by Ian Smith
A pleasant break away from it all, with a happy trip to Kariba to unveil a memorial to Operation Noah. This had been a fantastically successful exercise, rescuing thousands of wild animals [when Lake Kariba started to fill for the first time], something quite unique and which had never previously been done in the world. My heart was in tune with that small, simple, dignified ceremony, in keeping with the concept and execution of the operation, which extended over a period of a few years in order to ensure maximum rescue.
Two days later, on Monday 15 May, it was back to the situation of the hour. David Smith reported to me on his South African trip, on which Ernest Bulle of the UANC, his co-minister, had accompanied him. It was a pleasant trip, and the first meeting with Vorster most harmonious. He had asked to see them in order to wish them well in implementing the new agreement, which the South African government fully supported. He then told Bulle that they were of the opinion that the UANC were the best party to back, and money was being made available to them for the purchase of Land-Rovers, cycles, typewriters and other things they had requested. Before our two co-ministers went on to their meeting with the South African Finance Ministry, Vorster assured David Smith that everything had been arranged for us. And so it was. The $150 million loan we had requested was available, and the arrangements were tied up expeditiously. David mentioned how impressed our team was with the efficiency of the South Africans, headed by their minister, Owen Horwood.
I asked if there were any signs of the difficulties that Vorster claimed, at the previous meeting, he was having with his ministers over assistance for Rhodesia. David replied that, as we believed at the time, it was clearly a put-up job, in order to ensure that we did not step out of line. Our problem was that their judgement had been so bad over the last half dozen years, it had consistently led us up blind alleys. Fortunately, for the time being things looked better, as there was now a new horse in the race, the UANC, on which they had decided to put their money in the hope that they could win them to their side. Past history indicated that they had invariably been wrong, but I had made it absolutely clear that the Rhodesian Front was not going to take sides. We would run our election of the white candidates, leaving our black people to make their own plans and elect their own candidates, thus ensuring as far as possible that we would have their genuine representatives. Vorster mentioned to David Smith that they were carefully monitoring our experiment in the belief that it might be a model which they could use in South West Africa. We found this intriguing. They did not give us credit for having the ability to produce solutions for our own problems, but now, out of the blue, they believed we may have produced an answer for one of their own problems! As I have said previously, they had had apartheid for so long in South Africa that they had lost touch with the political thinking and aspirations of their black people.
By mid-June another problem had arisen. There was growing concern among some black political thinkers, shared by our security chiefs, over the lack of progress with our ceasefire and safe-return campaign. So I decided at the joint meeting of the executive council and council of ministers on 15 June to initiate discussion. My emphasis was on the fact that there was undeniable evidence that the various factions in our government were politicking for the coming election, to the extent of indulging in destructive criticism of one another, promoting ridicule and disaffection, which was playing into the hands of the terrorists. This was one of the principal contributory reasons to the fact that our safe-return campaign policy was not going well. It was necessary to reiterate what I had said previously, that without effort and dedication to our safe-return campaign, there would never be a next election. Many of our friends who had assisted in the formation of our territorial government, black and white, were expressing deep concern, even despair over our obvious lack of dedication to our cause. Some had gone so far as to suggest that, if we were unable to improve on our performance, it might be necessary to contemplate bringing in Nkomo. Personally, I had discouraged this line of thinking, because as one of the architects of the plan which we were now implementing, I was dedicated to making it succeed. I asked for honest and frank discussion, and it was forthcoming. The strong criticism was refreshing, with each party claiming that the others were guilty, and that they were in the clear. They then accepted my recommendation that we have such meetings regularly, with members producing evidence to substantiate accusations against parties deviating from the code we had laid down. One hoped that it would at least have the effect of promoting caution and consideration over people’s actions and utterings.
Another milestone on our constitutional road was passed on 20 June with the opening of Parliament, with the black members of the executive council and ministers participating. It never entered my mind at the time, but one of my ministerial colleagues subsequently pointed out that we were witnessing the end of an era, the last time that a white prime minister would be handing to the president the speech for the opening ceremony. I suppose it should have been an emotional occasion, but I was preoccupied with ensuring that everything went well, and that everybody played his part in keeping with the dignity of the occasion. It was important that these world-famous traditions, which had been created by the Mother of Parliaments, cherished and nurtured over the centuries, should be respected and preserved in order to ensure their safe transposition to those who inherited.
