Half Nelson
Isaac Chotiner / December 18, 2006
Nelson Mandela's problem with 'Blood Diamond'
After Edward Zwick returned from Mozambique and Sierra Leone this June, he received a
letter from Nelson Mandela. Zwick, the director of Glory, had traveled to Africa to film Blood
Diamond, the story of the civil war that ravaged Sierra Leone during the 1990s. The movie--
which centers around a father and son who are enslaved by rebels and stars Leonardo
DiCaprio as a cynical diamond smuggler--is fiction, but the context is historically accurate:
From 1991 to 2002, rebel soldiers from the brutal Revolutionary United Front kidnapped
civilians, forced them to work in diamond mines, and smuggled the gems they unearthed to
neighboring countries. From there, the diamonds were shipped to Europe and sold by
conglomerates, such as De Beers. The proceeds filtered back to Sierra Leone, where they paid
for even more kidnapping and violence. Blood Diamond is a withering critique of the
diamond industry's role in exacerbating a savage war and its callous disregard for human
rights in Africa. Zwick had every reason to expect that Mandela--one of the world's greatest
living advocates for human rights--would be pleased.
He wasn't. In his letter to Zwick, Mandela wrote that "it would be deeply regrettable if the
making of the film inadvertently obscured the truth, and, as a result, led the world to believe
that an appropriate response might be to cease buying mined diamonds from Africa. ... We
hope that the desire to tell a gripping and important real life historical story will not result in
the destabilization of African diamond producing countries, and ultimately their peoples."
None of this makes much sense, unless you take into consideration something that isn't
widely known about Mandela: The man who ended apartheid and became the late twentieth
century's most eloquent spokesman for human dignity is also a shill for the diamond
industry.
Mandela's affinity for De Beers and other diamond companies is the result of both geography
and personal relationships. South Africa produces more than $1 billion in diamonds per year;
and, even though Mandela's African National Congress had significant Marxist and
communist elements, the party proved broadly supportive of the diamond industry once it
took power. In addition, there was Mandela's friendship with Harry Oppenheimer, the late
chairman of De Beers--who, as white South African businessmen went, was relatively
sympathetic to the anti-apartheid movement. Oppenheimer encouraged the creation of
black trade unions and funded a political party specifically to oppose South Africa's racial
disparities. Mandela and Oppenheimer became close before Mandela's presidency and would
grow even closer: After Mandela's election, Oppenheimer frequently hosted him at his
luxurious estate. Mandela was also known to bring De Beers representatives on foreign trips.
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By the late '90s, political pressure was mounting on De Beers--which, at the time, controlled
70 percent of the world diamond market--to stop the flow of "conflict diamonds" from Sierra
Leone. (The phrase typically refers to diamonds whose sale is used to finance warfare.)
Conflict diamonds had already helped fund Angola's bloody civil war, and they began to play
an equally devastating role in Sierra Leone. (In 2000, Ryan Lizza documented in these pages
the Clinton administration's bungled efforts to broker peace in that West African country.)
Human rights organizations called for steps to ensure that conflict diamonds did not reach
the world market.
Still, Mandela spoke up for diamond manufacturers. "The diamond industry is vital to the
South African and southern African economy," he said at the time, echoing De Beers's
statements. "We would be concerned that an international campaign on these issues did not
damage this vital industry." Moreover, Mandela made clear that the industry's stance on
human rights should be taken through its "own initiative." When, in 2000, U.S.
Representative Tony Hall pushed a bill that would have forced all diamonds sold in the
United States for more than $100 to be accompanied by a certificate naming the country of
the stone's origin, a diamond executive testifying before Congress used Mandela's words to
argue that such a measure would harm diamond-producing countries. "Former President
Nelson Mandela has expressed concern that his nation's vital diamond industry is not
damaged by 'an international campaign,'" Eli Haas, president of the Diamond Dealer's Club,
told a House subcommittee.
Eventually, in 2002, under an agreement known as the Kimberley Process, diamond
companies agreed to ensure that all diamonds came from legally mined fields and that the
proceeds did not go to fomenting civil wars. But it remains unclear how much good the
Kimberley Process is actually doing. A recent U.N. report found that conflict diamonds from
Côte d'Ivoire are entering the market through Ghana and Mali, and a study by usaid
estimates that as many as half of the diamonds emanating from Sierra Leone are still being
smuggled out illegally. The problem, according to experts, is that the Kimberley Process does
not have any independent verification or enforcement mechanisms. "The diamond industry
doesn't ask many questions," says Corinna Gilfillan of Global Witness, an NGO focused on
natural-resource exploitation. "They're just looking to get the best deal."
And yet, Mandela has continued to lend his support. He recently penned a note praising De
Beers on its community service work. "I congratulate De Beers, a world leader in diamonds,
with its roots in South Africa, for the way it continues to demonstrate its credentials as a good
corporate citizen in so many areas of concern," he wrote. The letter, unsurprisingly, appears
in De Beers's corporate brochures.
The diamond industry's campaign against Blood Diamond is just the latest phase, then, in an
ongoing fight to stave off bad publicity and increased scrutiny. Zwick (who once interned at
The New Republic) received a letter earlier this year expressing concern about the project
from the chairman of the Kimberley Process and the head of the World Diamond Council
(WDC), an industry group that represents major diamond companies. The WDC also hired
Sitrick and Company, a p.r. firm that specializes in crisis management. And, in June, a Los
Angeles Times blog reported that Sitrick had enlisted--surprise--Mandela to respond to
publicity generated by the film's release. (A spokesman for the WDC disputes this, saying that
the former South African president is speaking out on his own.)
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Mandela's pronouncements on behalf of the diamond industry are, at some level, perfectly
understandable. After all, he was president of South Africa, and part of any president's job is
to look out for his country's economy. But Mandela is not regarded as one of the twentieth
century's heroes because of his diligent pursuit of South Africa's narrow national interests;
rather, he owes his stature to his decades-long campaign against apartheid, a campaign that
appealed to universal values like human rights and freedom. By covering for the diamond
industry during the '90s--at a time when diamond producers were helping to fund brutality
in Sierra Leone--Mandela was putting his country's narrow interests above these universal
ones; and, today, he continues to do the same. "Truth and reconciliation--it's all rubbish,"
says DiCaprio's character to an idealistic journalist in Blood Diamond. Of course, Nelson
Mandela wouldn't agree. But, by shilling for the diamond industry, he is enabling those who
do.
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