The Great Madiba*

I have previously mentioned on this blog that I have a bit of a thing for Nelson Mandela. I try not too bring this up too much, but when you happen to think that someone was the greatest human who has ever lived then it can be a touch tricky. I also promised myself that I would not do another 1 man adulation-fest for a while either, but today happens to be his ninety fourth (yes, 94th) birthday, so I felt that one might be appropriate.

Nelson Mandela was born in 1918 as the son of a Xhosa tribeschief, and was originally named Rolihlahla, or ‘troublemaker’ (the name Nelson was given to him when he attended school). South Africa at the time was still not far out of the Boer war, which has been a difficult one for historians to take sides in- the British, lead by Lord Kitchener of the ‘Your Country Needs You’ WWI posters, took the opportunity to invent the concentration camp whilst the Dutch/German descended Boers who both preached and practiced brutal racial segregation. It wasn’t until 1931 that South Africa was awarded any degree of independence from Britain, and not until 1961 that it became officially independent.

However, a far more significant political event occurred in 1948, with the coming to power of the National Party of South Africa, which was dominated by white Afrikaners. They were the first government to come up with apartheid, a legal and political system that enforced the separation of white & black South Africans in order to maintain the (minority group) whites’ political power. Its basic tenet was the dividing of all people into one of four groups. In descending order of rank, they were White, Coloured, Indian (a large racial group in South Africa- in fact a young Mahatma Gandhi spent a lot of time in the country before Mandela was born and pioneered his methods of peaceful protest there) and Black. All had to carry identification cards and all bar whites were effectively forbidden to vote. The grand plan was to try and send all ‘natives’ bar a few workers to one of ten ‘homelands’ to leave the rest of the country for white South Africans. There were a huge number of laws, many of which bore a striking resemblance to those used by Hitler to segregate Jews, to enforce separation (such as the banning of mixed marriages), and even a system to be up- (or even down-) graded in rank.

Mandela was 30 when apartheid was introduced, and began to take an active role in politics. He joined the black-dominated African National Congress (ANC) and began to oppose the apartheid system. He originally stuck to Gandhi’s methods of nonviolent protest and was arrested several times, but he became frustrated as protests against the government were brutally opposed and he began to turn to more aggressive measures. In the early sixties he co-founded and lead the ANC’s militant (some would say terrorist) wing, coordinating attacks on symbols of the Apartheid regime. This mainly took the form of sabotage attacks against government offices & such (he tried to avoid targeting or hurting people), and Mandela later admitted that his party did violate human rights on a number of occasions. Mandela was even forbidden to enter the United States without permission until 2008, because as an ANC member he had been classified a terrorist.

Eventually the law caught up with him, and Mandela was arrested in 1962. Initially jailed for 5 years for inciting workers to strike, he was later found guilty of multiple counts of sabotage and sentenced to life imprisonment (only narrowly escaping the death penalty, and once turning up to court in full Xhosa ceremonial dress). He was transported to the imfamously tough Robben Island prison and spent the next 18 years, between the ages of 45 and 58, working in a lime quarry. As a black, and a notorious political prisoner, Mandela was granted few, if any, privileges, and his cell was roughly the same size as a toilet cubicle. However, whilst inside, his fame grew- his image of a man fighting the oppressive system spread around the world and gained the apartheid system notoriety and hatred. In fact, the South African intelligence services even tried to get him to escape so they could shoot him and remove him from his iconic status. There were numerous pleas and campaigns to release him, and by the 1980s things had come to a head- South African teams were ostracised in virtually every sport (including rugby, a huge part of the Afrikaner lifestyle), and the South African resort of Sun City had become a total pariah for almost every western rock act to visit, all amidst a furious barrage of protests.