Later that evening I sat back and pondered. It was indeed a fair description to refer to the occasion we had witnessed as the end of an era, and it was not without emotion that I reflected. Although by nature a phlegmatic person, it would have been unnatural if I had remained unmoved by an occasion that was the beginning of the ending of a glorious chapter in the history of the British Empire. Over a period of eighty-eight years, a small band of people, mainly of British stock, had turned a piece of untamed African bush into a classical example of modern Western civilisation. The cities and towns were well planned and constructed, orderly and clean, similar to those found in the USA, Canada, Australia and New Zealand; the road system was well developed, with trunk roads from north to south and from east to west; an efficient railway system with connections to South Africa and Mozambique provided Zambia with its only viable outlet to the sea; an electricity network traversed the whole country, which many experts believed was the finest in Africa; all in all, a sophisticated infrastructure with secondary industry established on a broad base. Agriculture was comparable to Western standards, on which we had based our performance, and we had become the bread-basket of central Africa. Visiting educationalists rated our schools highly, and when attending overseas universities Rhodesians acquitted themselves to a high standard. All of this was serviced by accepted professional standards in the fields of finance, medicine, engineering, law, accounting, architecture and the other services which are part of Western civilisation. These achievements had never been questioned, as already stated. Prior to the escalation of the terrorist war, the record indicated that Rhodesia was one of the most peaceful countries in the world, with a crime rate well below average, and the ratio of policemen lower than that of any other country we had studied.
Our crime was that we had resisted revolutionary political change. No one, apart from those who resorted to a deliberate twisting of the truth, could question the principles on which our constitution was based. It was a constitution which had been drawn up by the British and Rhodesian governments together. Our citizens had access to the vote whatever their race, colour or creed. For the past fifty years we had been accepted as respected and responsible members of the world community. We were a member of the British Commonwealth of Nations and our prime minister attended their conferences along with the other prime ministers. The performance of our government was highly regarded. Our human-rights record was impeccable, and of special note, we were economically viable. As our prime minister after the last world war, Sir Godfrey Huggins (later Lord Malvern) had told us: ‘We have proved ourselves, and our record is such that the British government has told me
that Rhodesia can have its independence whenever they wish — it is there for the asking.’
Well — we had certainly asked for it time and time again, not only the Rhodesian Front, but previous governments as well. And now we had gone even further and made changes to our constitution in order to give our black people greater participation in government, in fact control of government. We hastened the process, contrary to our better judgement. From our experience it would have been preferable to have taken more time, to have allowed for training, the development of skills and expertise, the acquiring of all of those things which together connote civilisation. And we did have experience of Africa. We lived in the middle of it — surrounded by countries riddled with corruption, incompetence, indolence, nepotism and all those other evil aspects of communist dictatorships. Ninety per cent of them were bankrupt and in chaos.
It was our belief that we could avert this, through bringing in and working with our responsible black leaders — at least it provided hope of preventing a communist takeover. If the free world gave us their blessing and support, it would succeed. And there was an obligation for them to do so, because we had now done what they had asked of us. What more did they want? But the power of the communists and their minions in the OAU seemed to be too powerful for the free world leaders. In blunt language, we were part of a sick world, where appeasement and compromise on accepted beliefs and standards were the order of the day. Although it served no purpose, it was only natural for Rhodesians to reminisce on our glorious history, not only on our record of achievement, but the high moral principles in which we believed, and the general standards of decency, fair play and honesty that we put into practice. But we were now confronted by a desperate situation: we had been trapped into burning our bridges behind us in order to underscore the honesty of our intention to abide by the agreement we had made with the free world — the agreement that was going to strengthen our hand to repulse the tide of communism sweeping down the African continent. Having fulfilled our part of the contract, we were patiently waiting with expectation.
However, Rhodesians were mature and realistic after their experiences over many years on the receiving end of deceit and treachery. Uppermost in our minds was the knowledge that we were fighting for our survival and the protection of those values in which Rhodesians believed. Our enemies would not be relaxing — extremists never do. This night of 20 June 1978, the same as every other night, as soon as it became dark the terrorists would be rampaging through the rural areas, terrorising and murdering innocent tribesmen not prepared to join their ranks. Fortunately, and surprisingly, considering all we had been through, most Rhodesians believed that bitterness and hatred were sterile liabilities devoid of any positive contribution. So the only sensible and practical thing to do was live with our history, and make the most of what we had been able to salvage. Although our destination appeared to be in sight, it was still in the distance, and the road ahead was fraught with concealed hazards and danger.
After dinner, on that night of the opening of Parliament, van der Byl reported on his visit to Europe. Tiny Rowland of Lonrho had flown across to France to meet him, offering advice and help. Nkomo was keen to get back home, Rowland said, and was more than ready to break with Mugabe, whom he claimed was untrustworthy. Rowland claimed that Kaunda was fed up with Nyerere, who insisted on calling the tune in spite of the fact that he lived far away, with his interests oriented north and east. The outcome in Rhodesia was of no consequence to his country. Kaunda and Machel were more than ready for a settlement. Nkomo would like to have a meeting with me, and Rowland would be happy to make the arrangements. My stance was consistent: any constructive contribution was welcome. We had transmitted messages to both Nkomo and Mugabe that the doors were open to anyone who wished to participate in our election, and the necessary arrangements were in place. Obviously, the longer they procrastinated, the more difficult it would become for them.
