This day in Dublin, Mandela shakes my hand. It's a most peculiar moment. I look into his eyes, he looks into mine, and somehow I know I'm in the presence of sheer, bloody greatness. Not because of what he's done or had done to him, but simply because of who he is.
Nelson Mandela lies dying in a Pretoria hospital. The government he once headed as the rainbow nation becomes more and more like the kleptocracy that was the apartheid government it replaced. And the South African Broadcasting Corporation reverts back to the servile state broadcaster it used to be.
Sixteen years after freedom and the end of the evil that was apartheid, South African police massacred 34 striking black miners at a place called Marikana. Pictures on TV and in our newspapers show them chasing demonstrators, firing into the crowd, standing over the dead like hunters counting their kill.