I had a long talk with Prime Minister Kaifu on the afternoon of Wednesday 20 September. Some of the worst causes of disagreement between Japan and the West, including Britain, were by now being overcome. Japan’s external surplus had begun to fall somewhat — though the fact that the yen had depreciated against the dollar threatened problems with the Americans in the future. Japanese investment in Britain was now greater than ever: in fact we were attracting more Japanese manufacturing investment than anywhere else in the European Community. Japan had become one of Britain’s fastest growing major markets. My discussions with the Prime Minister covered that perennial topic, Scotch whisky — where the ever ingenious Japanese had devised whisky ‘lookalikes’ to circumvent the tax changes which had been introduced.
But we were also able to range much more widely over international and indeed Japanese domestic affairs. Mr Kaifu had twice been Education minister and so we had something special in common. He spoke eloquently about social issues, in particular the decline of the family and the need to come to terms with the demographic factor of a rapidly ageing population. These were matters which were also increasingly preoccupying me. But I felt that Japan’s highly developed sense of community and ability to combine material progress with an attachment to traditional values in some ways equipped them better to face these challenges than did our western culture. I have always connected this with the fact that Japan has the lowest level of violent crime in the developed world.
At the end of our talk I gave a television interview jointly with Mr Kaifu about global environmental issues, an area in which the Japanese were beginning to play a large role. I hoped that it would boost his standing, and was told that it had done so. But after the customary two years, Mr Kaifu was soon in his turn to join the ranks of former Japanese prime ministers whose international achievements were an insufficient antidote for factional weakness.
By the time I left office, the West and Japan were beginning seriously to come to terms with the question of where Japan’s future lay. Only with the end of the Cold War has the full importance of this become apparent. Japan can have a huge role in bringing Russia to prosperity and stability by providing the capital and technology for the development of Siberia. At the same time, Japan has very close links with China. Japan’s attitude to East Asia, where newly industrialized countries’ economies are racing ahead, is also of great importance in determining whether the dominant approach will be one of free trade or protection. Above all, relations between the United States and Japan are vital to the security of the region, and indeed on a global scale too, where Japan has the resources and America the technology — and enjoys the trust — to support any kind of ‘new world order’.
East Asia and Australia
British policy ‘East of Suez’ still matters. Indeed, there is a strong argument that it will matter more and more. East Asia contains some of the fastest growing economies in the world. The newly industrialized countries of the Asian Pacific region, like South Korea, Taiwan, Indonesia and Singapore — which, together with Hong Kong, make up the five ‘little tigers’ — have to be fully integrated into a global free-trading economy if our industries are to compete effectively. They will increasingly provide us not just with competition but markets. They would all welcome more European — particularly British — contact as a counterweight to the other dominant influences in the region — the United States, China and Japan. In the longer term it is still unclear if and when countries like (an eventually reunited) Korea and Indonesia (with the world’s fourth largest population — and the largest Muslim country) will develop wider political ambitions.
Britain has a traditional presence in the region. Australia should also now be considered at least as much a power in its own right as a partner in the Anglo-Saxon world. Individually and through the Commonwealth, Britain and Australia have an interest in nudging political development in the direction of democracy. So for all these reasons I was keen to visit the region so as to exert influence and drum up business for British companies.
I had had to postpone my visit to South-East Asia because of the miners’ strike. This put out some of the initial arrangements. So when I eventually departed on the morning of Thursday 4 April 1985 it was with a schedule originally devised for a fortnight but telescoped into ten days.
The first leg of the tour was Malaysia. We ought to have had better relations with Malaysia than we actually did. This was in part because the Prime Minister of Malaysia, Dr Mahathir, felt that in the past we had not treated his country with sufficient respect as an independent nation. It may not have been just chance that Britain always seemed to be at the bottom of the list when bids for contracts in Malaysia were considered. In fact, I got on rather well with Dr Mahathir and developed an increasing respect for him. He was tough, shrewd and practical. He had a refreshingly matter-of-fact outlook on everything that related to his country. Several years later, when, almost overnight, environmental issues had become all the rage in international gatherings, he put down some of the more extreme conservationists by saying that he was not prepared to keep tribesmen in his country living under conditions which promised a life expectancy of about forty-five simply in order to allow them to be studied by academics.
