Nelson Mandela’s greatness may be assured – but not his legacy

When my interview with him was over, he patted me on the arm as if to say I was forgiven for contradicting him.

When I reported from South Africa in the 1960s, the Nazi admirer B J Vorster occupied the prime minister’s residence in Cape Town. Thirty years later, as I waited at the gates, it was as if the guards had not changed. White Afrikaners checked my ID with the confidence of men in secure work. One carried a copy of Long Walk to Freedom, Nelson Mandela’s autobiography. “It’s very eenspirational,” he said.

Mandela had just had his afternoon nap and looked sleepy; his shoelaces were untied. Wearing a bright gold shirt, he meandered into the room. “Welcome back,” he said, bursting into a smile. “You must understand that to have been banned from my country is a great honour.” The sheer grace and charm of the man made you feel good. He chuckled about his elevation to sainthood. “That’s not the job I applied for,” he said drily.

Still, he was well used to deferential interviews and I was ticked off several times – “you completely forgot what I said” and “I have already explained that matter to you”. In brooking no criticism of the African National Congress (ANC), he revealed something of why millions of South Africans will mourn his passing but not his “legacy”.

I asked him why the pledges he and the ANC had given on his release from prison in 1990 had not been kept. The liberation government, Mandela had promised, would take over the apartheid economy, including the banks – and “a change or modification of our views in this regard is inconceivable”. But once in power, the party’s official policy to end the impoverishment of most South Africans, the Reconstruction and Development Programme, was abandoned, and one of his ministers boasted that the ANC’s politics were Thatcherite.

“You can put any label on it if you like,” Mandela replied. “. . . but, for this country, privatisation is the fundamental policy.”

“That’s the opposite of what you said in 1994.”

“You have to appreciate that every process incorporates a change.”

Few ordinary South Africans were aware that this “process” had begun in high secrecy more than two years before Mandela’s release, when the ANC in exile had, in effect, done a deal with members of the Afrikaner elite at a stately home, Mells Park House, near Bath. The prime movers were the corporations that had underpinned apartheid.

Around the same time, Mandela was conducting his own secret negotiations. In 1982, he had been moved from Robben Island to Pollsmoor Prison, where he could receive and entertain people. The apartheid regime’s aim was to split the resistance between the “moderates” that it could “do business with” (Mandela, Thabo Mbeki, Oliver Tambo) and those in the front-line townships who were leading the United Democratic Front. On 5 July 1989, Mandela was spirited out of prison to meet P W Botha, the white-minority president known as Die Groot Krokodil (“the big crocodile”). Mandela was delighted that Botha poured the tea.

With democratic elections in 1994, racial apartheid ended and economic apartheid had a new face. The Botha regime had offered black businessmen generous loans, allowing them to set up companies outside the Bantustans. A new black bourgeoisie emerged quickly, along with a rampant cronyism. ANC chieftains moved into mansions in “golf and country estates”. As the disparities between white and black narrowed, they widened between black and black.

The familiar refrain that the wealth would “trickle down” and “create jobs” was lost in dodgy merger deals and “restructuring” that cost jobs. For foreign companies, a black face on the board often ensured that nothing changed. In 2001 George Soros told the World Economic Forum in Davos, “South Africa is in the hands of international capital.”

In the townships, people felt little change and were subjected to evictions typical of the apartheid era; some expressed nostalgia for the “order” of the old regime. The postapartheid achievements in desegregating daily life in South Africa, including schools, were undercut by the extremes and corruption of a “neoliberalism” to which the ANC devoted itself. This led directly to state crimes such as the massacre of 34 miners at Marikana in 2012, which evoked the Sharpeville massacre more than half a century earlier. Both were protests about injustice.

Mandela, too, fostered crony relationships with wealthy whites from the corporate world, including those who had profited from apartheid. He saw this as part of “reconciliation”. Perhaps he and his beloved ANC had been in struggle and exile for so long that they were willing to accept and collude with the people’s enemy. There were those who genuinely wanted change, including a few in the South African Communist Party, but it was the reform-and-redeem influence of mission Christianity that may have left the most indelible mark. White liberals at home and abroad warmed to this, often ignoring or welcoming Mandela’s reluctance to spell out a coherent vision, as Amilcar Cabral and Pandit Nehru had done.

Mandela seemed to change in retirement, alerting the world to the post-9/11 dangers of George W Bush and Tony Blair. His description of Blair as “Bush’s foreign minister” was mischievously timed; Mbeki, his own successor, was about to visit Chequers. I wonder what he would make of the “pilgrimage” to his cell on Robben Island by Barack Obama, the unrelenting jailer of Guantanamo.

When my interview with him was over, he patted me on the arm as if to say I was forgiven for contradicting him. We walked to his silver Mercedes, which consumed his small grey head among a bevy of white men with huge arms and wires in their ears. One of them gave an order in Afrikaans and he was gone.