After Robben Island, Mandela spent a further 9 years in mainland prisons during which time he refined his political philosophy. He had also learned to speak Afrikaans and held many talks with key government figures who were overblown by both his physical presence (he had been a keen boxer in his youth) and his powerful, engaging and charming force of personality. In 1989, things took a whole new turn with the coming to power of FW de Klerk, who I rate as the South African equivalent of Mikhael Gorbachev. Recognising that the tides of power were against his apartheid system, he began to grant the opposition concessions, unbanning the ANC and, in 1990, releasing Mandela after nearly three decades in prison (Mandela holds the world record for the longest imprisonment of a future president). Then followed four long, strained years of negotiations of how to best redress the system, broken by a famous visit to the Barcelona Olympics and a joint awarding, in 1993, of the Nobel Peace prize to both Mandela and de Klerk, before the ANC got what it had spent all its years campaigning for- the right for black citizens to vote.

Unsurprisingly Mandela (by now aged 75) won a landslide in the elections of 1994 and quickly took apart the apartheid regime. However, many white South Africans lived in fear of what was to come- the prospect of ‘the terrorist’ Mandela now having free reign to persecute them as much as he liked was quite terrifying one, and one that had been repeated multiple times in other local African nations (perhaps the best example is Zimbabwe, where Robert Mugabe went from the first black leader of a new nation to an aggressive dictator who oppressed his people and used the race card as justification). Added to that, Mandela faced the huge political challenges of a country racked by crime, unemployment and numerous issues ranging from healthcare to education.

However, Mandela recognised that the white population were the best educated and controlled most of the government, police force and business of his country, so had to be placated. He even went so far as to interrupt a meeting of the national sports council to persuade them to revoke a decision to drop the name and symbol of the Springboks (South Africa’s national rugby side, and a huge symbol of the apartheid regime) to try and keep them happy. His perseverance paid off- the white population responded to his lack of prejudice by turning a boom in international trade caused by apartheid’s end into a quite sizeable economic recovery. Even Springboks became unifying force for his country, being sent off to coaching clinics in black townships and being inspired to such an extent by Mandela and his request for South Africans of all creeds to get behind the team that they overcame both their underdogs tag and the mighty New Zealand (and more specifically their 19 stone winger who ran 100m in under 11 seconds, Jonah Lomu) to win their home World Cup in 1995, igniting celebrations across the country and presenting South Africa as the Rainbow Nation Mandela had always wanted it to be. Despite his age, declining health he would only ever sleep for a few hours every night (claiming he rested long enough in prison). donated a quarter of his salary to charity on the grounds that he felt it was too much, and had to juggle his active political life around a damaged family life (his second wife having divorced from him & his children having some disagreements with his politics).

It would have been easy for Mandela to exact revenge upon his former white oppressors, stripping them of their jobs, wealth and privilege in favour for a new, black-orientated system- after all, blacks were the majority racial group in the country. But this is what makes Mandela so special- he didn’t take the easy option. He was not, and has never been, a black supremacist, nor one given to knee-jerk reactions- he believed in equality for all, including the whites who had previously not extended such a fair hand to him. He showed the world how to ‘offer the other cheek’ (in Gandhi’s words), and how to stand up for something you believe in. But most importantly, he showed us all that the world works best when we all give up thoughts of vengeance, and petty selfishness, and we instead come together as a brotherhood of humanity. Mandela’s legacy to the world will none be of his brilliant political mind, nor the education, healthcare or economic systems he put in place to revive his country, or even the extraordinary dedication, perseverance and strength of will he showed throughout his long years behind bars. Nelson Mandela taught the world how to be a human being.

