Joe Appiah and Peggy Cripps were frequent visitors. Joe, who was appointed Prime Minister Nkrumah’s Personal Representative to the UK in 1953, had married Peggy in London on 18 July of that year. Their marriage did not lead to exile, as had Seretse’s and Ruth’s, because Joe’s nation, the Gold Coast, did not border on South Africa. And whereas Ruth came from an ordinary middle-class family, with no influence, Peggy was the youngest daughter of Sir Stafford Cripps, who had been Chancellor of the Exchequer in the Labour Government. Perhaps, too, it helped that the Gold Coast, was under the aegis of the more enlightened Colonial Office, rather than the Commonwealth Relations Office – and also that attitudes among the general public in Britain had started to change since the Khamas’ marriage in 1948. Even so, Joe and Peggy did not escape racist abuse, such as the foolish questions from the press at their engagement party. ‘The most audacious of them all,’ recalled Joe in his memoir,
was to Peggy by a female reporter: ‘Why are you marrying a coloured man?’ This question nearly, very nearly, made me feel like giving her an uppercut had not Peggy delivered a quick and beautiful retort: ‘Because I love him. And love is a greater thing than colour or creed or race – or anything.’ I still remember the ‘hear, hear’ from most of the press people that greeted this spontaneous reply. I was satisfied with her reply and proud of her indeed.33
Their marriage was a brilliantly colourful ceremony. While Peggy wore a very English cream satin gown, heavily embroidered in many-coloured silks, and a small cream satin cap, from which hung a tulle veil, Joe’s countrymen and other African friends
were in dresses of their several native lands – kentes, agbadas, smocks and what have you. Indians were there in their saris and our British and continental friends in tails and top hats, with waistcoats of lavender or lounge suits of various colours.
‘It was a veritable “United Nations” assembly in session right in the heart of Mayfair,’ observed Joe with pleasure – ‘It did something to my heart and soul.’ Kwame Nkrumah was going to be best man but an urgent affair of state prevented him from travelling to London, so George Padmore took his place; Padmore, Hugh Gaitskell and Krishna Menon gave speeches after the wedding. ‘We shall need your prayers and help in a world ridden with hatred and bigotry and racism,’ said Joe in his speech as bridegroom. ‘We hope that because of us others will take courage!’34
Their marriage gave much delight to the gossip columnists – and much disgust to the South African Government. Charles Swart, the Minister of Justice in South Africa, held their wedding photograph before the South African Parliament, saying, ‘It is a disgusting photograph of a wedding between the daughter of a former British Cabinet minister and a Nigerian blanket [sic] native. If such a thing were ever to happen in South Africa, it would be the end.’ The News Chronicle in London picked up the story and reprinted the same wedding photograph, but with a different caption: ‘A Picture we are proud to print.’ Then, quoting Swart’s words, the newspaper went on:
This is what we say. If Britain were ever to take the cruel and reactionary way Mr Swart is now travelling, it would in truth be the end – the end of Christian tolerance; the end, almost certainly, of the British Commonwealth. And the use of such an illustration to arouse racial bitterness comes close to establishing a twentieth century record in the realm of the disgusting.
It published the picture again a few days later, along with letters of support from readers.35 ‘What a problem for Mr Swart,’ observed one letter, ‘if, on arriving in Heaven, he should find his God to be a Man of Colour.’36
In December 1953, the Khamas’ circle of friends was increased by a man with whom Seretse suddenly had a great deal in common – another African leader who was exiled from a British protectorate in Africa. This was Edward Mutesa II, often nicknamed King Freddie, who was the Kabaka – or King – of Buganda, the wealthiest province of the British Protectorate of Uganda. In 1942, he had been crowned the 35th Kabaka, in a line of kings dating back to the sixteenth century. Then, after a spell at Makerere College in Kampala, he went to the UK in 1945 to study History and Colonial Administration at Magdalene College, Cambridge. After his studies, the Kabaka served for a short time with the Grenadier Guards. Urbane and debonair – and always immaculately dressed – he developed the style and bearing of a perfect English gentleman, which he retained until the end of his life.37
He returned to Buganda in 1948. In 1952, the British began discussions about making Uganda into an independent country, incorporating Buganda. To this the Kabaka vehemently objected, demanding independence for Buganda as a country sovereign from Uganda; he also objected to a suggestion by the British of a federation of the three East African territories, similar to the model developed for the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland. This was a source of worry to millions of people in East Africa, who were afraid that if they were forced into a federation, they would be dominated by the white settlers of Kenya. The Kabaka refused to cooperate with the British Governor on any of these terms. The response of the British was swift and uncompromising – they simply banished him from his country and he became the second African leader to be exiled within three years.
