Bitter Harvest

by Ian Smith

  On Saturday 8 March, our friend at the South African mission sent a message to say that when Magnus Malan had visited the other day he had expressed horror at the manner in which our security chiefs had thrown in the towel when it would have been a relatively easy matter for them to have made a stand. My simple comment was that I did not think he could get Pik Botha to agree on that one!

  I was told also that day the latest story from the various messes through the country was that ‘On Tuesday Rhodesia had its Walls’ Street Crash!’ As is well-known, one of the most admirable characteristics of the Britisher — and the Rhodesian — is that no matter how dark the moment, he retains his sense of humour.

  Sunday 9 March was a quiet day, with everybody awaiting developments. There were a few suggestions from different people that I should take the initiative in forcing some action, as it seemed our only hope. I made it clear that was a non-starter. If a lead were to be given by those who had the necessary authority and power to initiate what was their constitutional right, they would have my support. But under no circumstances was I prepared to embark on a gamble which, if it failed, would redound to the detriment of our white people in particular, and indeed prove disastrous for the whole nation.

  David Smith came in mid-morning, Monday 10 March, to say that Mugabe had offered him a cabinet post — he was planning for three white ministers. The offer was made to him personally, nothing to do with the Rhodesian Front, he explained. I asked if this meant he intended to resign from the party? ‘No,’ he replied, having been elected on a RF ticket, he could not. Mugabe was hoping, he said, that we would both visit him later in the day. I agreed. I believed it was incumbent upon me to remind David Smith, however, that, as far as the party was concerned, he was under a cloud, as he well knew, and this would create further suspicion and distrust — but the decision was entirely his own. He replied that it was his wish to accept, but he was hoping for my endorsement, as this would then have the blessing of the RF and ipso facto the white people. I undertook to await a message from him on the visit to Mugabe.

  I was concerned that such a move might compromise Nkomo’s negotiating strength, with Mugabe claiming that this indicated the support of the RF, and I wished to avoid a situation where we were taking sides between Shona and Ndebele. It was also my assessment that any suggestion that the RF was divided, with one faction working in cahoots with Mugabe, would have an adverse effect on the already battered white morale, and I was determined to do all in my power to avoid this. It was patently obvious that the future success of our country hinged on retaining the confidence and participation of those who had the professionalism, skills, experience, initiative and capital which sustained the economy. We sacrificed these at our peril.

  For some time I had been in the invidious position of having to decide between Nkomo and Mugabe. The thought of siding with Nkomo was particularly repulsive. On the evidence before us, however, he seemed to be the lesser of the two evils. The record indicated that he supported the free enterprise philosophy, while Mugabe was a dedicated communist. Moreover, there was the important question of trying to maintain a balance, to encourage all parties to work together in order to promote national unity, thus preventing a one-party dictatorship, that bane of Africa. Accordingly, one had to resist dealing with personalities and concentrate on the national interest.

  At 7 p.m. David Smith and I set off to see Mugabe. He told me that he had settled with Nkomo, who was satisfied to be given the Ministry of Home Affairs. I thought this was fair and just, as the police came under Home Affairs, so this would give the Matabeles some say in the field of security. The only thing remaining, Mugabe said, was the appointment of whites, and it was his intention to have two. He wished to have David Smith as one of them. The other was not from the political scene. It was important for me to give him the truth and point out that David Smith was still under the Lancaster House cloud, and that this appointment would aggravate this position. The personality aspect was not important, I said, it was the question of white confidence and morale that should guide him in his choice. After all, this was the object of the exercise, and there was no doubt that the choice of David Smith would have a negative effect. Mugabe, sitting beside me on the couch, leant towards me and said in a quiet confidential voice that he had given the matter great thought and, in fact, in the choice of both the white ministers, he had accepted the advice of Soames. They were both of the opinion that if the appointment received my blessing this would confirm white support. He added: ‘You won’t let me down, will you?’ Soames’s suggestion of accommodating David Smith obviously smacked of collusion, I replied, and he would be well advised to resist this. There were a number of able people not associated with the RF able to fill cabinet positions. I said I had given him my honest feelings, but the decision was his and he could rest assured that in the interest of preserving the confidence of our white people and promoting a spirit of co-operation I would resist provocation. He seemed genuinely relieved and grateful.

  As we drove away, David said that, while he was a reluctant participant, he believed that it was in the national interest for him to accept the appointment. He hoped that I would assist in supporting him before our party colleagues. I resisted the comment that it was abundantly clear that this was part of the plan made at Lancaster House and that inadvertently Mugabe had let the cat out of the bag through his comment that his decision was made on the advice of Soames. The British government kept their word, no matter what the election result — expediency prevailed over principle. Nevertheless, I decided that I would abide by my decision to support Mugabe’s choice and in the national interest I would suppress my inner feelings.

  At 8.30 a.m. on Tuesday 11 March I had an interview with Australian TV followed by a meeting with my ministers. I gave them a briefing on the previous day’s happenings, and there ensued some strongly worded critical and sarcastic comments: there was a feeling that if we did not give the public the ‘brutal truth’ we would be guilty of deception. But finally they accepted my view that personal feelings must be suppressed in the interests of the unity and morale of our white community.

