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Programme Director, Mama Graça Machel,  Minister of Sports, Arts and Culture, Mr. Zizi Kodwa Deputy Minister of Sports, Arts and Culture, Ms. Nocawe Mafu, Premier of the Eastern Cape, Mr. Lubabalo Oscar Mabuyane,  Your Majesties Kings and Queens, Other traditional leaders present, MEC for Sports, Recreation, Arts and Culture, Ms. Nonceba Kontsiwe, Executive Mayor of the OR Tambo District Municipality, Cllr. Mesuli Ngqondwana, Executive Mayor of the King Sabata Dalindyebo Local Municipality, Cllr. Nyaniso Nelani, Chief Executive Officer of the Nelson Mandela Museum, Dr. Vuyani Booi, Guests, Ladies and Gentlemen, Fellow South Africans. Molweni. Sanibonani. Dumelang, Goeie more, Kgotsong, Lotjhani, Ndi matsheloni, Nhlekanhi. Good Morning. I greet you all wherever you may be on this Nelson Mandela Day. To be here, eQunu where Tata grew up and that is his final resting place, is a great honour. Qunu had a special place in Madiba’s heart.  This was where he spent his boyhood being cared for by his family, tending cattle and listening to the stories of the elders about the bravery of his people.  It has been said that the two most important days in your life are the day you are born - and the day you find out why. It was here in Qunu that the first seeds of his political consciousness were planted, where Madiba’s imagination was first stirred, and where his great mind began to be shaped. Madiba later said of this place that:  “It was there in the hills and valleys of Qunu, in the rolling hills of KwaDlangezwa, in the Genadendal settlement, and long the Gariep, the Lekoa and the Luvuvhu rivers, that we first understood that we are not free.”  In Long Walk to Freedom, he wrote that as he listened to the stories of the elders, he hoped to someday have the opportunity to serve his people, and to make his own humble contribution to the struggle for freedom. Madiba’s was no humble contribution. He led our nation to freedom, and even today, many years since his passing, his legacy lives on.  There are many monuments paying tribute to Madiba across South Africa, across Africa and in many parts of the world, from Palestine to the United Kingdom, Seychelles, Senegal, Cuba, the US, Brazil, China, France, and many other places. But for us to be able to honour the father of our nation at this place that meant so much to him is something we have been working towards for some time. Since 2021 the Eastern Cape Provincial Heritage Resource Agency, the Mandela family, the Nelson Mandela Museum and the Department of Sports, Arts and Culture have been driving this process – a process that included public consultation. As human beings we are the sum of many parts, and Madiba was no different.  Our upbringing, our culture, and many other factors shape our lived experiences.  The statue we unveiled earlier today in Mthatha depicts Madiba in the role for which he was most well-known, that of a statesman. The statue here in Qunu depicts him in the attire of his Xhosa-Tembu culture, reminding us of the traditional values he lived by and that shaped his consciousness. It is our hope that this homage to Madiba in his final resting place will serve as an inspiration especially to the young people in the community.  It is to remind you that the seeds of greatness lie dormant within each one of us, and that it is up to us to make them germinate and bloom. It is to remind you that being born in a rural area, or having humble beginnings, is no obstacle to achieving greatness, and to fulfilling your destiny. It is to remind us of all our duty to do what we can to make the world a better place. Monuments, statues, and museums have a key role to play in the political and cultural life of any country. They are a means of giving recognition to those who suffered hardship, repression, exile, or death in pursuit of universal ideals such as human freedom.  Monuments such as this one are the struggle of memory against forgetting. These statues of Madiba are beacons of hope to individuals and communities that are still suffering from the evils of marginalisation, and the scourges of poverty, inequality and underdevelopment.  This statue should serve as reminder to those of us elected to serve the South African people that we must redouble our efforts to build a better South Africa that leaves no-one behind.  To quote Madiba’s own words, as long as poverty, injustice and gross inequality still exist in our world, none of us can truly rest. I would like to thank you, Mama Graça Machel, and members of the family for agreeing to collaborate with the Department of Sports, Arts and Culture on this project.  Earlier today in Mthatha a library was handed over to the Zingisa Comprehensive School. I am told that the library project was sparked by a letter written to the authorities by a learner at the school requesting assistance, and I want to thank the provincial government for acceding to this request. I call upon the people of Qunu to protect and look after these sites of memorialization and commemoration. I have no doubt they have the potential to attract tourists which will in turn support business and job creation. Every Nelson Mandela Day we are called upon to dedicate 67 minutes to performing acts of goodwill towards others as part of making our world a better place. If you have not yet done so, I encourage each South African to do their bit of good today, wherever they may be. Madiba built bridges of peace, and mobilised people of the world to fight against social injustice and oppression.  Let us strive to emulate his example, today and every day. I wish you all a Happy Nelson Mandela Day. I thank you.

