by Ian Smith
It was getting on for 9 p.m. when we took our leave for the airport, and Kissinger bade us a warm farewell, expressing the hope that we would meet again! Rupert Anelick and his boys in South African security accompanied us to the steps of our aircraft and, as so often before, gave us their best wishes for our settlement — they were great people, whose sincerity was never in doubt. A warm welcome also awaited us on board the Rhodesian aircraft, from Captain Beck and his crew and the smart, clean-looking hostesses — a breath of fresh air. We settled down to a good dinner on board and had ample time to discuss the happenings of our historic day.
Upper most in our minds was the South African eagerness to throw us to the wolves in their desperate panic to try to buy time and gain credit for solving the Rhodesian problem. What made us so sad is that we knew their plan would not work — throwing morsels to the crocodile never does, he is merely encouraged to come back for more. One of my team commented on the change he detected in Vorster. He had previously been firm and straight, now he was weak and vacillating, and ‘looked like a worn-out and punctured motor car tyre’. The worrying thing to my mind was not so much the change which had taken place over the past couple of years — one is entitled to adapt to changing circumstances — but the lack of logic and reason associated with it, and the covert and veiled manner in which it was carried out. Rhodesians were inured to disappointments, and the need to make tough decisions — tell us the worst and then we can plan for it — but when you are told one thing one day, and then confronted by something completely different the following day, without any prior warning or explanation, it is difficult to know what to do. We had been subjected to this type of treatment so many times in recent years, I suppose we should have taken it in our stride, but normal people of character are unable to discard their priciples for the sake of convenience.
I thought back on those wonderful times when there had been great trust, understanding and harmony. We had a common enemy, international communism, working its way down the African continent, and the further north we could hold the line the better. The Zambezi was a far stronger line than the Limpopo, and South Africa was eager to play its part in preventing terrorist incursion. It was equally important for South Africans that sanctions against Rhodesia not be allowed to succeed, because they accepted that South Africa was the ultimate target and that success against Rhodesia would only encourage the communists. Rhodesia was then the frontline in the fight against terrorism, while South Africa was still very much in the background. Thus the South Africans were pleased to have the opportunity to gain practical experience from their association with the Rhodesian war front. Now all of this had been reversed, and the reason stood out like a sore thumb: Rhodesia was to be the sacrificial lamb which would buy for South Africa peace and acceptance of their apartheid philosophy. As Vorster had told me: Kaunda had given him that undertaking, and if Kaunda accepted, how could the rest of the world object? I could not credit that a man of Vorster’s experience of politics in Africa could have been so naïve. No doubt it was a case of necessity being the mother of invention — he simply had to find a way out of his predicament.
All of us were impressed by Kissinger’s sincerity and straightforward approach — he was merely the middle-man, trying to assist in solving the problem. He had repeated in front of Vorster his sadness at being implicated in one of the great tragedies of modern history, and that, if we believed we were unable to accept the offer, he would respect our decision and as far as he was concerned there would be no recrimination. So clearly there was no American pressure on South Africa to force the issue.
It was after midnight by the time we landed, but there were no signs of fatigue among us; we were too deeply motivated by the dark clouds of impending tragedy looming on the horizon. I advised the others to rest well and take things quietly during the day before them and prepare for what was going to be a strenuous week of informing the party and the country, and making some of the most traumatic decisions that had ever confronted us.
On Tuesday 21 September, the cabinet sat both morning and afternoon, with a break for lunch, and the discussion was intensive and constructive, with some members finding it difficult to credit the story we gave them. There were comments such as: ‘It looks as if in the end we are beaten, it will not be through enemy action, but because of what our friends have done to us.’
At the close of our discussion we decided to sleep on it, and come back with fresh minds in the morning for our decision. There was not much discussion when we reconvened. It was indeed a solemn, sombre occasion, and the decision most painful, but not difficult. Having a gun pointed at one’s head leaves no room for equivocation. No one disputed the fact that we had been given no option. Under those circumstances, a pragmatist faces up to the situation and plans the best means of coping with it. If we could encourage and marshal responsible black opinion and, above all, eliminate intimidation, there would be a chance of rescuing something. If Kissinger could get his plan off the ground expeditiously … But there were too many ‘ifs’, and — especially in African politics — these almost invariably go contrary to normal expectations. We hoped that the following day’s caucus would react unemotionally and with logic. It would not be easy, but from experience I knew that Rhodesians, especially when under pressure, performed with great maturity and, while they could stand their ground if need be, this did not involve impetuousness and a reckless disregard of the long-term interests of the country and its people.
There was an air of expectation around Parliament on Thursday 23 September when I arrived for the caucus meeting, with shoals of pressmen at the entrance. The message had come to my office reporting the scene, asking if I wished to enter through a side door in order to avoid possible pressure. As this would have been contrary to my normal behaviour, I refused. At Parliament, I simply informed the press that at the conclusion of our meeting there might be some worthwhile news. They accepted gracefully.