John Pilger’s film “Apartheid Did Not Die” can be viewed on johnpilger.com

Nelson Mandela in 1990. Photograph: Getty Images

John Pilger, renowned investigative journalist and documentary film-maker, is one of only two to have twice won British journalism's top award; his documentaries have won academy awards in both the UK and the US. In a New Statesman survey of the 50 heroes of our time, Pilger came fourth behind Aung San Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela. "John Pilger," wrote Harold Pinter, "unearths, with steely attention facts, the filthy truth. I salute him."

This article first appeared in the 15 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The New Machiavelli

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“Stop treating antibiotics like sweets”: the threat we face from antibioitic resistance

Currently, 700,000 people die per year from the resistance of microbes to medicine, and it is predicted that 10 million people will die per year by 2050.

Got a cold? Take some antibiotics. Feeling under the weather? Penicillin will patch you up. Or so the common advice goes. However, unless we start to rethink our dependency on antibiotics, a death every three seconds is the threat we potentially face from evolving resistance by microorganisms to the drugs. The stark warning was issued following a review which analysed the consequences we could face from needless administering of antibiotics.

The antimicrobial resistance (AMR) review was led by economist Jim O’Neill, who was tasked by the prime minister in 2014 with investigating the impact of growing resistance. Currently, 700,000 people die per year from the resistance of microbes to medicine, and the report predicts that 10 million people will die per year by 2050. An overwhelming global expense of $100trn will be the price to pay unless incisive, collaborative action is taken.

Antimicrobial resistance (as referred to in the title of the report) is an umbrella term for the resistance developed by microorganisms to drugs specifically designed to combat the infections they cause. Microorganisms include things such as bacteria, fungi, viruses and parasites. The report especially focused on the ramifications of increased resistance of microorganisms to anitbiotics.

Many medical procedures are dependent on the effectiveness of drugs such as antibiotics: treatments for cancer patients and antibiotic prophylaxis during surgeries, for example. All could be under threat by increased resistance. The continuing rise of resistant superbugs and the impotence of antibiotics would pose “as big a risk as terrorism”. A post-antibiotic world would spell dystopia.

Bacterial microbes develop resistance through evolutionary-based natural selection. Mutations to their genetic makeup are passed on to other bacteria through an exchange of plasmid DNA. Unnecessary prescriptions by doctors and inappropriate antibiotic usage by patients (such as half-finishing a course) also contribute. Over the years, a number of bacteria and viruses have found a way to counteract antibiotics used against them: E. Coli, malaria, tuberculosis and Staphylococcus aureus, to name a few.

The report employed the consultancy firms KPMG and Rand to undertake the analyses, and O’Neill outlines 10 different measures to tackle the issue. Key areas of focus include: global campaigns to expand public awareness, the upholding of financial and economic measures by pharmaceutical companies in the development of new medicines and vaccines as alternatives, greater sanitation to prevent infections spreading, and the creation of a Global Innovation Fund which will enable collective research.

O’Neill told the BBC:

“We need to inform in different ways, all over the world, why it’s crucial we stop treating our antibiotics like sweets. If we don’t solve the problem we are heading to the dark ages; we will have a lot of people dying. We have made some pretty challenging recommendations which require everybody to get out of the comfort zone, because if we don’t then we aren’t going to be able to solve this problem.”

In the foreword of the report, O’Neill states that over 1 million people have died from developing resistance since 2014. The urgency in tackling this issue is clear, which is why he has offered an incentive to companies to develop new treatments - a reward of more than $1 billion will be given to those who bring a successful new treatment to the market.

According to the report, the cost of successful global action would equate to $40bn over the next decade, which could result in the development of 15 new antibiotics. Small cuts to health budgets and a tax on antibiotics have been proposed as ways of achieving the financial quota for drug research.

Though the report has highlighted the severity of antibiotic resistance, some believe that the full extent of the matter isn’t sufficiently explored. O’Neill mentions that there are some secondary effects which haven’t been taken into account “such as the risks in carrying out caesarean sections, hip replacements, or gut surgery”. This suggests that alternative remedies should be found for non-surgical procedures, so that antibiotics aren’t made redundant in environments where they are most needed.

Since the analysis began in 2014, new types of resistance have surfaced, including a resistance to colistin, a drug which is currently used as a last-resort. Its affordability resulted in increased use, particularly as a component of animal feed, meaning greater opportunity for superbugs to develop resistance to even our most dependable of antibiotics.

Widespread drug resistance would prove to be a big issue for many charities tackling infections around the world. Dr Grania Bridgen from Médecins Sans Frontières told the BBC that the report addresses a “broad market failure”, which is important but isn’t enough.

Despite the mixed response to the report, it has had a seal of approval from the Wellcome Trust and the Department of Health. Speaking earlier this year, Chancellor George Osborne stated this issue “is not just a health problem but an economic one, too. The cost of doing nothing, both in terms of lives lost and money wasted, is too great, and the world needs to come together to agree a common approach.”

If antibiotics are to remain potent antidotes to infectious diseases in the future, we need to put a plan in motion now.