Invictus

Tonight they showed the movie "Invictus" on MNET. I had heard a fair bit about it - it has been out 2 years already - but had not seen it, so I was rather pleased that I had the opportunity - a cool, rather miserable night, so an excuse for soup and rolls and a couple of glasses of pinotage in front of the gas heater, and what better to do than to watch a nice feelgood movie, with a great director (Clint Eastwood) and actors of the caliber of Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon. I knew the basic plot about it being built around the unlikely alliance between our ex-president Nelson Mandela (then president) and our ex-Springbok rugby captain Francois Pienaar. In fact I remember quite clearly the final match which is also the climax of the film - I was mowing my lawn and could hear the roars of my next door neighbours who were big rugby fans erupting every few minutes. I played rugby at school, and enjoy watching the game, but for me it has never been a religion or a matter of life and death, the way it appears to be for many of my white South African friends and colleagues.

So the story wasn't new to me, although I enjoyed it anyway. I liked the clever way Eastwood tries to show how playing in and winning the cup had brought black and white South Africans together - little touches like the mixed security detail celebrating together, black fans gathering in a township shabeen to watch, white "madams" and black domestic workers hugging each other, and the best one, a white policeman dancing around in jubilation with a black street kid on his shoulders, after he had earlier told him to "Voetsak! Hamba!" for supposed loitering - all very moving and I guess even possibly true.

What I didn't know about was the poem Invictus, which is of course central to the story. Mandela tells Pienaar that he used often to read or recite it during his days in prison on Robben Island, when things were really bad. He then writes it out for Pienaar and gives it to him the day before the big match against Australia. They win the macth and the day after they are taken to visit Robben Island, and in particular the (very small) cell which was Mandela's home for so many lonely years - a visit which makes a huge impact on Pienaar.

I looked the poem up - turns out (according to Wikipedia) it was written by the English poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903). "At the age of 12, Henley fell victim to tuberculosis of the bone. A few years later, the disease progressed to his foot, and physicians announced that the only way to save his life was to amputate directly below the knee. It was amputated when he was 17. In 1875, the Stoic ideal of indifference in the face of suffering inspired Henley to write his poem from a hospital bed. Despite his disability, he survived with one foot intact and led an active life until his death at the age of 53."

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gait,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

I am no judge of poetry. It is certainly better verse than I have ever written. Yet I find the assertion of invincibility worrying - I wonder whether true greatness does not lie in accepting and working around one's limitations, rather than deluding oneself that one has none. What I do like is the message in the last 2 lines - a message we could all profit from hearing in South Africa today, when half the population blames the old regime and the other half the new regime for whatever troubles us - a little acceptance of responsibility for making things work might go a long way. 

The final scene is both meaningful and moving. Mandela presents the trophy to Pienaar, the winning captain and they shake hands and look one another in the eye. "Thank you, Francois, for what you have done for our country", he says. "No, sir", says Pienaar, "thank You, for what You have done for our country!" Valour recognising greater valour, I guess. Pienaar was a great rugby player, probably a great captain, possibly a great man. But he isn't in Mandela's league and I expect he would be the first to admit that.

The movie had another effect on me - it reawakened in me some of the old idealism which propelled me in my twenties to work long hours with poor black patients in some of the most remote rural hospitals of the country for not very much pay. I resolved to read some of Madiba's writings - maybe they will inspire me to reclaim that vision and get back to a bit of nation building.