Sometimes, in journalism, you get to meet extraordinary people.
For me, Nelson Mandela was – is - a giant among them.
In November, 1999, Australia made the former South African President a Companion in the Order of Australia and the then Prime Minister John Howard presented the award on a visit to South Africa.
He’d been in Durban attending the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting. I was among the motley media crew covering the visit.
After CHOGM, we travelled to Pretoria and, at a very small ceremony in the home of High Commissioner David Connolly, we watched as the Prime Minister made the presentation.
News that makes sense
Your trusted source for staying up-to-date with the world around you. Get free daily news updates and analysis, straight to your inbox.
Like so many admirers worldwide, I’d followed Mandela’s remarkable story.
I’d danced to the Specials’ anthem Free Nelson Mandela and hoped for the day when he would, indeed, be free.
The day he was, in February 1990, I got up in the middle of the night at home in Australia to watch it live.
And there we were, almost a decade later, standing in an airy drawing room across the world, watching the great man receive Australia’s highest honour with his characteristic humility and humour.
John Howard was as struck by his presence as the rest of us.
“You are a person whose moral leadership, your moral depth, your political skill, your compassion, your capacity for forgiveness and reconciliation, have given to the world an example that I don’t think in our lifetime we will see again,” Howard told him.
Mandela spoke about having admired Australian soldiers who’d come to South Africa during World War II and had condemned the racism they saw there.
A small group of us crowded around him afterwards, trying not to be star-struck and failing completely. He was so very gracious, with a lightness about him which was notable for any leader, let alone one who had borne such a burden.
Years later, John Howard would describe him as one of the most impressive people he ever met and note that what struck him most was his lack of bitterness.
It was truly what shone brightest from the man.
Outside on the steps that day, Mandela chuckled and waved to the crowd of young children who’d been assembled.
As they sang in welcome, he did his famous little dance.
It made me cry to see it.
I cried again, today.
Rest well, Mr Mandela. And thanks.