*Madiba was Mandela’s Xhosa name, and he is referred to affectionately as such by many South Africans

Gaming continued…

Okay, gaming again (I have got to get a LOT better at writing only one post per topic). Last time I did my own analysis of the ‘games make people violent’ accusation so often levelled at them. My plan was to devote this post to expounding upon a number of other issues that people tend to take with gaming, but part way through writing it I realised that the only ones typically levelled at gaming by non-gamers could all be basically grouped under one heading, so you instead are getting another in-depth analysis of a single complaint about gaming

So, without further ado…

2) ‘Games are a waste of time/are antisocial/make you fat’
The one my parents always used to take serious issue with, and if I’m honest it’s a perfectly valid concern. Games tie you to a computer or TV screen for hours upon end, seemingly endlessly shooting bad guys, running through cities or conquering vast swathes of human civilisation. Not only that, but this time there is PLENTY of evidence showing how this can get out of hand- game addiction can get to be a serious problem for some people, to the extent that it starts to have a seriously debilitating effect on the rest of their life (For a good example, check out this: http://extra-credits.net/episodes/game-addiction-part-1/ and then move onto part two. I would also recommend checking out some more of Extra Credits if you get a chance- they do some really great video lectures on the subject of gaming, which can be kind of nerdy but really good to watch). I’ve never been sufficiently in to games to get properly addicted to them, and even the most game-obsessed of my friends only fit into the ‘hardcore-but-still-casual-gamers’ bracket (for most of them, gaming is just the main thing they do outside of the day-to-day, and as such the hours tend to rack up a bit. This might also explain why so many of them are single). However, everyone knows the stories of the addicts, the people who’ll complete the latest Call of Duty within a few hours of release, the people who spend 10 hours a day on World of Warcraft and refer to everyone as a noob, the people who somehow allow Starcraft II to be the national sport of South Korea and whose actions per minute rate make a concert pianist look lazy and sluggish. Then there is the stereotypical image that gets lambasted and piss-taken by the internet generally, and that has entered web culture as the very picture of the stereotypical hardcore nerd gamer- the obese mid-twenties guy, living in his parents’ basement fuelled by energy drinks and fast food and dedicating his life to Star Wars, being angry on the internet, and gaming. Lots of gaming. This image may be largely fanciful, but its very existence shows that there is a world of game addicts to point and laugh at, and the fact that they are there points to the existence of game addiction as a large-scale problem.

Clearly, addiction to games, just as with nicotine, alcohol or adrenaline, can be a very dangerous thing, and I am not even going to begin to defend the indefensible by denying that fact. But what about the rest of us? What about the casual gamers, the people who like a few hours of Skyrim of a weekend or whatever? What about the few hours we like to kill- does that qualify as ‘wasting time’?

It is quite easy to say yes to that idea- I mean, lets face it, games are not something you do to demonstrate your superlative contribution to the human race. Think of people like Ranulph Fiennes, Ellen MacArthur, Nelson Mandela or any other inspiring figure who springs to mind as an example of the pinnacle of human achievement in their field. Now, ask yourself- can you picture any of them spending 3 hours on a sofa playing Battlefield? Chances are the answer’s no.

However, there is one thing in this argument that I take issue with, and which leads me to reject the whole ‘waste of time’ idea- the very concept of a ‘waste of time’. Yes, whilst gaming you are not in any way being productive- but neither are you doing so if you are watching TV, playing in the garden, going to a film, chatting with friends, reading a book- I could go on. Even the most amazing people on earth need their down time occasionally, when they can stop being special and just be themselves- just be happy in the state of absorbed flow a good film, book or game, both digital and real-life, can inspire. People play games as a release, a way to relax and enjoy themselves. Different emotions may make you want to play different games (you would not, for instance, play a dark survival horror game to chill after a long day), but the point stands- one plays games to take your mind off the day-to-day, to compel oneself, and to enjoy oneself. Your brain needs that down time, that time left to its own devices, where the pressures of work and school aren’t constantly chipping away at it. Productive? Of course not. Waste of time? Not a chance

