The Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster (Lord Hill of Oareford) (Con)
My Lords, 50 years ago, almost to the day, this House met to pay tribute to a foreign statesman. Then, our tributes were for President Kennedy, a man seen to embody hope and change but whose life was cut short, his promise unfulfilled. Today, we pay tribute to Nelson Mandela, another man who epitomised hope and change but whose life was long and whose promise, towards the end of that long life, was triumphantly fulfilled. Although we are here to pay tribute to his achievements, I know that the whole House will want to send its deepest condolences to Mr Mandela’s family and friends, as well as to the people of South Africa, who have lost their leading light.
The story of Mr Mandela’s life—from herding cattle, to study, to struggle, to setback, to imprisonment and finally to victory—is so like a fable that it is easy to think that there was always bound to be a happy ending. That was not so. For 27 long years in prison, the struggle must have seemed endless and, at times, without hope. However, Mr Mandela did not give up, nor did he compromise his principles, even when release from prison was dangled in front of him. In his resistance, he was supported by many in this country and, indeed, in this House, most notably by the noble Lord, Lord Joffe. To their great credit, trade unionists, academics, journalists, politicians and people up and down the country campaigned tirelessly for his release. That came in 1990. Elected president of the ANC the following year, he, along with FW de Klerk, won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993. Then, in South Africa’s first universal and non-racial elections, he became president in 1994. Macmillan’s winds of change had at last blown through South Africa.
If Mr Mandela’s first historic achievement was the moral leadership that he provided in the overthrow of apartheid, his second was the extraordinary way in which he brought about reconciliation and led his country away from violence and civil war. On his release from prison, he was passionate, not angry, and magnanimous, not bitter. How many of us, if we had been kept in prison for 27 years and been prevented from attending the funerals of our own mother and son, would have had the moral strength and political wisdom to forgive our enemies? That South Africa at last respected the political destinies of free men and did so without a violent revolution was undoubtedly due in large part to Mr Mandela’s extraordinary grace as a human being after his release from prison.
Having become president, Mr Mandela then stood down after just one term—a rarity among leaders from any country. However, the end of his presidency did not signal the end of his work to create a better South Africa. He campaigned tirelessly for more research into HIV and AIDS and for better education and treatment. He named his HIV and AIDS fundraising campaign after his Robben Island prison number and made a huge impact by announcing to the world that his own son had died of AIDS. He used his moral authority on the world stage to persuade other leaders to take action on AIDS, leaving a legacy that will be felt by generations to come.
Mr Mandela’s statue rightly stands next to Abraham Lincoln’s in Parliament Square. He wears a free-flowing shirt; his arm is raised in oratory and open welcome. His connection with this Building is a real one. In 1996, he addressed both Houses during a state visit as president, making a passionate plea for people around the world to work together to build a new Africa; and, in 2000, he returned to be made an honorary Queen’s Counsel under the noble and learned Lord, Lord Irvine of Lairg, as Lord Chancellor.
It would be easy to slip into hagiography in talking about Nelson Mandela, but we do not have to pretend that he was a saint to recognise his achievements and his extraordinary power over the imagination of the world. In his inaugural address as President of South Africa, Mr Mandela said:
“Let freedom reign. The sun shall never set on so glorious a human achievement”—
a fitting epitaph for the life of Nelson Mandela himself.
The Advocate-General for Scotland (Lord Wallace of Tankerness) (LD)
My Lords, I associate those of us on the Liberal Democrat Benches with the condolences expressed by the Leader and shadow Leader of the House to the family of Nelson Mandela and to the people of South Africa.
It is a reflection of the stature of Nelson Mandela, of a life conspicuous for the breadth of his humanity, and the profundity of his messages of reconciliation and inspirational hope, that tributes such as this will be being paid in parliaments and assemblies on every continent. But more than that, as befits a man who radiated such humility, tributes and prayers have been said not just by Prime Ministers and Presidents, but by ordinary people of every colour and creed.
