by John Hackett
Of all the black African countries and their leaders which most wished to tread the path of moderation and evolution, Zambia and President Luganda stood out from all the others. He had wholly supported the creation of Zimbabwe. He was not sure, even in 1985, that the time had come to deal with South Africa, for he felt that the African front-line states could not do it without enormous and prolonged Soviet and Cuban assistance and that to tolerate the presence of these in Southern Africa on the scale required would simply be to exchange one sort of subjugation for another. Nor with armed forces numbering a mere 8,000 and growing concern about Zambia’s borders with Angola, could any troops be spared from Zambia for the great trek south.
In neighbouring Zaire, in spite of greater resources, both in raw materials and men, there was little enthusiasm for waging war outside the country’s own territorial limits. Their experience of communist intervention in the latter 1970s had not endeared the Soviet Union or her proxy soldiers to the rulers of Zaire any more than the uses made by these of Katangan rebels. The former president had long since retired to his retreat on Lac Leman. The new president of Zaire had been in office for nearly five years; during this time he had reorganized the armed forces, and had turned more to France and Belgium for economic aid, shunning the Soviet Union’s attempts to include Zaire in their haul of Marxist states. After all, with its diamonds, copper, oil, cobalt and zinc, and with its 30 million people, Zaire was a rich land. Frontier forays had gone on — from Angola, from Congo-Brazzaville and from Burundi. The army had not succeeded in controlling the Simba rebels on Zaire’s eastern border. But all in all Zaire had reason to be content.
Soviet, Cuban and Jamaican influence and presence did not stop short in Central Africa. They had established themselves almost everywhere in West Africa. In Equatorial Guinea, Sierra Leone, Guinea itself, Nigeria and Mali, instructors, advisers and troops at once represented and encouraged the growth of Marxism.
If we leave aside the strategic value of ports, airfields and communications southwards, the principal factor in West Africa was, of course, Nigeria, with a population of some 70 million and armed forces of nearly 250,000. Her army had tanks and heavy artillery; her navy had frigates and landing craft; her air force had interceptors, ground attack and transport aircraft and helicopters. What is more they had battle experience spreading over twenty years — civil war, battle in Central Africa, the great triumph in Namibia. Guided, equipped and encouraged by the Soviet Union and Cubans, they would be a force to be reckoned with in the coming struggle for South Africa. The head of state, formerly Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces and a declared radical, had in the end found his own presence at the summit of affairs to be preferred to a return to constitutional rule. The fact that Nigeria supplied an increasing share of US oil imports was no small factor in the situation. Nigeria may have been a long way from Pretoria. It did not intend that distance should muffle its voice or lessen its hostility.
North-west Africa was mercifully free of much of the turbulence which prevailed in the central, southern and north-eastern areas. Most North-west African states had had their struggles for liberation from the colonial powers; they had had their internal struggles for governments of their own; they had had their experiments in external fishing in troubled waters; they now wanted to be left alone. At the same time they did not wish to be totally excluded from the luxurious game of not letting others alone. Morocco was prepared to offer both advice and troops. But the likelihood of Moroccan troops being deployed as far south as the new seat of war was not great. In any event, quarrels with Algeria and Mauretania, never far below the surface, were simmering once more.
Algeria herself was the joker in the pack. She was not willing to risk a single Berber or a single dinar in a cause that could be of no direct and immediate economic or political benefit to herself. It was not for nothing that the Algerians had understudied the French for so long.
Libya was totally different again. Incredibly, Colonel Farouk, Libya’s radical nationalist leader, had survived. Most of the countries in which he had attempted to intervene had shrugged off his intervention. He was always seeking out trouble but never taking up arms; always meddling and threatening, but never acting; never in battle, but never out of it.
All this was bound up with what was happening in Egypt. President Hassan el Samdi had long wanted to have a proper hold on his paymasters — Saudi Arabia and the oil-rich Gulf states. It was not for him but for his successors to achieve this. When President el Samdi was removed as a result both of food riots and of public disillusion over the Israeli settlement he was succeeded by the somewhat unlikely coalition of the Vice-President, Ahmed Mohamed and the War Minister and Commander-in-Chief, General Aziz Tawfik.
It was almost a repetition of the Neguib-Nasser relationship. Mohamed was the comparatively respectable front man of the team, even keeping up normal relations with the conservative ruling families of Saudi Arabia and Kuwait. Tawfik, on the other hand, had the wholehearted backing of the younger elements in the armed forces and of the intelligence services. The latter, chafing at the restraint imposed on them by the previous government, came forward with ambitious plans for creating by subversion a new and grander United Arab Republic, to embrace this time not the maverick Libyans or the ungovernable Syrians, but the sources of Arab wealth in the Arabian peninsula.