Death post Mk. II

I must begin this post with an apology- the topic of this blog is again going dark. I know that the last time I touched on this is was both a) rubbish and b) weird, but this is something I feel like I need to get off my chest- this is about self-harm and suicide.
I have, in my life, thought of suicide once. And I mean once- I spent most of the rest of that day internally beating myself over the head, each thump made up of a reason as to just why it was such a stupid, horrible idea. But it happened. This was at the very depths of my depression- I was lonely, I was angry, and, worst of all, I had very little idea about how to get out, or exactly what was going on. In hindsight I hadn’t been thinking it through properly, but I’m wandering off-topic.
In Britain, around five and a half thousand people commit suicide every year, although I recently saw another statistic that suggested less than one in seven people with suicidal intent ever go on to kill themselves. The human race has a base instinct for self -preservation, and many people, even though they may question their worth, their value, their purpose, will find it near-impossible to get up the courage to kill themselves. This is in fact a major cause of self-harm; people who want to (to some degree) commit suicide, and may even half-attempt to, but who find themselves unable to go all the way, ending up merely inflicting damage. However this is far from the only reason- two other particularly common ones are an almost self-indulgent sense of revelling in one’s own suffering, similar to what I discussed in last week’s post about depression, and as a kind of plea for help.
I have refrained from calling the latter ‘attention-seeking’, because it demeans the level of pain the sufferer is experiencing. Mental health issues, depression and unhappiness can slaughter a soul (as, again, I have posted previously), and the level to which a human being must descend to contemplate harming themselves, or considering killing themselves, is a truly horrible thing. There may be a tendency among people to classify the above two reasons for self-harm as ‘selfish’ or ‘stupid’, but this is just plain wrong. The ideas themselves are illogical, yes, to a rational, non-depressed brain. To someone who feels that they have no way out and are in a state of despair, it can seem almost natural. If someone, anyone you know, ever self-harms or thinks of doing so, then that is the time to put your life to one side, for it is time to help save another.
Self-harm is one thing- suicide is an entirely different kettle of fish. I have already spoken about the depravity of murder, and its impact, and the impact of suicide is the same if not worse. Suicide deprives families of siblings, parents and children, couples of partners, social circles of friends. It leaves a gap in the world. Then there is the impact for those in the immediate vicinity- the train driver who saw someone jump on the line, the hotel maid who found someone in the bath with slashed wrists, the person who the building-jumper landed next to. The trauma of events like that will live with people for the rest of their lives.
But, this stuff is what potential suicides know- rationally anyway, as this stuff can be very difficult for the soul to comprehend. So, instead of listing more incoherent ramblings, I am going to explain why I have never seriously thought of suicide, and why I live how I do. I hope it can help you too.

Throughout my life, I have always been willing to fight and work as hard as I can to be the best I can be, and live my life to its fullest. Why? Well, because the core tenet of my belief is that life is something with potential- endless potential. No matter how much crap life throws in your face, there is a way for you to battle on through it and make of life what you will, what you can. This is something that many people find hard to believe, or in the case of some who I know, simply refuse to. This is where I draw on my inspiration. People have had to fight far harder, against far steeper odds than me, in the pursuit of goals far loftier and more inaccessible than my own, and they have triumphed. Think Nelson Mandela- born in a Xhosa village in a country where racism was ingrained into the psyche and law, he spent his entire life fighting for his people’s equality. After spending over a quarter of his life in an island prison, he not only served as President for 5 years and won a Nobel Peace Prize, but now is one of the most internationally recognised and respected men on Earth (and incidentally my all-time hero). Think  William Kamkwamba, a Malawian teenager who, after being forced to drop out of school when a famine slashed his family’s income, used knowledge gained from a children’s library book to harness wind power and provide electricity to his village. He is now on a scholarship in South Africa and has delivered speeches to packed audiences across the world. Stephen Hawking was diagnosed with motor neurone disease 50 years ago, a disease that would render him almost totally paralysed, unable to move or speak, and was given just months to live. He is now 70, a giant in the field of theoretical physics, the most advanced science of the modern age, and is publicly acclaimed as one of the most intelligent people on earth. I could go on. No matter how low your life gets, it is never, no matter the situation, impossible to turn things around. That is what keeps me going. That is the mental state that has kept me firmly away from thoughts of suicide

As Thomas Jefferson once wrote, it is an “unalienable truth” that every human is entitled to the rights of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”. Rights, the first and last especially, that everybody should exercise.