Sometime in July 1985, then Bishop Desmond Tutu was returning from a funeral on the outskirts of Johannesburg with some fellow Anglican clergy. Not far from the venue was another death in the making.
A man curled up in a fetal position was being pummeled by an irate mob. It was the prelude to being strung with a car tyre, doused with gasoline, set on fire and burnt to death. The gruesome practice called necklacing was the usual fate of black South Africans accused of collaborating with the apartheid government.
That man got lucky. As soon as Tutu saw what was happening, he waded right into the irate crowd, with the other clergy following his lead. He pushed away slugging hands and implored the crowd, “This is not how we do things.” The crowd listened and the man lived.
Nontombi Naomi Tutu, the archbishop’s 61-year-old daughter, recalled this incident in an interview with Reuters just after he died late in December.
“To see that and to see him going in, there were so many things striking about it,” Miss Tutu told Reuters. “One was that he had the courage to go into the crowd and… the other is that those young people listened.”
In the atmosphere of incendiary anger, those young men wouldn’t have listened to too many people. The archbishop put his moral capital on the line and it saved a man’s life. Of all the reasons to be proud of her father, Miss Tutu said that is the greatest. It also may well be the archbishop’s greatest lesson to the world of leadership.
When Tutu decided to pursue a career as a clergy, he was driven by theology and ministry. But the injustice and brutality of apartheid in South Africa pulled him into matters political. With Nelson Mandela and colleagues in prison and many of their associates “banned,” Tutu became the face of opposition.
As the bishop of Johannesburg and later archbishop of Cape Town, Tutu was uniquely positioned to take on apartheid. And that he did with courage and eloquence. For a soft-spoken man, he couldn’t have inveighed more loudly against apartheid from the pulpit, at the funerals of victims of apartheid, and in other public forums. Apartheid leaders hated him, but they couldn’t silence him. They resorted to trying to discredit him, but his integrity prevailed.
The end of apartheid in South Africa didn’t bring an end to Tutu’s political ministry. It was one thing to end apartheid, it was another to bring about healing and a just society. Drawing from his philosophy of restorative justice, he spearheaded the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. It provided a public forum in which survivors of apartheid’s brutality found solace by recounting their ordeals. And the perpetrators found clemency by confessing and seeking forgiveness.
Tutu said the hearings impressed upon him some important lessons about humanity: People commit the most horrifying acts, yet people are profoundly kind and magnanimous.
The commission’s work may have saved South Africa from a post-apartheid race war. But it couldn’t forestall a surge in black-on-black violence. And just as fiercely as Tutu attacked apartheid, he inveighed against this obstacle to the dividends of black political power.
Through it all, Tutu was especially concerned with the plight of the disenfranchised. That commitment didn’t change even with the end of white minority government. He continued to speak out for the poor and to be a critic of the new ruling party, the African National Congress.
Tutu is quick to note that apartheid left enduring scars, including on the black psyche. To drive home this point, he didn’t hesitate to tell a self-deprecating story. In press interviews, he recounted being in Nigeria for a conference and flying from Lagos to Jos. Something about the co-pilots elated him: they were both black. “I grew four inches taller,” he said.
But then when the flight hit severe turbulence, the pride turned into doubts about the competence of fellow blacks. “All of a sudden, I was wondering whether they could handle that, there is no white man in there,” he said. “Well, I am here,” he added, pensively bemused at the folly of his own thinking.
Even then, Tutu remained hopeful about the future of South Africa and Africa in general. To those who are pessimistic, he often pointed to the history of Europe. It is a continent that experienced the carnage of World I, World War II, the holocaust, yet today Africans look up to it as a place of peace and civility, Tutu reminded pessimists. So, Africa will transcend its current circumstances, he said.
Before his death at age 90, Tutu reflected on his mortality and hoped-for legacy. In the “Afterthoughts” to a biography published about nine months before his death, Tutu said that he would like to be remembered for his vision of a caring Christianity.
“When I am no longer on this planet in the physical form, I pray that I would have made a contribution in forming both a more mature consciousness and conscience for those who say they believe in God,” he wrote in Desmond Tutu: A Spiritual Biography of South Africa’s Confessor by Michael Battle, a long-time aide and colleague. “We cannot say that we believe in God if we hate each other —much less say we love God and do the same.” It is a legacy that would serve the world well.
Super Eagles’ soar
On the lighter side, the Super Eagles may have secured their place in the elimination round with their 1-0 victory over the Pharaohs of Egypt on Tuesday. Given that this article was submitted before the match against Sudan on Saturday, one can only state the expectation that they won.
Even if they didn’t, all they need to advance is a tie with Sudan and Guinea-Bissau. The resulting 5 points should be enough for a second place in Group D, assuming the Pharaohs win their next two matches.
But the Eagles must have their sight set on beating the remaining group members and earning the maximum nine points and first place. If the super performance against the Pharaohs is any indication, that is a very attainable goal. In fact, fans must be hoping for two-goal leads by match-ending to avert the cardiac moments of the game against Egypt.
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