There was one problem: these ambitions could only be realized with massive Soviet help, both to provide the means of military takeover and to stave off any American attempt to intervene in favour of the status quo, and to preserve the supply of Middle East oil to the West. This would be a major change in Egyptian foreign policy, but Egypt was not renowned for consistency in these matters. The adoption of Russian support in the fifties and the repudiation of it in the seventies had been equally sudden and surprising. Egypt had breathed a great sigh of relief at the ending of the state of war with Israel in 1980. But the resulting relaxation of military effort had not released enough industrial resources to match the inexorable increase in population. Moreover, with the reductions in the armed forces many officers lost their jobs and formed a discontented group, only too ready to look to new external adventure to restore the power and privilege which they had once enjoyed.
Peace had not given bread to the masses or adequate employment to the intelligentsia. Renewal of hostility with Israel seemed to promise no better results than on previous occasions, especially with the Arab world even more fragmented than before. The overriding need seemed to be to create, if necessary by force, a centre of Arab strength to which the other quarrelling factions would gradually be attracted. Then at least it would be possible for the Arab world to decide where its future lay. This glamorous objective was held to justify the risks of achieving it with Soviet support.
It is still not clear whether the Egyptian services spontaneously advocated the ‘reversal of alliances’, or whether it was inspired by Soviet influence, which had retained a presence in the recesses of Egyptian intelligence even when its more overt manifestation had been brought to an end. In any event, Tawfik was persuaded, by economic necessity no less than by personal ambition, and gave covert approval to a programme of subversion, provided Soviet support could be confirmed. We shall describe later the Soviet deliberations which clinched the deal.
CHAPTER 4: Awakening Response in the West
In Western Europe the late seventies had seen something of a shift in attitudes to East-West relations. Disillusion and disappointment over the resolute Soviet refusal to make any real concession to Western concern over human rights, international agreements notwithstanding, probably did as much as anything to foster the new note of realism. The Russians began to be given more and more credit for meaning what they had now been consistently saying for a long time, that Western capitalist societies were doomed to fall before the inexorable advance of Marxism-Leninism, and that the armed forces of the socialist countries, under the leadership of the USSR, must expect to play a major part in their overthrow
.
The warning was as clear as any given by Hitler before the Second World War. The steady build-up of offensive military power in the Soviet Union, at the cost of much else, was not only wholly consistent with a determination to impose Soviet-Russian ends upon other societies, by force of arms if necessary. It was hardly consistent with anything else.
There were those in the West who believed in the existence of a Soviet master plan for the achievement of world dominion, with every move at every level ordered in accordance with it. This was fanciful. Its palpable unreality, however, was not unhelpful to the Soviet interest. The derision it attracted did something to distract attention from what was really happening, which was nothing less than the preparation of a position of military strength from which any international situation could be manipulated to the Soviet advantage.
Soviet policy was one of unlimited opportunism within a wide range of possible contingencies, for very many of which quite detailed military plans were constantly kept up to date. It drew strength from two main sources. On the one hand was the dogma of the dialectic, that capitalism was bound to disintegrate under the stresses of its own internal contradictions — to which was added the somewhat puzzling injunction that though this was inevitable it was still the duty of all socialists to try to bring it about. On the other hand was the endemic thrust of Russian imperialist expansionism, owing nothing to the dialectic, constant under any form of rule.
The threat from the Soviet Union to the parliamentary democracies of the West had, in the preceding thirty years, engaged the serious attention of their governments. The Atlantic Alliance, with the supporting military structure of NATO, resulted. Public opinion in the member countries of the Alliance, however, had long showed some reluctance to support the military measures required to meet the threat. In this respect the last years of the seventies had seen something of a change, as a result of which the military defences of the Alliance began to move out of the highly dangerous conditions of weakness into which, by 1977, they had been allowed to sink.
The position of the United Kingdom, a country of critical importance to the Alliance, if only because of its geographical location, was in some ways typical of the position among the European allies in general and on both counts deserves particular consideration.
Britain had its own special problems. Withdrawal from empire had been unsettling. Swift though this had been in the twenty-five years since the Second World War, insufficient time had elapsed by 1975 to allow of complete recovery of national balance in the new role of a second-class power with negligible overseas possessions. An extraordinary obsession in the people of Britain with the redistribution of wealth, rather than its creation, had done much in the same period to cripple national enterprise. This had gone hand in hand with the encouragement of general reliance upon state-provided welfare in place of the reliance upon themselves which had previously been characteristic of the British, while there had also been an ugly and unscrupulous exploitation of the politics of envy. It began to be increasingly clear, however, even to those politicians whose hearts were stronger than their heads, that national welfare depended on national wealth, and that the state produced nothing to distribute.