As with the exile of Seretse, the banishment of the Kabaka from Buganda caused immense anger and grief among his people. It was also heavily criticized by much of the world’s press and Church leaders, including the Archbishop of Canterbury and the former Bishop of Uganda. As Learie Constantine observed:
The story of the Kabaka has been reported and misreported, accompanied by streams of propaganda which seem to have misled nobody, not even the British reading public. Most Britishers feel uneasy and unhappy about it, as about so much else that concerns Africa.
The annual Christmas broadcast of the British sovereign continued to give a picture of a happy and harmonious Empire, but doubts were growing.38
The Kabaka’s years at Cambridge were largely concurrent with those of Seretse at Oxford, but their approach to their studies was very different: Seretse was serious and purposeful, while the Kabaka chose to play hard rather than to study hard. When John Stonehouse met the Kabaka in London, after his exile, he was struck by the difference between the two men:
I tried to discuss politics and economics in Africa with him [the Kabaka]. This had been possible with Seretse, who was intensely interested, but it soon became evident that the Kabaka was not. He had none of the fervour and enthusiasm of Seretse.39
Nor did the Kabaka share Seretse’s commitment to democracy. When the two men met in the UK and discussed the political situation in Africa, Seretse argued that it was changing rapidly, due to the rise of nationalism and pan-Africanism, and that soon there would be no monarchs left in Africa.40 This was not the Kabaka’s view. Nonetheless their shared situation of exile and their longing for their own country forged a bond of friendship.
Lord Swinton had replaced Salisbury as Commonwealth Secretary in mid-December 1952. Now, in the English spring of 1953, he decided that it was time to resolve, once and for all, the whole question of the Bangwato. Nothing, he told Le Rougetel, the High Commissioner in South Africa, should be left undone to secure completion of the outcome they wanted. This had now become particularly important, because campaigners for Seretse in the UK had resumed activity. Liesching assumed that the pro-Seretse faction in Serowe was not likely to riot again, after the ‘salutary drubbing’ it had suffered the previous June – although it was ‘never safe’, he added, ‘to predict the reactions of Africans.’41
Sir John instructed his administrators in Bechuanaland to arrange another Kgotla in Serowe on 4 May, to push through the nomination of a new Chief – Rasebolai. By now, Forbes MacKenzie had taken over as Resident Commissioner from Colonel Beetham. MacKenzie was well known to the Bangwato: not only because of his extraordinary height, but more especially because he had been such a tough and unforgiving District Commissioner of Serowe during the passive resistance campaign of 1950. MacKenzie quickly got to work, as did Batho, who had been ‘in very
close contact with Rasebolai, and [had] been bolstering him up’.42 He had also distributed a letter to the Bangwato, which stated that, ‘The great Khama of his own will yielded his sovereignty to the Queen.’ And now, it went on, ‘the Queen has ordered that neither Seretse nor any child of his shall be eligible to be chief of the Bamangwato.’43
Heavy pressure was put on senior members of the tribe to attend the Kgotla and they were fined or imprisoned if they failed to turn up at preparatory meetings organized by British officials.44 When the Kgotla finally began, on the morning of Monday 4 May, Batho told the assembly that the nomination of Rasebolai Kgamane was still valid. But the great majority persisted in nominating Seretse – this was useless, warned Batho. Some people were angry at the letter distributed by Batho, which they complained was blaming the Queen for the injustice against them. They objected that ‘Her Gracious Majesty had nothing to do with the exile of Chief Seretse Khama and that her name was being used to mislead us.’ Batho replied with the words, ‘Talking nonsense’ – a remark which was described as very offensive.45 The Times reported that ‘one Mosinyi, an educated Native… expressed his views freely on the frustration of the tribe and laid his grievances all at the door of the white man’. Mosinyi was ‘another example’, argued The Times, ‘of hostility bred unwittingly by education’.46