When I left Malaysia I felt that Dr Mahathir and I had established a good understanding, and so indeed it proved. When I first arrived he had been highly critical of the Commonwealth, seeing it as a kind of post-colonial institution. But I persuaded him to come to the next CHOGM. I had made a convert. Indeed in 1989, he himself hosted the CHOGM in Kuala Lumpur. It turned out to be the best organized I ever attended. Slightly less diplomatically beneficial were my talks with the very cultured, sophisticated earlier Prime Minister of Malaysia, Tunku Abdul Rahman. We found ourselves, as so often seemed the case in Commonwealth countries, discussing South Africa. I remarked that it would have been better if we had kept South Africa inside the Commonwealth, where we could have influenced her more effectively. Tunku Abdul Rahman looked surprisingly displeased. I soon learnt why. He told me that he had been principally responsible for throwing South Africa out in the first place. Clang.
From Malaysia I went, via Singapore and Brunei, to Indonesia. Everything about Indonesia is remarkable. A state created out of some 17,000 islands, a mix of races and religions, based on an artificially created philosophy — the five principles of ‘Pancasila’ — it is a marvel that Indonesia has been kept together at all. Yet it has an economy which is growing fast, more or less sound public finances, and though there have been serious human rights abuses, particularly in East Timor, this is a society which by most criteria ‘works’. At the top, President Soeharto is an immensely hard-working and effective ruler. I was struck by the detailed interest he took in agriculture — something which is all too rare in oil-rich countries like Indonesia. He spent hours on his own farm where experiments in cross-breeding livestock to maximize nutrition were the order of the day. The architect of the technological and industrial base of Indonesia was Dr Habibie, a German-trained scientist of immense energy and imagination.
It was on the final day of my stay in Indonesia that I first realized that I had become an internationally known figure — and not just in Europe, the scene of so many bitter arguments, or in the United States, where I always received a warm reception, but in parts of the world entirely foreign to me. I flew up to Bandung to inspect Dr Habibie’s excellent Institute of Technology. As I got off the aeroplane I was met by girls throwing rose petals on the ground in front of me and then all the way from the airport by crowds five to six deep along the roadside crying ‘Tacher, Tacher’.
Later that day I arrived in Colombo, Sri Lanka. President Jayewardene I already knew and had liked at once. He was an elderly, distinguished lawyer of great integrity and someone who peppered his speech, as I am inclined to do, with talk of ‘the rule of law’, not a bad refrain for any politician. At this time he was beginning to be faced by Tamil terrorism, which ultimately Sri Lanka alone was not
able to suppress. He explained to me in the car the various concessions he had made for regional autonomy — Sri Lanka is a relatively modern construct and real unification of Ceylon came only in the 1830s. I judged that if anyone could restore peace and order without large-scale violence it was such a man as this.
Early the following morning I set off for the opening ceremony of the Victoria Dam Power Station, which as I have explained earlier,[67] was largely paid for out of British Overseas Aid. Although it was still before 10 o’clock in the morning and we were well up in the hills, the heat was almost unbearable. First, I visited the power station and dam. Then there was a long march past of children in different costumes; dances were performed; flowers were thrown. The Sri Lankan minister with me made his speech. By now we were under a large awning and it was with relief that I saw that someone had brought him a glass of water. Then it was my turn to speak. But no water. By now the atmosphere was even more stifling. I was glad to get back in the car to be driven on to Kandy. The President came with me. But for some reason I still couldn’t get any water. Nearly five hours after leaving Colombo I reached the government guesthouse and I at last got my glass of water. I gulped it gratefully.
Next day I was due to address the Sri Lankan Parliament. It is easy to imagine my horror when, having been introduced by the Speaker, I looked around and found… no water. The Parliament building is magnificent inside and out: but it is also excessively air-conditioned and the atmosphere is dry as dust. Part of the way through my speech I had such a fit of coughing that I had to stop and wait until a glass of water was found for me. I had learnt my lesson. From now on a crate of fizzy Ashbourne water would accompany me on my travels.