Among the challenges faced by African-led peacekeeping missions, loss of materiel to adversaries is a significant – and underappreciated – risk. More must be done to ensure that weapons and ammunition are appropriately managed. Last year, the East African Community and the Accra Initiative became the 14th and 15th African regional organisations to authorise peacekeeping operations, respectively (see Table below). Both missions are certain to encounter resistance among non-state armed groups active in their proposed areas of operation. Indeed, rebels from Congo’s March 23 Movement have already attacked Burundian troops serving in the East African Community Regional Force. Such groups secure considerable quantities of lethal materiel from uniformed personnel – both peacekeepers as well as national security forces serving within or near these missions’ areas of operation. Much can be done to reduce such diversion. Enhancing the effectiveness of African-led peacekeeping operations is especially important and worthy of support, as these organisations will remain significant actors in promoting peace and security for the foreseeable future. Without minimising the shortcomings and challenges many such missions have faced, numerous deployments have helped promote human security and ushered in beneficial political change. These objectives have been achieved often at considerable cost and sacrifice for the troop-contributing countries. Moreover, regardless of their track record, the UN Security Council is not likely to ‘re-hat’ these missions as readily as it has in the past. The security threats facing these missions, however, are quite grave. The African Union (AU)-led peacekeeping operations in Somalia, for example, have come under repeated attack from al-Shabaab, losing men and women in uniform as well as considerable lethal materiel as a result. Between June 2015 and January 2016, the armed group overran three forward operating bases (military camps that house formed units of more than 100 uniformed personnel, together with associated lethal equipment to allow them to be self-sufficient, often for extended periods of time) of the AU Mission in Somalia (AMISOM). In May 2022, al-Shabaab again overran such a base belonging to the AU Transition Mission in Somalia (ATMIS), which had succeeded AMISOM the previous month. AU missions in Somalia have likely lost millions of rounds of ammunition, thousands of firearms and many hundreds of crew-served light weapons (such as heavy machine guns and mortars) to their adversary. Material that armed groups have secured from African-led peacekeeping operations also includes heavy weapons systems. The Islamic State’s West Africa Province and the al-Qa’ida-affiliated Group for the Support of Islam and Muslims have looted the headquarters of the Multinational Joint Task Force (MNJTF) of the Lake Chad Basin Commission (LCBC), as well as that of the Joint Force of the Group of Five Sahel (FC-G5S). Items seized include main battle tanks, armoured personnel carriers and self-propelled as well as towed multiple-launch rocket systems and artillery. The UN, which has undertaken peacekeeping operations for over 70 years, has also experienced challenges in securing lethal materiel during its missions. Eight months after the Justice and Equality Movement attacked and overran an AU Mission in Sudan base, the successor UN–AU Hybrid Operation in Darfur lost 600,000 rounds of ammunition when a convoy transporting contingent-owned equipment was seized. That said, the UN has numerous well-established checks and balances in place to keep tabs on arms and ammunition deployed in its missions. For example, it has quarterly on-site checks of materiel, well-resourced investigations into incidents when diversion has occurred, and reimbursement mechanisms to encourage transparency and accountability. African regional organisations lack equivalent administrative practices and procedures. Where such checks and balances do exist to manage lethal materiel in African-led peacekeeping operations, they are not fully utilised. The Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) is a case in point. It has a convention that entered into force more than 10 years ago, which calls on its 15 member states to record and report materiel that is taken into a peacekeeping operation, resupplied, destroyed or taken back when the operation withdraws. This is to be done whether the mission is undertaken by ECOWAS, the UN or some other entity. These stipulations – on paper – represent a global best practice. Were they to be followed, ECOWAS could quickly determine what materiel was used or lost after deployment and make appropriate enquiries. Details concerning implementation are not made public, but it is understood that member states’ adherence to their commitments is limited, despite their being legally binding. This disconnect between expectation and reality is especially important to address because so many ECOWAS member states participate in peacekeeping operations. ECOWAS currently fields two missions: one in the Gambia and another in Guinea-Bissau. Both of these are relatively small and also relatively peaceful (although in January 2022 the Movement of Democratic Forces of Casamance attacked Senegalese troops serving in the ECOWAS Mission in the Gambia and disarmed them). More important for oversight purposes are the FC-G5S, the MNJTF and the UN Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali, which operate in much less permissive environments in which peacekeepers routinely come under attack. Also