Story telling is a uniquely human trait. We tell stories all the time – for amusement, information, education, or persuasion to a particular world view. Whatever its purpose or complexity, the story has the same basic elements, of plot, hero and moral. Some story types stress one or the other. For example, myths and legends emphasise the hero. Fables stress the moral. Speaking of heroes and legends, there is a growing tendency for strangers to create or elevate them to saints on behalf of other people. This, of course, is a distortion of the normal process. Heroes usually emerge from their own societies due to their extra-ordinary feats, often in defence of the nation, shared ideals or values. They epitomise the collective spirit and aspirations. The enduring ones, those who tower above everyone else, become legends, and over time pass into mythology. The status of hero or legend is usually bestowed by their own societies. There is an organic relationship with their societies. That is the normal way. There is another way where outsiders decide who is hero or villain, saint or demon. But that status exists as long as its creators wish it so. Take the story of the Mynmar politician, Aung San Suu Kyi. When she stood up to the generals and spoke for ordinary people and demanded more rights for them and democracy, she was lionised as one of the bravest women in the world. When many years of detention and isolation from her people could not break her, she was made a saint. Her small stature and demeanour, as much as her steadfastness, helped in creating this image. Then she got into government and both the narrative and image changed. The saintly halo began to dim and now seems to have disappeared altogether. Aung San Suu Kyi’s severest test came with the persecution of the Rohingya community in Mynamar. She did not do much about it and was strangely silent. When she has been forced to face the issue, she has been evasive. Those who had canonised her began to demand that she be stripped of their honour. She has all but disappeared from the narrative and roll of the saints. Here in Africa, Kofi Annan, former United Nations Secretary General and recently departed, has been praised as one of the greatest Africans ever. The reason for this is that he was the first black African to hold that post. This is a historical fact and not in dispute. But does this on its own or his characterisation as charismatic and measured, courtly and dignified bestow greatness on him? Some would beg to differ. They remind that greatness comes from doing right in the face of stiff opposition, standing for principle when expediency offers the easier option, defending the vulnerable or sacrificing your life for others. But when some of these were demanded and more than a million Tutsi were butchered in Rwanda in 1994 when Annan was head of UN Peacekeeping operations, he looked the other way and thus failed his greatest moral test. In later years he tried to redeem himself by devoting time to the resolution of conflicts wherever they arose. But even here, he was more messenger than architect of the plans he presented. Perhaps the most interesting transformation has been that of Nelson Mandela. He changed from the most hated and dangerous terrorist to revered saint. When he stood up against apartheid and injustice, the writers of our narrative condemned him as a criminal and terrorist. Today African leaders who demand a just and fairer world, and development for their people are described as autocrats, authoritarian, strong men or dictators in an attempt to delegitimize them. The moment Mandela was released from prison, the narrative changed. He became a hero and saint, worshipped even by those who had demonised him. He qualified for this new status only because he lived up to the expectations of the narrative writers, first, when he became president, and left the white-dominated economy largely intact and second, when he left office after only one term. For some reason, the creation of African political saints is selective. The same criteria do not necessarily apply in other countries. In next door Namibia, Sam Nujoma fought the apartheid system for many years until independence in 19990. He served three terms and retired. He too left the white-managed economy largely untouched. He has largely been forgotten. No praise for him for doing exactly what Mandela did. No adulation for him, except from his own people. No sainthood for him. Perhaps he was not large enough for such an honour. Or he had not been subjected to the same humiliation as Mandela whose elevation to sainthood must be seen as some form of expiation. Whatever the reason, Sam Nujoma lives in Namibia, unremembered and unworshipped by the story tellers and self-ordained creators of legends. We love telling stories and their heroes, but usually when they are our own, not those made for us elsewhere. But obviously, the selectiveness in creating heroes and saints is part of a pattern in a narrative that is neither accurate nor our own. @jrwagatare The views expressed in this article are of the author.