Caucus, like cabinet before them, were most responsible. The news of what transpired at the Pretoria meeting was met with incredulity. The questions continued after lunch and I was determined that no one would be denied the right to express his views, even if it meant returning on the morrow. We described again what we had been through many times over the past couple of years from the time we first began to detect the change in South Africa. I told of how I had warned Vorster that, if Rhodesia was eliminated, the communists would then have cleared the road for direct access to South Africa, their ultimate objective. Vorster had been warned that any concessions we were forced to make today, South Africa would be forced to make tomorrow; that if the countries to our north were given access through Rhodesia to the Mozambican ports this would weaken South Africa’s influence throughout the area; that responsible black opinion in Rhodesia, which was openly telling the world that South African blacks were enjoying more freedom and more justice and a superior way of life to the blacks to our north, would be silenced; and so on, and on. Ignoring the answer clearly before the South Africans, I said, Vorster was blindly dedicated to his course of appeasement, and anyone who attempted to reason in a contrary direction was given a crude response. Indeed as far as I was concerned, he had resorted to a different tactic because his intimidatory technique had not worked with me. Thus, whenever possible, he avoided contact with me and worked through other people.
One member of caucus with strong South African and Afrikaans connections spoke with circumspection, but strong emotion, condemning the South African government, as opposed to the South African people, for their treachery to the cause of the Christian civilisation which their forefathers had brought to the country. A cabinet minister begged to differ, saying that he was convinced that his counterpart in the South African cabinet would be deeply distressed if he knew what was going on, and that only a few ministers in addition to Vorster were party to the plan.
There was a great deal of anguish and soul-searching, and seeking of a way out of our predicament. Could we not g
et all the women and children safely out of the country, and then the men would make a stand and defy Vorster and his gang? Regrettably there was no sensible, practical way out. Finally, with one exception, the caucus agreed with me and the cabinet decision. They accepted that we were confronted by the one country in the world which controlled our lifeline, and which had now issued an ultimatum leaving us no alternative. I was overcome with a deep feeling of pride for the dedication and loyalty of my team, which had stood by me over the years of so much frustration, deceit and treachery from people whom we had believed to be our friends. They were the kind of people who make great nations, who will carry on to the end if need be, not throw away everything in a vain bid to gain a moment of glory at the expense of what we had built for future generations. The only responsible course was to do what we could to rescue the maximum from the tragedy that was about to unfold.
The next morning I received a telephone call from the lone dissenting caucus voice of the previous day, apologising for any embarrassment he may have caused, but adding his support to our decision. He explained that his constitution was simply unable to accept and digest at such short notice the South African treachery with which he was confronted. Overnight, however, he had come to the conclusion that withholding his support, far from helping, would be to the detriment of his country. That evening, Friday 24 September, I therefore broadcast to the nation, giving them the sad news. Obviously they knew something was happening, with the meeting in Pretoria, followed by cabinet and caucus and the accompanying speculation in the media. Experience shows that human nature is usually hopeful, in spite of the fact that their optimisim often turns out to be wishful thinking. This was a more savage blow than anyone expected, however, in view of the commonly held belief that if Rhodesia went, this would be the first nail in South Africa’s coffin, and for that reason we would stand together for our mutual benefit and protection. Although this was the cruellest blow of all, our people behaved with great courage, firmly bracing themselves for whatever was in store.
During the following week, my office was inundated with messages of commiseration over the betrayal. There were also congratulations for the manner in which we had handled it and pledges of loyal support for the future. While these were traumatic, indeed desperate, days we had the reward of being part of a small nation which not only believed in but put into practice those old-fashioned ideals and principles which throughout history had created great nations. They were built on the indestructible foundations of courage, integrity, loyalty and a determination to put into practice the philosophy of: ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’. Let us not deny that the conditions under which Rhodesians had been living for the past decade tended to instil in people those desirable characteristics, in the same way as they did in Britain during those dark years between 1939 and 1945. Good people, in similar circumstances, brought up under those same traditions, no doubt would have reacted in the same way. So let me emphasise that in no way is this a claim that Rhodesians were a superior people. We simply happened to be living in Rhodesia at this point of history, when we were challenged by the forces of evil. We decided to close our ranks and make a stand for those ideals of Western Christian civilisation on which our country had been built. It was a time when it was a privilege to be able to say: ‘I am a Rhodesian.’