  In the afternoon, I received the news that Dennis Norman (who had headed the Rhodesia National Farmers’ Union) had been called to Government House, where Soames informed him that Mugabe would offer him the Ministry of Agriculture. When he was interviewed by Mugabe, however, he was offered the Ministry of Mines, which he declined on the basis that he knew nothing about mines. He was then offered Deputy Minister of Agriculture, and this he turned down. He went back to Soames, who said he would get the matter straightened out. This he did! The announcement of the cabinet was made at 7 p.m. with Smith and Norman in place. I admired Norman for having the courage to stand his ground.

  That afternoon I also saw a pretty depressed Mick McLaren. He was collecting much flak because the Nat JOC had failed to deliver the goods they had promised to all and sundry, including their own security forces. He had his time cut out explaining that the decision had not been his and, if it had been, things might have been very different.

  Wednesday 12 March was my last day in my office, clearing up my papers. A few people dropped in to pay their respects, including Sandy MacLean (army) and Frank Mussell (air force), and I impressed on them the continuing responsibility on their shoulders of ensuring the safety of our civilian population. MacLean said that the army units were totally disenchanted and not interested in listening to anyone any more — they were tired of being deceived and taken for a ride. I could understand that, but according to my information their grudge was not against him personally, it was through him to the Nat JOC. He accepted this and said he would go on trying. Mussell believed he still enjoyed some respect from his chaps, but they made it clear that Nat JOC had lost all credibility. He said that it had been a great privilege working with me, and he had been asked to convey to me that this was the view of the whole air force. George Smith came in to say — in his typically quiet, responsible, deliberate m
anner — that he had offered to continue as secretary to the cabinet in order to assist the new government in settling in. These were the kind of dedicated people, many of them, who had been the backbone of our civil service, which had often been described by knowledgeable visitors from different parts of the world as one of the finest to be found anywhere. We reminisced for a few minutes on the fleet-footedness, indeed sleight of hand, of British politicians at Lancaster House. As I walked out of the office it was with a strange sense of relief and freedom, getting away from it all — a breath of fresh air.

  The party executive and MPs met on 13 March to discuss our candidates for the Senate. There was much critical comment on the cabinet appointments, but I steered them away from this, saying that the time had come for us to plan for the future, as there was much work to be done. Striking a lighter note, I suggested that we should have sympathy for these two whites in the cabinet, both dyed-in-the-wool capitalists, who were about to be closeted in a room where they would be heavily outnumbered by Marxist-Leninist terrorists. I ask the MPs: ‘Would any of you take on such a job?’ There was much laughter and agreement.

  My old Spitfire colleague, Jack Malloch, our sanctions-buster supreme, dropped in with a few of his SAS friends on 14 March. He had worked closely with them over many years, dropping them by parachute at night over Zambia and Mozambique when they were blowing up bridges and attacking terrorist camps. They had come to tell me that their whole unit believed they had been betrayed by their leaders. They would still follow me, and they were ready to stand and fight if need be. I thanked them and said I would bear their message in mind — there was nothing more I could do. I made it clear that we were running out of time.

  On Saturday 15 March, McLaren brought in the latest news. Walls had come into his office deeply distressed — the commanders of RLI and Selous Scouts (Lieutenant Colonels Charles Aust and Patrick Armstrong) sought an interview with him and when asked to sit down they replied that it was not necessary. They had come to inform him that in the eyes of Rhodesians he had lost all credibility, and accordingly he had no further part to play. They saluted and departed.

  I met Walls, MacLaren, McLean and Mussell on 17 March. Was there any hope of a last minute rescue operation by getting Soames, and thus the British government, to accept that the election had been highly suspect? There was more than adequate evidence to back up the claim, and if this treachery were condoned it could lead to serious trouble, even bloodshed. Strong representation was continually coming forward from soldiers, airmen, policemen, and farmers, industrialists, even clergymen, all asking if we were facing a betrayal. Some UANC ex-ministers had reported to me that Mugabe’s thugs were continuing their campaign of intimidation, exacting not only political support but also financial contributions. We agreed that such an appeal would be in keeping with the Lancaster House agreement, as it sought a peaceful solution, and that it should be processed. The Nat JOC was in possession of all the evidence confirming massive intimidation, and Walls’s letter to Margaret Thatcher had given chapter and verse. But to carry conviction, we knew the appeal needed black support, and it was obvious that Nkomo with his twenty seats in Parliament was the leader who would carry the necessary support. A plan had already been made for Nkomo to visit me at 7 p.m., but he had just returned from a tiring day and we agreed to meet at 8.30 p.m. the next day, 18 March.

  Comments from the South African media made it clear that they believed they must now wash their hands of us. Die Transvaaler said: ‘The Government’s calm directive is well advised: “The election result in Rhodesia is the decision of the people of Rhodesia and they will have to live with it”.’ But the local South African Ambassador knew full well that it was not the true decision of the people of Rhodesia, and that there was a plan to have the result annulled. So that kind of statement was negative. In fact, it clearly sabotaged the case. We were being confronted with a repetition of what happened after the 1976 Pretoria agreement, when Rhodesia was forced to accept a plan which was in conflict with its own better judgement. In spite of all the generous promises of assistance, when eventually the agreement landed on the rocks — a total disaster — we were dropped like a hot brick. We were now witnessing a classic repetition of this.

