Moment with Mandela

The first and only front page byline of my journalism career was when the Austin American-Statesman printed a feature I wrote from Johannesburg during the election of Nelson Mandela to the presidency. News of his death today came like a punch to the gut and took me back to a soccer field in Soweto on one of the most amazing and privileged days of my life. In the summer of 1994, I wrote an essay commemorating the day called "Thirty Six Hours in April." I left it on yellowing paper in a box of memorabilia until about five years ago, when the fifteenth anniversary of Mandela's election led me to transcribe it. Below is an excerpt:

"The morning after my arrival took me through downtown Johannesburg just hours after a hotel bomb had taken the lives of ninety people. The expectation was that there would be another. The young American unfamiliar with terrorism that I was wanted to will the car to move faster, to take me as far away from ground zero as possible. But the journalist I was in the process of becoming wanted nothing more than to stay riveted to the scene, to miss nothing of what might follow.

"Since I wasn’t driving, the choice wasn’t mine to make. Chris, a friend from Texas, was in control of the transportation, and he had other plans for us on Election Day Eve. He was a photographer, also there to cover history. With him, I was not a tourist for the momentous occasion; I was a member of the press corps and all that that entailed.

"We went to Soweto that afternoon, arriving at the tail end of a pre-election rally. With his press pass I was able to stand within inches of Mandela, my camera’s shutter in a non-stop whirl as I lifted the lens above and around the heads of journalists taller than I.

"Bishop Tutu was also at the rally in the soccer stadium, and it took only moments within yards of him to know that the CNN sound bites could convey neither his eloquence nor his seemingly endless supply of joy. The magnitude of respect he commanded was evidenced by how quickly the crowd parted at the first glimpses of his purple robes and how silent it fell – even the photographers - with just the raising of his hands.

"I had time to snap only one photo of the bishop before he literally danced his way toward the underground exit. But it couldn’t have been a more perfect picture of him: his hands were raised toward the sky, and he had a blinding smile on his face, as the fingers of random citizens reached out toward him to get one touch before he disappeared into the darkened tunnel.

"In my mind, the photos of these icons were already enlarged and encased in expensive frames far less valuable than the imprint of time they encapsulated. All I could think about, as I involuntarily flowed along with the river of the massive traveling press corps, was that I had proof.

"The ten-year-old 35-millimeter Canon, with no working flash and a long-ago shattered telephoto lens attachment, looked like a toy amidst the mammoth pieces of equipment hanging around the necks of the men (for they were all male) who unwittingly carried me squeezed between them. But my little camera had been enough. I held proof on film that I’d stood inches from embodiments of courage, resolve and faith too great for me to properly describe. Whatever the quality of the photos that emerged, they would hang on my wall for countless years to come.

"And just when I thought my bruised arms could protect my camera no longer, I was expelled from the throng by simply standing firmly planted in one spot while the river of testosterone and technical gadgets took a right turn to follow the future South African president. When returned to full daylight, I had a moment to survey the scene.

"The stage was small compared to the expanse of the soccer stadium. It was white, with a white tent protecting the remaining dignitaries from south-of-the-equator, early-autumn sunlight. The light-blue and white seats of the stadium seemed to make the stage brighter and imposed a sky-like quality to the entire venue. The green grass was all that kept the place grounded; it otherwise could have been a party in the clouds.

"And a party it was. Nelson Mandela had given a speech to a stadium of empty seats. Everyone had been on the ground, around the stage, as close as they could get to their all-but-guaranteed new leader.

"There was an unmistakable sense of inclusion, solidarity - sameness. While he was sure to be thrust into a fortress of protection once inaugurated and divided from the people he represented by necessity, that was still a month or more away. On that day, Mandela remained very much a member of the masses he was soon to govern."

And he appeared to stay that way throughout his presidency and until his health took him out of public view.

Nelson Mandela changed a country and the minds of countless numbers of his countrymen, staying beloved and revered around the world until the end of a long and illustrious life. I feel lucky to have had a moment in his presence on a special and celebratory day.