The Blood-Stained Miracle
My first trip to South Africa was not to Cape Town or Johannesburg but to Bloemfontein, a city near the border of Lesotho, where I had been visiting. Some in our group needed to make a visa run, and we also needed supplies unavailable in Lesotho. It was 2013, and what I encountered there shocked me.
Our van carried a mixed group: a few white American missionaries, a few black Sesotho people, and our fearless leader—an Afrikaner. He was the first Afrikaner I had ever met, and he left a strong impression. He is full of life and full of love for the Lord.
We stopped at a grocery store where everyone needed to use the restroom. The white staff escorted some of us to the “white” restrooms while the black Africans among us were told to use an outside shed marked for “black”. Horrified, our friends were stunned that such blatant racism still existed. In solidarity, we all chose not to give the store our business. I felt as if I had stepped into a time machine—back to the segregation days my grandparents spoke about but that I had never personally experienced.
This was decades after Nelson Mandela’s release from prison and the official end of apartheid. Yet segregation persisted. Our drive back to Lesotho sparked deep conversations. It was then I began to understand the beauty of what Mandela had accomplished—and the way South Africans were willing to openly wrestle with their racist past. One missionary in our group, who had lived in Rwanda, contrasted this with Rwanda’s tragedy. After the genocide, the government forbade acknowledgment of ethnicity—no one could publicly identify as Hutu or Tutsi—and dissent was closely monitored by government agents on every block. Post-genocide Rwanda, he explained, resembled North Korea more than a free nation. By contrast, South Africa, despite its many struggles, was at least attempting to deal with its past openly—a much healthier path, according to my Afrikaner friend.
This week, we read After Mandela and Anatomy of a Miracle. Both, written by foreign journalists, document the end of apartheid and the challenges South Africa has faced since. I have also read Nelson Mandela’s own account, Long Walk to Freedom. Each book brings a different focus, but together they reveal an important truth: reconciliation is not an event; it is a journey. It is messy, painful, and complicated. It requires bridge-builders. Mandela was one of those bridge-builders, alongside President de Klerk. Their shared commitment to reconciliation changed the course of history in South Africa.
One way Mandela built bridges was by deliberately crossing ethnic and cultural lines. As Waldmeir notes, “By volunteering to speak the language so detested by his followers, Mandela sent signals of good faith that did much to calm Afrikaner fear of cultural annihilation.”[1] Similarly, de Klerk released Mandela from prison, re-established the freedom of the ANC, and began dismantling apartheid. Waldmeir observes, “De Klerk had removed most of the props from apartheid’s house of cards, but it was still refusing to fall. Segregation persisted in health (where it was illegal), in schools (where it had not yet been abolished), and in libraries and swimming pools.”[2]
Waldmeir describes the end of apartheid as nothing short of miraculous. She asks:
So how is it that white South Africans—scarcely renowned for their good sense in the decades of apartheid—managed finally to accept the dictates of reason? How could black South Africans subdue hatred and reject revenge to defy the logic of a tortured past that might have doomed them to ceaseless conflict? Why did the Afrikaner hand over power? What was it that catapulted this dour, Calvinistic, Old Testament people so abruptly into the modern world?[3]
But this “miracle” was not clean. It was stained with blood, sweat, and tears. The journey since has been difficult. In her postscript, Waldmeir admits: “Since this book was written, South Africa’s euphoria has faded, leaving South Africans with a massive post-liberation hangover, and a painful case of depressed spirits.”[4] Russell, in Anatomy of a Miracle, emphasizes the internal battles within the ANC and the uneven commitment of its leaders to racial reconciliation. Yet, he holds hope that in time, “the poison of apartheid can be steadily diluted as the years pass and that, after a period of dutiful arm’s-length cooperation, future generations can somehow grow up free of the prejudices that have so long divided the country.”[5]
Meanwhile, my own nation feels torn apart. Just days ago, we lost Charlie Kirk, and now narratives and counter-narratives are flying. Our current leadership seems more interested in burning down bridges than building them. Reading about South Africa reminds me that while our situation is not the same, division is escalating at an alarming rate. Even so, these books give me hope. They remind me that even when things seem bleak, reconciliation is still possible.
Given more space, I would like to explore the kind of leader Mandela was and the leadership styles he embodied. As we venture to Cape Town next week, I will continue reflecting on the long walk out of racist ideologies—and what that means for us, in this specific time, in America as well.
I’ll leave you with Mandela’s words and a photo of Table Mountain in Cape Town which after climbing up the backside of it reminds me of Mandela’s statement :
I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret: after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom come responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet ended.[6]
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[1] Patti Waldmeir, Anatomy of a Miracle: The End of Apartheid and the Birth of the New South Africa (W. W. Norton, 1997), 16.
[2] Waldmeir, Anatomy of a Miracle, 196.
[3] Waldmeir, Anatomy of a Miracle, 2.
[4] Waldmeir, Anatomy of a Miracle, 287.
[5] Alec Russell, ed., After Mandela: The Battle for the Soul of South Africa (Windmill books, 2010), 51.
[6] Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom: Autobiography of Nelson Mandela, 1. ed (Little, Brown, 1994), 625.
About the Author
Adam Cheney
I grew up in California, spent five years living along the beautiful coast of Kenya and now find myself working with refugees in the snow crusted tundra of Minnesota. My wife and I have seven children, four of whom have been adopted. I spend my time drinking lots of coffee, working in my garden, and baking sourdough bread.One response to “The Blood-Stained Miracle”
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Thanks for the post mate. Looking forward to seeing you next week. From your experience in Africa, and South Africa, what do you think are the most essential qualities leaders need in order to sustain that journey over the long haul?”