The war against Mugabe’s ZANLA and Nkomo’s ZIPRA, within and without Rhodesia, was ever-present, but there were other concerns of a violent nature in June. The next day, 21 June, Rowan Cronjé, Co-Minister of Education, brought Chief Chirau and G.M. Magaramombe, the Co-Minister for Health, for a talk. They were concerned at the intimidation that was taking place, not only from terrorist sympathisers, but the UANC as well. Chirau claimed that some of his supporters had even been killed. I arranged for them to meet the security chiefs as part of a plan to give them some protection. They left satisfied with the arrangement, as we were agreed that there could be no compromise on our stand — the alternative would be a thousand times worse.
A week later, Rhodesians lost their first president. My diary entry:
28.06.78. 7 a.m. call from Armenel Dupont to say that Cliff had passed away in his sleep earlier in the morning. It was a merciful release. He had lost the use of his legs, and his arms and hands were going the same way — intolerable for a man who had always been so active. A wonderful character, maybe mercurial and unpredictable, but full of kindness with a ready smile on his face. His greatest attribute was his great courage, and he carried out his difficult task as OAG [Officer Administering the Government], and then President in an exemplary manner, ably and loyally supported by his devoted wife. Perhaps there was another reason why Clifford’s passing was a blessing in disguise, because whilst always proud of his English ancestry, a graduate of Cambridge University with a love for rugby, cricket and horse-racing, his face took on a sombre expression when he made the point that British diplomacy was the most devious in the world.
Had Clifford lived another eighteen months he would have had the doubtful pleasure of witnessing further proof of his belief.
The effort to bring Nkomo into the settlement continued. On the evening of 2 July, Jack Gaylard, my cabinet secretary, came to see me with Ken Flower and his deputy, Derrick Robinson. They brought a message from Kaunda saying that he was prepared to arrange a meeting with Nkomo only if Machel participated. The reason was that, after our last meeting in Lusaka on 25 September 1977, Kaunda had been criticised for meeting me behind the backs of Machel and Mugabe. This new condition created a problem. My executive council colleagues, Muzorewa, Sithole and Chirau, were in the picture over my efforts to draw in Nkomo. We were agreed on the desirability of involving the Matabele in our transitional government. This new suggestion, however, would be unacceptable to my colleagues. Thus, if I accepted it secretly, it would place me in a position where I was working with the Patriotic Front behind the backs of my executive council colleagues, and this was not on. Thus I told Flower that they should make an effort to obtain the services of President Khama of Botswana and President Banda of Malawi to arrange the meeting, or turn to Tiny Rowland, who was waiting in the wings. An unacceptable alternative was offered by the British, who had been trying to reinstate themselves as participants in what was going on. Gaylard and Robinson were also the bearers of a message from them suggesting a meeting in Europe between Nkomo, the Nigerian Commissioner for Foreign Affairs, Brigadier Garba, and our nominee. Once again we had to tell them that they were getting away from the objective, which was a confidential meeting between Nkomo and myself. At the rate they were going the whole world would know about it before it started.
Every day brought difficulties, the next day’s, for example:
03.07.78 — Dupont’s State Funeral this afternoon, and it was held in the Cathedral with the usual dignity and organisation associated with such occasions. I was sitting quietly reading that evening when Chief Justice MacDonald arrived. He had to tell me how deeply incensed he was at the funeral over the lack of courtesy extended to him, and the final humiliation when he was asked to wait for a while as the coffin and principal mourners moved down the aisle. I was flummoxed — I was told where to sit, and where and when to move, that is always part of these occasions, they call it protocol and it applies to Ministers, and Judges, and Mayors and the like. I had often said that the less I had to do with protocol the better. But, he insisted that
he was second in standing to the Prime Minister, and therefore should be treated differently. I had heard about his sensitivity over his position, and that those around him had to be on their guard lest they failed to acknowledge this situation. Nevertheless it came as a surprise and was so contrary to generally accepted beliefs and patterns of behaviour amongst Rhodesians. There were so many more important matters requiring attention.
The next day’s difficulty concerned my colleagues. I was still hearing rumblings that certain members of the transitional government were not supporting the team effort. The executive council meeting went well until towards the end when Gabellah (deputising for Sithole) said that at ministerial level things were proceeding satisfactorily with a real spirit of working together, but that there was concern that this was not the position with the executive council. Muzorewa was in the chair, and all eyes were directed towards him, because all along he had been the weak link. I asked him a straight question: ‘Let’s be honest, you are the one in doubt, can you give us your position?’ He replied that as we all knew, it was his central committee that made these decisions, and he was guided by them.
It was a dreadful position in which we found ourselves. Here was a man who was a leading member of our team, who had concurred with decisions which we had made, and now, only when he was cornered, conceded that he had done so under false pretences. I had to tell him that it was absolutely vital for him to let us know where we stood, otherwise our agreement would break apart. He pleaded for patience until after the coming long weekend when he would call together his central committee and give us the answer. The rest of us were stunned, but knowing the indecisiveness of the man, we were left with no option other than to go along with his plea. What made the situation even more inexplicable was that later that day, 4 July, one of the top civil servants contacted their party chairman, Mazawana, a highly respectable grey-haired retired school headmaster, who was emphatic that their executive had long ago endorsed Muzorewa’s full participation.