At the same time the massive burden of British trade unionism began to prove unwelcome to the working people who had to bear it. Of the desirability of combination to promote and protect the interests of workers, once the Industrial Revolution had opened the door to the predatory instincts and the restless, innovatory genius of an island race of adventurers, there can be little doubt. The importance of the protection afforded to the workers by the unions, and the benefit this brought them in earlier days, can hardly be exaggerated. It was when the blind benevolence of politicians had allowed the unions to move outside the law, when a proper watchfulness on the union side had given way to unimaginative Luddism, when reaction and restrictive practices were putting a savage brake on enterprise, when activities originally intended to improve living standards were now seen to be doing just the opposite, that the majority of the nation, who did not belong to trade unions, began to be increasingly resentful of their subjection to the minority who did.
Although, as events in Britain in the mid-seventies showed, politicians in a parliamentary democracy can go on governing for some time in a manner unpopular with the people as a whole, they cannot go on doing this indefinitely. Attempts at confrontation with the power of the trade unions, made by both the main political parties, when each in its turn was in power, had been total failures. Up to the mid-seventies public opinion in Britain was not yet sufficiently aware of the menace from union power to face the discomforts of standing up to it, and the attempts of both parties to diminish it were dropped.
After a few years more, however, the British public had had enough. When prudent men in politics and sensible men in trade unions, of which there were very many, saw that it was not going to be easy to push the public around much more, they gently and adroitly let some of the steam out of the situation. Trade unionism in Britain did not go out with a bang, as some had hoped, nor even with a whimper. It gradually subsided to a convenient shape and size and continued to play a very important part in its originally intended role.
What happened over the trade unions was evidence of the refreshing and welcome spirit of realism and common sense which gradually began to emerge on every side in British public opinion in the late seventies. A new political approach — which also demonstrated how politicians will inevitably in the end be guided by changes in public opinion — was before very long to become evident in the matter of defence.
These years saw slow but significant changes in Britain. A total addiction to redistributive economic and fiscal policies, which showed itself in hostility to profit-making and in penal taxation on industrial enterprise, was gradually being replaced by more sensible attitudes, which at last permitted an increase in national wealth. These changes, together with the movement of world trade out of recession and the revenue from North Sea oil, contributed to some recovery in the standard of living in Britain and, in no small measure, to a revival of national confidence.
As the United Kingdom at last began to find a new awareness of national identity in a post-imperial mode, less began to be heard of separatism in the parts. Devolution became less fashionable. Less was also heard of any suggestion that the world owed Britain special consideration, which may have at one time been justified, let alone a living, which never was. There was less and less support of what had previously been known as progressive education. There was acceptance of the necessity for children in school to learn, even when they did not greatly like it. Variety in educational provision almost ceased to be regarded as sinful, independent schools were once more allowed to flourish, as so many parents wished, and even the public schools, their old-fashioned discipline long derided by radicals who so often sent their sons to profit from it, came under less violent attack.
The instinct to voluntary service, an instinct rather disliked by the more extreme addicts of the welfare state, was also seen to have survived, and even once again began to flourish. Scouts, Guides, St John Ambulance and countless other voluntary organizations reported sharp rises in recruiting. So did the volunteer reserves of the armed forces. In universities it began to be quite fashionable once more to join the Officer Training Corps. There was even a movement towards a voluntary revival of civil defence, long neglected by government.
In this changing climate of public opinion some scrutiny of Britain’s security in the world was before long inevitable. More notice began to be taken of what threatened it. There was more questioning of the extent to which Britain was taking a proper share in her own defence. It was even suggested, possibly unfairly, that it might no longer be enough to rest on what some called abject reliance on the United States.
The British record in the sphere of common defence did not stand up under scrutiny any too well. At the close of the Korean war in 1952 the proportion of the gross national product devo
ted to defence was 11.2 per cent. This was possibly too much. In the financial year 1976-7 it was 4.9 per cent. This was certainly too little. Even further reductions were being sought by some. The National Executive Committee of the British Labour Party (from whose control the Labour government of the day was content to remain free) was in 1977 demanding a further reduction in defence spending by one-third.
It is still, as this is being written, too early for a balanced assessment of where responsibility lies for the dangerously low state to which the defences of Great Britain had by the year 1977 been allowed to fall. Though historians will probably agree that no political party is free from serious blame, they are already beginning to accept that, however regrettable the economies made in the mid-seventies under the transparent guise of improved efficiency, it was in the defence policies formulated in the UK Defence White Paper of 1957 that the rot really began. It is here that the first real signs appear in the sphere of defence of a latter-day British tendency to duck responsibility and shy off into make-believe, a tendency which did much to bedevil relations with Britain’s allies in the years that followed.