory. Had this opening episode of Radio 4's Soul Music been a straight biography of the song, it would still have been worth tuning in for: Holiday's signature set-closer was the first protest song to sell a million copies; she had to fight to record and release it. But instead, Ayre sensitively pulls together the stories connected to Strange Fruit – the smell of magnolia and burning flesh that sparked the American civil rights movement after Till's murder. Holiday and her well-documented pain become a footnote. Abel Meeropol, the schoolteacher who wrote Strange Fruit after being horrified by pictures of people picnicking by trees with bodies swinging from them, is remembered by his son. One voice, Sylvia Wong Lewis, talks about the bitter irony of Strange Fruit and its unpopularity with black audiences. "It was familiar and we knew it … but it was such a sad song." Another, April Shipp, explains her handmade quilt, bearing the names of 5,000 lynched men, women and children. "I cried every day I worked on it … I still cry when I touch it. If no one else remembers their names, I remember them," she says. "I stand for these people." theguardian.com © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds       |
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