I never had the honour of meeting Mr Mandela, but as he was leaving Westminster Hall after addressing both Houses of Parliament in 1996, he stopped at the end of the row I was sitting in to talk to two young children. I suspect that the noble Baroness, Lady Boothroyd, remembers that he stopped at the end of many rows. I cannot put adequately into words the experience. Yes, it was his humanity; maybe, too, it was the proximity of someone who had endured so much and subsequently achieved so much for his people and his country; maybe it was his challenging words still ringing in my ears; but to say that his presence was magnetic would barely start to describe the aura of the man.
However, on the one occasion in my political life when my responsibilities brought me into Nelson Mandela’s orbit, I confess that I had to dare to disagree. Although he had wished a court in a neutral country with international judges to try the two men accused of the bombing of Pan Am flight 103 over Lockerbie, President Mandela’s initiative eventually led to the handing over of the two men and their trial in the Scottish court in the Netherlands. In 2002, he visited the one man convicted, Abdelbaset al Megrahi, in Barlinnie prison. The BBC’s “Reporting Scotland” that night had an interview with Mr Mandela calling for Mr Megrahi’s removal to a prison in a Muslim country such as Egypt or Tunisia to serve out his sentence. This was followed by an interview with me, as Scottish Justice Minister, saying that the Scottish Government’s view was that we should abide by the UN resolution establishing the process, whereby any sentence would be served in a Scottish prison. Watching the programme at home in Orkney, my teenage daughter asked my wife, “So does that mean Nelson Mandela’s criticising my dad?”. When Rosie replied, “Probably, yes”, Clare thought for a moment and said, “Now that’s cool”.
That underlines the point that Nelson Mandela’s legendary status was understood and recognised across the generations as well as across continents. Young people who could not possibly remember his walk from prison, or the crowds waiting to vote in South Africa’s first properly democratic elections, nevertheless recognise that they have been alive during the lifetime of such a towering figure. And just as we, today, revere names of past generations such as Lincoln, Wilberforce, Gandhi, who championed the struggle for freedom, so too will future generations revere the name of Nelson Mandela—a man who transcended generations just as he bridged cultures and healed divisions; and just as he did when he addressed us in 1996. He did not shy away from reminding us of our colonial record or the dismissive response given by our forebears in the early years of the last century, when, as he said, his,
“predecessors in the leadership of the African National Congress came to these venerable Houses to say to the government and the legislators of the time that they, the patricians, should come to the aid of the poor citizens”.
But consistent with his powerful message of reconciliation at home, he talked to us about “closing the circle”, and said:
“Despite that rebuff and the terrible cost we had to bear as a consequence, we return to this honoured place neither with pikes, nor a desire for revenge, nor, even, a plea to your distinguished selves to assuage our hunger for bread. We come to you as friends”.
He concluded by challenging us:
“To close the circle, let our peoples, the ones formerly poor citizens and the others good patricians—politicians, business people, educators, health workers, scientists, engineers and technicians, sports people and entertainers, activists for charitable relief—join hands to build on what we have achieved together and help construct a humane African world, whose emergence will say a new universal order is born in which we are each our brother’s, or sister’s, keeper … and herald the advent of a glorious summer of a partnership for freedom, peace, prosperity and friendship”.
Our lasting tribute to Nelson Mandela is to take that challenge to our hearts, and respond with our actions.
Lord Howe of Aberavon (Con)
My Lords, very briefly, perhaps I may add to the impressive tributes that have been paid by noble Lords on all sides of the House and reflect on the period, almost 30 years ago, when the Commonwealth was taking action as widely as it could to try to secure improvements in conditions in South Africa. It commissioned a group of wise men, who were sent out there to see what could be done at a time when Nelson Mandela had already spent 27 years on Robben Island. When the two selected—Tony Barber, a former Minister in this country, and Malcolm Fraser, a former Australian Prime Minister—went in to see Nelson Mandela, his first, most impressive, question was, “Can you tell me, is Don Bradman still alive?”. What more could he have said, even there, to those two in the prison and to the rest of us back here in Britain, to underline his qualification as something more than a citizen of South Africa—as a citizen of the world indeed? On that basis, I am sure that he deserved the support that he was already enjoying at that time.