Batho brought the Kgotla to an end after three days. He really had no choice, reported Fraenkel, who was there, to Rathcreedan. ‘If the Kgotla had continued for another half day,’ he pointed out, ‘there would have been no speakers left supporting Rasebolai and Seretse speakers would have spoken for another week.’47
But the Administration had another plan up its sleeve. The Kgotla meeting was recalled less than a week later, on 12 May, to hear a statement by the Resident Commissioner. MacKenzie began his speech by carefully distinguishing between the office of Kgosi and that of Native Authority. Then he made a shocking announcement – that an order was being issued that day to make Rasebolai Native Authority. Rasebolai would hold this appointment, he said, until the tribe agreed to designate a Chief. After giving this terrible news to the stunned men in front of him, MacKenzie shook hands with Rasebolai and congratulated him. Rasebolai gave a short speech, saying that he wanted peace in the Reserve and he knew that there were others who felt the same.48
Most people wanted peace – but they did not want Rasebolai. They were furious. They had been promised again and again that no Kgosi would be imposed upon them: but now, Rasebolai had been given a position that was tantamount to that of Kgosi. In the past, the Kgosi and the Native Authority had, without exception, been one and the same man. The former title symbolized the power vested in this man by the people; the latter symbolized the authority devolved upon him by the Administration.
The Commonwealth Relations Office, working closely with the High Commissioner’s Office, had worked out the details of this plan even before the Kgotla of 4 May, the week before. Realizing that the tribe were unlikely to nominate Rasebolai as Kgosi, they adopted a Machiavellian strategy to produce the same outcome. In notes for Lord Swinton at the end of April, a week before the Kgotla started, Clark insisted that ‘no indication should be given that we have another move up our sleeves if the resumed Kgotla proves abortive. The High Commissioner is convinced that, if news of this leaked, the whole plan would be jeopardised.’49
The Government was given a hard time in Westminster on the transfer of authority to Rasebolai. Was it correct, asked the Labour MP James Griffiths in the House of Commons, mockingly, that the ‘person now appointed to this rather unprecedented post of Native Authority was rejected by the Bamangwato?’ Was it really possible, asked Lord Hailsham in disgust in the House of Lords, that this new Native Authority was the very same man ‘whom the Tribe made it perfectly clear they were not prepared to accept in the office of Chieftain?’50
Seretse was staggered by the news, of which he had been given no warning whatsoever. He immediately issued a statement to the press. ‘I hope the Bamangwato tribe, in spite of this provocation,’ he said, ‘will continue to refrain from conduct which might lead to disorder. But I wonder how long the wishes of the African people, peacefully presented, will be disregarded by the Government?’51
22
The campaign intensifies
In April 1953, the Nationalists in South Africa were re-elected with an increased majority by the white electorate, showing their support for the systematic and relentless implementation of apartheid. In the same year, the Bantu Education Act decreed that blacks should be provided with separate and inferior educational facilities, using the vernacular languages; the Act was justified by Hendrik F. Verwoerd, the Minister of Native Affairs, with the statement that, ‘There is no place for the Bantu in the European community above the level of certain forms of labour.’1 The passing of the Reservation of Separate Amenities Act, also in 1953, restricted non-white use of libraries, galleries, public transport, beaches, and entrances to public buildings; it legislated that all races should have separate facilities and that these need not be of an equivalent quality. All over South Africa, signs with the words ‘Europeans Only’ or ‘Non-Europeans Only’ were posted. On the Durban beach, for example, there were signs proclaiming that, ‘Under Section 37 of the Durban By-Laws, this bathing area is reserved for the sole use of members of the white race group.’