I returned to Britain by way of India where I met Rajiv Gandhi for the first time since he had become Prime Minister after his mother’s assassination. (At this stage I was on good terms with him: it was only later that year at the CHOGM in Nassau that we fell out over South Africa.) My abiding impression was of the tight security which surrounded him and his wife Sonia. They were living in a small, rather cramped house, unwilling or unable to return to the house where Mrs Gandhi had met her death. I laid a wreath at the site of my old friend’s funeral pyre.
I was due to attend the Bicentennial celebration in Australia in the late summer of 1988. I had really rather doubted whether my presence was necessary at all. I had earlier suggested to the Australian Prime Minister, Bob Hawke, that, with the Queen, other members of the Royal Family and numerous foreign dignitaries, perhaps I would be one Englishwoman too many. But he insisted that I should come, and so I did. Although I had some famous rows with Bob Hawke, I found him easy to deal with: like me, he was blunt and direct. But on this occasion, he was to prove consideration itself.
I had decided to combine this Australian visit with another foray into South-East Asia. On this occasion I was able to spend rather longer than previously in Singapore. That little island’s economy continued to astonish. Its GDP was rising at over 9 per cent a year and its total trade was up over the same period by a third. It was therefore pleasant to receive congratulations from Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew about the state of the British economy, though I said that in my view we were growing somewhat too fast. His only criticism was of me personally — for undertaking a programme of foreign visits which he described as ‘absolute madness’, adding that he did not know anyone else who would even contemplate it. He was full of his usual shrewd observations about world trouble spots like Cambodia, North Korea and the Middle East. I always found him most perceptive about China. He maintained that although entrenched habits in China were deeply authoritarian, communism itself went against the grain of the Chinese character and could not in the very long term succeed. Lee Kuan Yew is of course by origin Chinese himself: I used to tell him that in many ways I wished he had stayed at home — that way China might have found its way to capitalism twenty years earlier.
Then it was on to Australia. I arrived in Perth, went on to Alice Springs, and arrived at Canberra. Here I visited the new Parliament building, erected to celebrate the Bicentennial, and was met by Bob Hawke, who introduced me to his Cabinet, in which Paul Keating was then Finance minister. Whatever differences of outlook we had on other matters, I found Mr Keating refreshingly orthodox on finance — a far cry from the British Labour Party. In my speech at the lunch which followed I stressed the importance of Australia’s role as a regional power. The fact was that the economic growth of many countries in the area was going ahead far faster than political progress. I believed that Australia, as one of the world’s oldest and most developed democracies, could make a vital contribution to regional stability.
My tour finished up in Brisbane. I visited the British Pavilion at the EXPO ’88 World Trade Fair. I was disappointed by what I saw and said so with some vigour on my return to England. It was not the fault of those directly concerned, but rather of cheese-paring by the British Government, that our pavilion just did not match those of other major countries. As with embassy buildings, I always insisted that cutting back on expenditure on generating the right image of Britain abroad is sheer foolishness. From now on I took a direct interest in the matter: for example, I told David Young, as Trade and Industry Secretary, that we must have the best national exhibition at the Seville EXPO in 1992, and I believe we did.
My day ended in Brisbane with attendance at a splendid production of the ‘Last Night of the Proms’ — which the Australians immediately christened the ‘Last Night of the Poms’. Whatever the shortcomings of the pavilion, British popular culture was on vigorous form.