  At 8.30 p.m. on 18 March, Nkomo arrived. He was deeply concerned at the way things had turned out. Apart from the fact that the election had obviously been rigged, intimidation and thuggery were continuing and Muzorewa’s and his supporters were getting their heads bashed in every day. The British, Nkomo noted, were condoning this, as they had with the election result. He revealed that, when Mugabe visited Mozambique and Tanzania shortly before the election, he had carried a message with him from the local British team to Machel and Nyerere, assuring them that the election would go the right way, and from then onwards there had been no criticism from those quarters — a complete volte face. But what now could be done? I told him of the plan worked out by the Nat JOC, saying it was the only hope, in fact our last chance, and was to be done peacefully, in keeping with the agreement. Moreover, as it had the backing of our security chiefs, I said, it would definitely succeed. He was clearly uneasy and started producing all the counter arguments. The British obviously would not accept it, and he would be accused of ‘crying foul’ simply because he had lost out. There would be an explosion from the OAU, led by Nyerere and Machel, and no one would dare stand up to that. But, I pointed out, in his own words the election had been rigged and therefore the result was fraudulent, and the necessary evidence to support this would be produced and made public — what was wrong with putting the facts, the truth, before the world? The alternative was to condone the evil. Would he not receive some support from Kaunda, his mentor? After all, he had openly and unequivocally sponsored Nkomo and ZAPU, not only with words, but also deeds. He had supplied their headquarters and bases in Zambia. Kaunda had arranged for the Russians to supply them with the necessary wherewithal to prosecute their war. He had persuaded Vorster to acknowledge Nkomo’s ZAPU as the principal contenders on the Rhodesian scene. He had encouraged me to negotiate with the two of them. And finally, I said, at Lancaster House Carrington had assured me that both Kaunda and Nyerere had given him a personal undertaking that they would support Nkomo as the first leader of Zimbabwe. It seemed to me that he had a cast-iron case, and Kaunda would have no option but to support him, and encourage others to stand by their undertakings.

  I paused for his comment, and eventually he shook his head negatively and said: ‘He will not do that — the forces against him are too strong.’ But what about principle, I thought to myself, and then quickly realised that such things were of little consequence in the new climate. He went on to add that the only course was to ride it and gradually get ourselves better organised, even if it took five years. He hoped the Rhodesian Front would help him with party organisation. He did not think that Mugabe would get away with continuing intimidation, and they would not be able to avoid another election. I had to tell him that to me his reasoning was illogical and out of keeping with fact. Could he indicate one country in Africa to our north that was not a one-party state, and where there had ever been a change of government other than through a coup? There was no comeback.

  In the end he gathered himself to leave, and said he would discuss my suggestion with Robin Renwick, one of Soames’s top advisers, but that he did not believe it would receive any sympathy! I was totally flummoxed at his ridiculous idea. As he had pointed out earlier, the British had sold themselves to a Mugabe victory, and were now publicly committed to the result. I recounted to him my meeting with Soames, when he had told me that the British government dared not do anything which would be in conflict with the wishes of the OAU. Accordingly, it was important to point out that any such attempt on his part would be rejected by the British and, into the bargain, the story would get out, obviously to his embarrassment. Thus he would lose on both counts. He assured me that he had got the message.

  I sat back in my chair and pondered to myself.
In the first case we had lost out because the Nat JOC had shirked their responsibility to confront Soames with the clear evidence that the Lancaster House agreement had been breached a thousand times, and with the demand that new elections should be held once intimidation had been eliminated. We had failed because of weak leadership and the resultant indecision. And now we were confronted with this belated effort at a rescue operation, and once again, obviously, it was not going to work. Clearly, Nkomo did not have the stomach for the kind of plan we had in mind. History seemed to prove that he was a born loser — on a number of occasions when opportunities had presented themselves, he had hesitated and lost out, lacking the leadership qualities to make a positive decision. Into the bargain he had become over-confident and complacent, as two events in particular clearly demonstrated. During the meeting in Lusaka with Kaunda and Gaba (the Nigerian), I had pointed out that our security information indicated that the ZANLA forces of Mugabe had penetrated deep into Matabeleland territory, and I questioned why he did not insist on maintaining the line of demarcation between Matabeleland and Mashonaland which they had agreed among themselves. He replied that as they were fighting for the same cause, there was no problem. But, I asked, was he not aware that ZANLA troops were killing Matabele men and raping their women? He assured me that there was no truth in these rumours. History, however, proved that he was wrong. Second, at Lancaster House I urged him to support my plan for a confederation which would decentralise power and enable the Matabeles to control those affairs that had special relevance to their history, culture, traditions and language. There were many precedents in the world proving the success of the system, especially in protecting the rights of minorities. To my astonishment he replied that it was quite unnecessary — people should understand and accept that he was not only the leader of the Matabeles, but of all the black people in our country. Once again, history proved him to be wrong.