Further north, in central Africa, the political and economic interests of white settlers were consolidated by the creation of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland in October 1953, despite bitter opposition from the black population of the region. It had been finally pushed through by Sir Godfrey Huggins, the Prime Minister of Southern Rhodesia, and Roy Welensky, the trade unionist white leader of Northern Rhodesia, in association with the Colonial Office. It was described by the CO as a racial partnership, but Huggins – far more accurately – described it as a relationship between ‘a horse and its rider’. It was to prove a cruel and dismal failure.
Kenya was now dominated by the Mau Mau uprising, as Baring implemented his savage policy of confining the Kikuyu in protected villages and hunting down the Mau Mau soldiers in the forest. Under the 1952 State of Emergency, more than 20,000 Mau Mau rebels were killed in combat in the 1950s, while at least 150,000 Kikuyu spent some time behind the wire of a British detention camp and 1,090 Kikuyu went to the gallows for Mau Mau crimes; 32 white settlers died.2 British colonial officials running the camps were responsible for appalling conditions, which involved deprivation of food, water and clothes and widespread torture that included castration.3
Dedan Kimathi, a Mau Mau guerrilla fighter (who was executed by the colonial Government in 1957), regarded the exile of Seretse and of the Kabaka as consistent with the oppression of Kenyans by the British. ‘We, in Kenya,’ he wrote to a supporter of the Kabaka in Entebbe, ‘are horrified and terrified that the British have seen fit to depose and exile our two great Kings, namely Seretse Khama and Kabaka Mutesa II.’ What disturbed Kenyans the most, he added, was
the realisation that although these two great Kingdoms – Baganda and Tswana – existed before the coming of the European imperialists to our Continent, it is now clear that the primary aim of the British is to use all weapons to destroy them. This evil design is clear proof that the British don’t want any other kingdom to exist except their own.
Kimathi pointed out that if the people of Uganda had detained Queen Elizabeth when she was visiting their country, the British would have used ‘blood and fire’ to release her.4
Fenner Brockway and some other activists, including Jennie Lee, decided that the time had come for a major anti-colonial campaign, which was based on a single principle: the right of colonized nations to self-determination. In April 1954, at a conference attended by about 350 delegates from organizations all over Britain, the Council for the Defence of Seretse Khama amalgamated with over 300 other organizations – ranging from the British branch of the Congress Against Imperialism, the Central Africa Committee, and the Kenya Committee
– to form the Movement for Colonial Freedom. It was hoped that this amalgamation would bring an end to the many little councils and committees, each dealing with a single colonial issue. Anti-colonial energy had been dispersed among rival groups, believed Brockway, and too much work was duplicated – the MCF offered a real opportunity for consolidation. Parliamentary committees were set up and much of the Movement’s work concentrated on pressurizing MPs to raise colonial issues in both the House of Commons and the House of Lords. The British colonies of particular concern were Kenya, Nigeria, the Gold Coast, Malaya, British Guiana, Uganda, the High Commission Territories, Somaliland, Tanganyika, the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland, Zanzibar, Cyprus, and the islands of the West Indies.
The movement’s manifesto stated its commitment to human equality, regardless of colour or race.5 ‘Wonderful! That is the only word to describe the advance of our Movement,’ wrote Brockway in a fundraising letter. ‘I know you will give,’ he wrote to supporters, ‘because you believe with us that “all persons are born equal in rights and human dignity”. It is the big issue of this century.’6
Brockway’s views differed from those of Arthur Creech Jones and Rita Hinden, colleagues in the Labour Party who were also involved in issues of colonial policy. Creech Jones and Hinden were leaders of the Fabian Colonial Bureau, which believed that colonies needed to ‘mature’ under British guidance, before they were ready for self-government. The Movement for Colonial Freedom, however, put forward a wide-ranging critique of colonialism and maintained that Fabian ‘nation-building’ could only start once the colonial relationship had been broken, through the grant of full and equal political rights. It aimed to challenge Ministers rather than lobby them privately, and to extend its influence beyond the small metropolitan audience reached by the Fabians. The Movement also wanted to develop relationships with the nationalists themselves – unlike the Fabians, who limited their links to liberals among the colonial administrators.7
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