From Australia I flew via Malaysia to Thailand. It was my first visit. But I soon found myself in much the same frame of mind as at Brisbane, for it was clear that our large and impressive embassy building in Bangkok was not being properly maintained. Next morning I visited the United Nations Refugee Camp on the Thai border with Cambodia. It was quite a trip to get there — aeroplane, then helicopter, then Land Rover. It was huge, more like a large town than a temporary camp. Prince Sihanouk, his wife and daughter were in charge. I quickly noticed that there were very few men: it turned out that the great majority were away fighting the Vietnamese Army inside Cambodia. I also noticed immediately how the refugees venerated Prince Sihanouk, approaching him, as is the — for a westerner — rather disturbing habit, on their knees. He delivered a rousing and justified philippic against Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge while I was there. Later I detected in conversation with him that wiliness and toughness which accounted, against all odds and predictions, for his political survival in a very dangerous game.
I had worn a simple cotton dress and flat shoes to visit the refugee camp. But I was struck by the fact that many of the women there were wearing attractive new dresses, looking remarkably elegant. My hair had also suffered from the wind, heat and humidity. So when I returned to Bangkok I asked the embassy to find someone who would set it for me and was pleasantly surprised to find myself in the hands of a lady whom I still consider to be one of best hairdressers I have ever had.
It is easy to fall in love with Thailand, in spite of its seamy side which was kept well hidden from me. As a staunch monarchist myself, I was particularly moved by my discussions with the King and Queen of Thailand. Perhaps every national monarchy has to find its own particular style. Certainly, King Bhumibol Adulyadej had done so. Hearing him speak with equal passion about problems of peasant agriculture and matters of high politics I could well understand the unique regard in which the Thai monarchy was held and how, though generals and civilian governments might come and go, the monarchy itself had remained the enduring source of legitimacy.
I returned to Britain by way of Dubai and took the opportunity of visiting HMS Manchester, acting as part of the Armilla Patrol protecting shipping in the Gulf. I do not really enjoy the heat: but at least I thought I would never experience anything worse than the temperature overlooking Sri Lanka’s Victoria Dam Power Project three years earlier. I was wrong. It was over 120 degrees as
Denis and I stood waiting on the tarmac for the helicopter to take us from Dubai Airport aboard HMS Manchester. I was fascinated to explore the ship, climbing up and down ladders and along the narrow gangways from the galley to the Sea Dart missile loading bay. I stayed longest in the Operations Room. It did not take much imagination to envisage how easily mistakes can be made, in spite of all the checks and double checks, under great tension, in that darkened enclosed space. Below decks it was slightly cooler, though not much. The Chief Cook who was baking an apple and blackcurrant pie told me that the temperature in the galley was 105 degrees. I decided that it was time for this particular politician to ‘get out of the kitchen’ and left. I had enjoyed myself. But that iced whisky and soda back aboard the VC10 never tasted better.
THE MIDDLE EAST
Egypt and Jordan
Little progress was made during my time as Prime Minister in solving the Arab-Israeli dispute. It is important, though, to be clear about what such a ‘solution’ can and cannot be. The likelihood of a total change of heart among those concerned is minimal. Nor will outside influences ever be entirely removed from the region. Certainly, the end of Soviet communist manipulation of disputed issues makes it potentially easier to reach agreement with moderate Arabs and allows the United States to place clearer limits on its support for particular Israeli policies. But ultimately the United States, which was the power most responsible for the establishment of the state of Israel, will and must always stand behind Israel’s security. It is equally, though, right that the Palestinians should be restored in their land and dignity: and, as often happens in my experience, what is morally right eventually turns out to be politically expedient. Removing, even in limited measure, the Palestinian grievance is a necessary if not sufficient condition for cutting the cancer of Middle East terrorism out by the roots. The only way this can happen, as has long been clear, is for Israel to exchange ‘land for peace’, returning occupied territories to the Palestinians in exchange for credible undertakings to respect Israel’s security. It may be that the (thankfully ineffective) scud missile attacks of the Gulf War, demonstrating that Israel cannot preserve her security just by enlarging her borders, will eventually pave the way for such a compromise. That is to anticipate: for during my time as Prime Minister all initiatives eventually foundered on the fact that the two sides ultimately saw no need to adjust their stance. But that did not mean that we could simply sit back and let events take their course. Initiatives at least offered hope: stagnation in the Middle East peace process only ever promised disaster.
The Downing Street Years, 1979-1990 Page 66
