The Burden of Being a Superstar

By Bruce W. Nelan

If Nelson Mandela had been a dutiful young man, respectful of tradition and authority, he would have grown up to be a chief of the Tembu tribe in the South African homeland of Transkei. Instead he rebelled against tribal ways, an arranged marriage and the white government's brutal apartheid system. He eventually became the world's most famous prisoner and, since his release four months ago, the de facto leader of the African National Congress.

He will be 72 next month, but his burdens are at least as heavy as they were when he led an urban guerrilla band or sweated out 27 years in prison. He heads a liberation movement that is striving to turn itself into a political party. At the same time, he is trying to organize negotiations with the South African government on a new and just constitution.

Last week he began a six-week, 13-country swing to persuade the rest of the world not to reward President F.W. de Klerk too early for easing up on apartheid. And when he arrives in the U.S. this week, he will be forced into still another exhausting role: heroic superstar. One of the most honored and respected men alive, Mandela is in the spotlight everywhere he goes. But in the U.S., where media fire storms are an art form, the visit-as-event will reach its highest stage. He will be besieged by cameras and jostling admirers, beseeched by myriad groups seeking his imprimatur, and bemedaled at parades and stadium rallies for eleven days in eight cities from Harlem to Hollywood.

Mandela holds a special place in the feelings of American civil rights campaigners, liberals and black activists. During the Reagan years, when such forces were dispirited and often divided, opposition to apartheid and support for Mandela provided them with a unifying passion. No leader since the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. has brought together such a diverse coalition in the fight against racial injustice.

But Mandela is not traveling as a symbol. "It's a political visit," stresses Lindiwe Mabuza, the A.N.C.'s chief representative in Washington. Mandela is seeking two things: first, reassurance that economic sanctions will not be lifted until South Africa is headed toward a peaceful political solution, and second, pledges of funds to rebuild the A.N.C. in South Africa. The organization was legalized only four months ago after almost 30 years of outlaw status. Mandela's message in Washington, says Mabuza, will be, "Why turn off the heat when the water is about to boil?"

There is no prospect that Washington will soon cancel the trade embargoes Congress put in place in 1986, and George Bush will probably tell Mandela as much during their planned meeting at the White House. Europe, however, is wavering. Officials of the European Community say they detect movement toward "rewarding" the De Klerk government for its reforms.

One reason for the slight shift toward Pretoria is the skill with which De Klerk has managed his side of the contest with the A.N.C. Since his election last year to replace the autocratic P.W. Botha, he has done more to ease the country's internal conflict than all his predecessors combined. With the pace of change increasing, Mandela and the A.N.C. are in danger of losing the initiative.

Just after Mandela left the country on his current trip, De Klerk freed another group of political prisoners and lifted the four-year-old national state of emergency, except in the province of Natal, scene of heavy fighting between rival black factions. Though those steps fulfilled more of the A.N.C.'s preconditions for negotiations, the congress has delayed a formal response until July 10. The postponement gave De Klerk an opening to tweak the A.N.C. "We are on the threshold of the real negotiation process," he said. "The A.N.C. must now stop vacillating."

In fact, the 78-year-old A.N.C. is having trouble making the transition from revolutionary underground to political party. To increase its weight at the bargaining table, it has launched a membership drive. It is also opening 14 offices around the country and providing for the expected return of 20,000 exiled members. Completing this expansion, A.N.C. officials estimate, will cost $100 million or more.

Mandela's style is leadership by example, and he has not found it easy to take over day-to-day control of the A.N.C. He has had to carry out his onerous public duties while being distracted by a family crisis. Last month the reputation of his controversial wife Winnie was further damaged when her former chief bodyguard was convicted in a Johannesburg court of murdering a teenage black activist. The judge found that the youth had been beaten at the Mandelas' Soweto home in Winnie's presence. Mandela said the government was smearing his wife in court without giving her a hearing.

Many worried blacks and whites do not understand why Mandela has not used his nonpareil status to end the fighting between his supporters and the Inkatha organization, led by Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi, which has killed thousands since 1985. During his years in prison, Mandela indicated that a top priority after his release would be to restore black unity by mending the rift. But when he proposed a meeting with Buthelezi last March, militants inside his organization vetoed the idea. "They nearly throttled me," said Mandela, who insists that he must accept such decisions because he remains "a loyal and disciplined member of the A.N.C."

Theoretically, Mandela and his organization also advocate continuing "armed struggle" against the government, but in practice that option faded when the A.N.C. agreed to operate as a legal party. In any case, the congress has demonstrated its ineffectiveness at guerrilla warfare over three decades. Violence is not politically useful in South Africa; the white security forces contain it easily. Change there has become inevitable mostly because blacks outnumber whites about 5 to 1 and are becoming stronger politically and economically.

All the antiapartheid movement's tasks at home and abroad have come to rest squarely on Mandela's shoulders. He embarked on his journey only a week after removal of a cyst from his bladder, and in recent years he has also had tuberculosis and prostate surgery. There were reports -- promptly denied by A.N.C. spokesmen and Mandela -- that he felt faint last week in Geneva and had to cancel a meeting. Out of concern for his health, planners in the U.S. tried to schedule free time between large events so Mandela would be able to rest. But Mandela does not have to try to do everything on this trip. Demand for the international superstar is so intense that the A.N.C. intends to arrange a second coast-to-coast American tour before the end of the year. By then he may have maneuvered his party and his country onto a path toward a more peaceful future.

With reporting by Julie Johnson/Washington and Scott MacLeod with Mandela