of note is a recent policy the AU has adopted to promote management of recovered lethal materiel in peacekeeping operations it authorises or mandates. When organisations undertake formal disarmament, demobilisation and reintegration (DDR) programmes, these initiatives usually include funding for storehouses and procedures for recordkeeping. But many such undertakings recover materiel outside of DDR through cordon-and-search activities or clashes with negative forces. Oversight and resources have been lacking, and the new policies are meant to improve on previous practice. This would include ATMIS, the FC-G5S, the MNJTF and the Southern African Development Community Mission in Mozambique. Progress is slow-going. A challenge African-led operations have is that the secretariats overseeing their implementation are not adequately staffed. This is not a criticism of officials’ work ethic or expertise, but rather a comment on the mismatch between mandates and resources. There are too few staff in relation to the work needed. The longstanding recruitment freeze at ECOWAS has recently been lifted, which ought to bring some relief. The AU remains woefully understaffed, however, which is not likely to change in the short term. Recognising these challenges and opportunities is an important first step. More appropriate staffing alone is not going to solve the problem, and yet it is essential to ensuring that existing checks and balances are promoted and used. Member states and external donors must be made aware of the frameworks and policies available and incorporate them in their discourse and priorities. And the counterterrorism, development and security sector governance communities, among others, must acknowledge their important role in enhancing weapons and ammunition management in peacekeeping operations, and in helping to generate appropriate resources and set the agenda. The deployment of peacekeepers must not add fuel to the fires they are trying to extinguish.

When Nigerians needed him to deliver, President Muhammadu Buhari fell short. Probably no other leader in Nigerian history has had a deeper fund of goodwill to tap into at inception than Muhammadu Buhari did when he took the reins in 2015. Nor could the public mood at the time of his inauguration have been more auspicious. On the one hand, Nigerians seemed to have had enough of Goodluck Jonathan’s habitual dithering. As time went on over the course of his presidency (2010- 2015), Jonathan had looked increasingly out of sorts, reinforcing the belief that, dumb luck apart, he had no business in the exalted office. Buhari, on the other hand, seemed ready to get back in the saddle after a previous controversial stint (1983- 1985) as military ruler. He was widely perceived as above board, a rarity for a former Nigerian public office holder. Furthermore, his military pedigree was deemed essential given the unchecked rampages of the Islamist Boko Haram insurgency, which had ramped up under Jonathan, who initially downplayed its gravity before turning to South African mercenaries in desperation as the 2015 elections loomed. In any case, or so it seemed to a segment of the Nigerian electorate at the time, anyone so desperate for the nation’s highest office as to run four times (Buhari had previously run unsuccessfully in 2003, 2007 and 2011) had to have something special up their sleeve. That Buhari managed to turn such wild enthusiasm about his candidacy into grave disappointment, going from a regime of which many, rightly or not, had high hopes, to one that most can’t wait to see the back of, ranks among the most remarkable instances of reputational collapse in the whole of Nigerian political history. It was clear within the first few months—the initial struggle to put together a cabinet being particularly telling—that Buhari, for all his desperation to take power, had not done his homework and was ill prepared for the demands of the office. Nor did he seem particularly eager to embrace the role of uniter, something that the political divisions in the country at the time clearly demanded. Addressing an international audience at the United States Institute of Peace (USIP) in July 2015, Buhari signaled that he would favor the regions of the country which voted for him against those which did not: “The constituencies, for example, that gave me 97 percent cannot, in all honesty, be treated equally on some issues with constituencies that gave me 5 percent. I think these are political realities.” Buhari had secured the lowest percentage of votes in the Igbo dominated southeast region.       In any fair assessment, the verdict of failure on the Buhari presidency would seem unavoidable. The economy, for one, is in a far worse shape than Buhari met it when he took office eight years ago. According to the World Bank, following a period between 2001 and 2014 when, with an average growth of seven percent, Nigeria was “among the top 15 fastest-growing economies globally,” Nigeria entered a period of stagnation in 2015 as “oil prices fell, the security situation deteriorated, macroeconomic reforms were reversed, and economic policies became increasingly unpredictable.” Unsurprisingly, real per capita income fell during the same period, reaching its level in the 1980s by the end of 2021. His fiscal indiscipline, highlighted by an appetite for borrowing unmatched in Nigeria’s annals (with less than two weeks to the end of his tenure, Buhari has requested the approval of the Senate for an 800-million-dollar World Bank line of credit) has put the country in an