Mandela: the icon who outgrew his country

Ten years ago this month, South Africa changed for ever when it held its first all-race elections. Shaun Johnson, who works closely with the man who led his nation out of apartheid, charts his transition from national hero to world icon

It is 2 July 2003, in a hall as grand as Great Britain can muster, and a setting as far from a traditional African seat of power as one could conjure. A scene is developing, like a photograph in a tray, and it depicts the extraordinary metamorphosis of Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela into the most revered human being in the world.

It is 2 July 2003, in a hall as grand as Great Britain can muster, and a setting as far from a traditional African seat of power as one could conjure. A scene is developing, like a photograph in a tray, and it depicts the extraordinary metamorphosis of Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela into the most revered human being in the world.

Among red, ornate throne-like seats on a raised dais in a room so pomp-filled it makes the guests in the packed hall feel they inhabit a dreamscape, are gathered powerful and famous men - mostly from the northern hemisphere. Here is the British Prime Minister, Tony Blair, bobbing on the balls of his feet, pumping the hands of dignitaries. Here too is the former US president Bill Clinton, wafting his effortless aura over the VIPs on the stage. Here are many others who, on another night, would command star billing themselves: the former Australian prime minister Bob Hawke, the former Canadian PM Brian Mulroney, the Rhodes Trust chairman Lord Waldegrave, New York's former mayor David Dinkins, the head of De Beers, Nicky Oppenheimer - the list is a long one.

They are distracted, awaiting the arrival of the most famous of them all. When at last he is sighted, silhouetted between the gigantic doors of Westminster Hall, it is all the room can do to stop itself from spontaneously combusting. Nelson Mandela, the retired octogenarian leader of a country on the southern extremity of the world's poorest continent, has arrived, and the night is his. This is a far cry from the days when black South African leaders travelled to the imperial capital as supplicants.

As Mandela makes his beaming way up the long centre aisle, the assembled guests - 1,000 and more of them - look and sound for a moment like nothing more than superannuated pop fans. It is an extraordinary sight, and Blair and Clinton step back for the star of the show.

The scene gives visual expression to the transcendent stature that has developed around this South African icon, now claimed by the world. No amount of First World political choreography could have faked this status. And this makes it all the more intriguing to ask the question: if it is true that no one could have predicted this outcome at the time of Mandela's release from a South African prison in 1990, then how did it come about?

It is telling that when a panel sat to consider candidates for South Africa's politician of the decade, Nelson Mandela was "disqualified" from contention. As he should have been. He belongs in a category that defies easy definitions. Even naming him South Africa's Man of the Decade seems a little like giving Albert Einstein a Most Improved Student award. For not only is he unquestionably the commanding moral figure in all South Africa's history; he is quite plausibly that of the entire 20th century. Let us scroll back 10 years to try to scratch the surface of the phenomenon.

In 1994 the man who four years earlier had been the world's most famous (but silenced) political prisoner was on the brink of becoming the first democratic president of a country not many in the global community gave a chance of sealing the faultlines of its history. He was a celebrity, yes, but an icon only to his committed followers. This was to change dramatically.

His political trajectory might have been expected to follow a course in which he became a successful president of his country for the remainder of his career, notching up admirable political achievements in reconciliation and reconstruction after apartheid, but not global adulation. Instead, he insisted on stepping down from the presidency after only one term, and by the end of the millennium personified hope and integrity for a brutalised world.

In trying to trail this transition, it could be argued that Nelson Mandela became too important to stay President of South Africa - or of any other mere country, for that matter. This is not something he himself has ever said, or likely even thought. But it has become true over time.

The evolution to timeless icon was never planned, but a world that was to become increasingly troubled needed a Nelson Mandela. Global developments have accelerated this transition.

It is not coincidental that now, in his 86th year, he, his family, his advisers and staff are focused on honing the work of the family of three distinct, but linked, "legacy organisations" that bear his name: the Nelson Mandela Foundation and the Nelson Mandela Children's Fund, based in Johannesburg, and the Mandela Rhodes Foundation in Cape Town. It is considered important that the operations of these institutions be seen to be valid and measurable in their own right, not necessarily relying on the involvement of their patron and founder.

In terms of his public appearances it is enough, now, for Mandela simply to be present to have his effect. His charisma and sense of the profound gesture (such as the Betsy Verwoerd tea-taking, the Rugby World Cup final of 1995, and his appearance at the recent 46664 HIV/Aids concert) are well documented, but at this stage of the post-presidential years,"Madiba" need not make an address - he has merely to be, to have this impact on people.

Watching this at first hand, anywhere in the world, is enough to make one gasp. There is an embodiment and a transmission of goodness, moral courage, humour. And the magical smile - the gift of being able to make other people feel better about themselves. This is not just about a mega-celebrity in an era besotted with fame. It is beyond that; a new category we must still understand properly and define, and wonder whether we will be lucky enough to witness again. It seems inevitable that there will, in time, be revisionists who will attempt to fashion an industry out of the "revelation" that Mandela was not perfect after all. They will probably wait until the man himself is no longer with us, and one wishes they would not bother. He would agree wholeheartedly, and write the critique himself, had he the time. This is such a big part of his true greatness; ordinary human failings of judgment, but never of principle.

So there again is the proud sight of Mandela holding transfixed the great and good in Westminster Hall, three years in to the new millennium. His delivery is not as clear and assured as it once was, and he strains to hear these days. Still, every person in the room feels enriched. He is talking of Walter Sisulu, delivering a homily about the principles of simplicity and integrity that drove his friend's life, and he is graciously identifying Sisulu, not himself, as the great intellectual of their movement. He is talking more as a prophet than a politician. Now he is leaving the hall, supported on either side by Blair and Clinton. He is walking more as a prophet than a politician.

Shaun Johnson is the chief executive of the Mandela Rhodes Foundation

'Mr M' and a talent for mischief

Nelson Mandela has the world's greatest smile. But he has also a big, naughty twinkle in his eye. It is fascinating to watch, and to wonder when, frankly, he is kidding or serious. I often imagine that he might, just for fun, speak utter gibberish because he realises that he can say anything he likes and be taken seriously.

To an overly earnest questioner, asking why he decided to compromise with the apartheid regime, he replied: "We wanted to inherit their road system intact." To the question of why he appears not to hate the former oppressors: "They did a lot for me. They locked me up for 27 years, meaning that by the time I came out I was too old to be corruptible." To every woman he ever meets; "Oh, you must be a beauty queen!"

Does he himself quite like the megastardom? Oh yes indeed. He has enormous presence and is not uncomfortable with his royal role, in a sense assuming it is his proper due.

In Johannesburg, in the suburb of Houghton which once was the apogee of white South African aspiration, there now stands the elegant home of the Nelson Mandela Foundation. "Mr M" has an office there, and he pops in when he feels like it - no one knows when. His office overlooks a fecund highveld garden, where some of the lucky ones who work in his name go out to have a cigarette. Their worst nightmare is when that unforgettable silhouette rises up in the window and roars down: "What is that in your mouth?" And we scamper off like schoolchildren, to hide behind the bike sheds!