Before Nelson Mandela helped end apartheid and became the first democratically elected in South Africa, he was sentenced to life imprisonment for his political involvement.
His bed in prison was a straw mat. The prison guard physically and verbally harassed him. As a prisoner, he was required to do hard labor and break rocks into gravel in a quarry. The prison denied his request for sunglasses, which caused permanent damage to his eyesight.
At any point during his 27 years in prison, he could conclude he failed. After all, his physical freedom was constrained. His 8-foot-by-7-foot cell could be home for the rest of his life.
However, he chose a constructive path. He studied for a law degree (even though the warden revoked his study privilege multiple times). He used his legal knowledge to prepare for his trial and supported other prisoners. He wrote long essays that have since inspired many.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu once insightfully commented on the time Mandela served in prison:
Many would say, Twenty-seven years, oh, what a waste.
And I think people are surprised when I say no, the twenty-seven years were necessary.
They were necessary to remove the dross. The suffering in prison helped him to become more magnanimous, willing to listen to the other side.
Without the twenty-seven years, I don’t think we would have seen the Nelson Mandela with the compassion, the magnanimity, the capacity to put himself in the shoes of the other.”
Mandela’s story reveals a different way of thinking about hope. Unlike the “everything will be okay” type of hope we see in movies, this kind of open and participative hope is challenging, for it requires us to:
- Acknowledge the persisting pain
- Focus on the available options
- Grow under unfavorable circumstances
- Believe our choice has an effect
- Remain curious about what will happen
The question for us: Is this difficult kind of hope worth it?