improbable seventy-seven trillion Naira hole. Similarly, the security situation took a turn for the worse on Buhari’s watch, an irony, given justifiable popular confidence at his inception that this was one sector where the president’s military background gave him an edge over his predecessor. Buhari himself was not above pointing to this apparent advantage on the campaign trail. Yet, since 2015, amid deteriorating public safety, at least sixty-three thousand Nigerians have been killed in various acts of state and nonstate extrajudicial violence, with attacks by Islamist insurgents, assorted armed bandits, and kidnappers claiming the most lives. Numbers aside, a real sense of lawlessness pervades, with a growing recourse to vigilante justice signaling popular frustration at law enforcement and the judicial system. Corruption, too, has worsened. Last year, a Nigerian newspaper lamented that “cronyism and nepotism in Buhari’s key appointments have conflated with the working of government agencies at cross-purposes to fuel corruption.” At the same time, “serial interference” by the office of the Attorney-General of the Federation and Minister of Justice appears to have stymied the work of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), the state’s anti-graft agency. State pardon of top public officials convicted of corruption has both tarnished Buhari’s image as a beacon of transparency and stiffened common perception that his commitment to transparency is merely rhetorical. Paradoxically, his administration may have borne out Buhari’s private fears that, as he once confided to a top US diplomat, “the legacy of corruption in Nigeria will endure much longer than the legacy of colonialism.”   To say that Buhari has failed is not to hold him personally responsible for all of Nigeria’s failures. Not only is he ultimately emblematic of the prevailing political culture, Buhari, in so many ways, merely played the hand that he was dealt. In any event, there is the reality that no single leader, not even one more intellectually gifted and administratively astute than Buhari, can be expected to take on and solve Nigeria’s socioeconomic problems (for such are their entanglements and intricacies), never mind within eight short years. Monocultural economies are not so easily detached from their accustomed moorings, and, in any event, no single individual can be held responsible for the ups and downs of the global oil market, the reported theft of an estimated 437,000 barrels of crude oil on a daily basis, or the serial collapse of the national power grid (the official count is 99 times over the course of the Buhari presidency). That said, Buhari could doubtless have done more with what he was given and may well regret until his dying day his failure to leverage the favorable public mood in the immediate aftermath of his inauguration for tangible social transformation. By and large, Buhari failed simply because he lacked the wherewithal to govern. For one thing, if he had anything resembling a coherent economic vision, he never once articulated it, and for a man who was once ousted from power for, according to his adversaries, arrogating to himself “absolute knowledge of problems and solutions” and acting “in accordance with what was convenient to him, using the machinery of government as his tool,” he rarely saw the need to avail himself of the wealth of technical and economic expertise at his disposal. If anything, he always exuded the air of someone trapped in a 1970s command-and-control mindset, unable to adjust to the exigencies of the current moment, yet unable to do anything about it. Strangely enough, with his very ascent to the presidency, he may have achieved the only thing he really ever wanted: to recoup (sic) what he must have felt was an unfair ejection from power in his first coming as the head of a military junta. If this hypothesis is correct, Buhari’s second coming had more to do with personal redemption than public salvation.      Buhari also failed because he could not establish an emotional connection with the Nigerian public. While Jonathan always seemed too eager to please (he spent as much time on his knees as he did on his feet), Buhari’s aloofness was such as to expose him to accusations of insensitivity. His not infrequent admission that he could not wait to retire to his country home in Daura, Katsina State, may well have come from a place of genuine humility, but all it did was to consolidate widespread belief that he was a man out of his depth and all but content to run down the clock. At his best, Buhari, who, it must be remembered, never built his own political machine but vaulted to power on the back of Bola Tinubu’s, always seemed more of a sectional than national leader. On that score, he fully merits the ire directed at him by those who blame him for the deepening of ethnoreligious cleavage between Nigeria’s Christian and Muslim communities. Never before in the history of political leadership in the country has a man so evidently cosmopolitan appeared at the same time so provincial.   If there is one commanding insight for Nigerians to take away from the Buhari presidency, it is that it is possible for an individual believed by many to be personally incorruptible to preside over an administration that is nonetheless defined by corruption and rank incompetence. On the contrary, with the incoming Bola Tinubu government, Nigerians will soon find out whether a leader widely seen as corrupt can preside over a relatively malfeasance-free and reasonably competent administration.