16
The Geneva Conference
Within a matter of days a cable arrived from Kissinger in Dar es Salaam spelling out in precise words the acceptance of the agreement by Kaunda and Nyerere on the first positive step. About a week passed before a message came in requesting me to visit Pretoria for a meeting with Edward Rowlands, the British Minister of State, and William Schaufele, the US Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs. They had been travelling around to our north discussing the Rhodesian plan with the black presidents, but were reluctant to travel the short distance to Rhodesia to discuss the Rhodesian plan with the Rhodesians. It certainly was not the first time we had been confronted by this kind of arrogance. They received a swift ‘flea in the ear’ in response, and the following day, 4 October 1976, arrived in Salisbury.
I cannot remember meeting people who were so indecisive, and simply did not know what was going on around them. Apart from the Rhodesian government, they did not know what other parties would attend the conference. Could Kaunda and Nyerere not tell them? No, it was a matter for the Rhodesians to decide. ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked. ‘We really don’t know,’ they replied. ‘We hope it will emerge!’
The venue? They asked if I would accept Lusaka. I replied, ‘No, why not Rhodesia?’ which was the home of all the participants, and had always previously been the venue. The blacks were against this, Rowlands and Schaufele said, because it would not be neutral ground. What about Pretoria? That was unacceptable as, not only the OAU but the whole world would not touch the South Africans with a bargepole. ‘But who,’ I asked, ‘was the honest broker in the plan that we are now implementing?’ I was obviously being far too honest and straightforward. I thought of Vorster telling me that he had these people to the north eating out of his hands and that in return they would recognise and accept South Africa. I smiled to myself, but then quickly stopped, realising the tragic seriousness of what lay ahead. What about London, I enquired? That was unacceptable, as there would be serious problems associated with it. The reason was obvious: they were not prepared to let me loose before the TV cameras and press in Britain — Harold Wilson had learned that lesson when I was last there. ‘It will probably have to be in Switzerland,’ I said. ‘Just get on with it.’ Geneva was selected.
The agenda? There could be no problem with that, I suggested, because it had only one item on it — the interim government — as agreed in Pretoria. Well, they said, when dealing with blacks you cannot expect that kind of thing. ‘We’ll have to let them talk about anything and everything, and once they’ve run out of steam, we’ll bring them back to the focal point.’ I warned Rowlands and Schaufele that if they did not take a grip on affairs and give a positive lead, the exercise would abort. There was, I warned, a limit to how far I was prepared to allow myself to be pushed around in any attempt to deviate from the agreement which we had made. Inwardly, however, I knew that this was brave talk from an unsure foundation. In spite of the strong front put on by Rhodesians, this agreement had damaged our hopes for and confidence in the future. We hoped to gain something from a settlement of our dispute, an end of sanctions and peace. But there was no way of going back to where we were before — this had been compromised by the Kissinger agreement. It had been made absolutely clear to us that any attempt to turn back would result in a head-on clash with the South Africans. Moreover, it was clear to me that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to repair the damage that Rhodesian confidence had suffered. So there was only one way, and even with that we would be living with the ever-present danger of Rhodesia falling between two stools.
It was an odd meeting with a couple of befuddled men unable to give any answer to anything. They were pleading for help and guidance and clutching at straws. I can only hope that I succeeded in inserting a degree of firmness into their spinal columns.
News started coming through of a change of attitude from the South Africans. As part of the pressure against us, they had been holding back supplies and assistance, but once we acquiesced to their plan, things which we had been awaiting for six months suddenly came forward. Their army general, Magnus Malan, said he now had the political directive to meet our requirements. Their air force general, Bob Rogers, indicated that he now had the clearance to train our Mirage pilots without charge, whereas previously we had been informed we would have to pay. Also, the pressure to withdraw helicopter crews had vanished. The Ministry of Defence confirmed that the $20 million South African loan, which was being held back, was now available. There were sighs of relief all around. It was so easy for the South Africans to convey their messages, in keeping with their oft-pronounced statements that there was n
o attempt to interfere in our internal affairs, and no pressure was being applied.
My main concern now was to get the Geneva conference going, as delay played into the hands of the obstructionists opposed to the plan. We had received messages that the Soviets were attempting to persuade Kaunda and Nyerere to hold back their support for the conference, and some of the black nationalists were also unenthusiastic about it. Moreover, the spectre of Jimmy Carter on the US Presidential horizon induced trauma. All of these negative factors pointed to the need to avoid procrastination, but regrettably the British lacked the will to take any firm action that might be resented by those dragging their feet. So we kept up the pressure every day, and eventually the message came through that Geneva was ready to accept us and that the British hoped that we could expedite our departure as there was much pre-conference work to be done. We did just that. My delegation included four of my cabinet, namely David Smith, my Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Finance; P.K. van der Byl, Minister of Foreign Affairs; Mark Partridge, Lands, Water Development and Natural Resources; and Hilary Squires, Justice and Law and Order. We flew out of Salisbury on Wednesday evening, 20 October 1976, to a warm send-off from a large crowd of well-wishers.