The Downing Street Years, 1979-1990

by Margaret Thatcher

  In September 1985 I visited the two key moderate Arab states, Egypt and Jordan. President Mubarak of Egypt had continued to pursue, though with greater circumspection, the policies of his assassinated predecessor, Anwar Sadat. King Hussein of Jordan had put forward a proposal for an international peace conference, as a prelude to which US Ambassador Murphy was to meet a joint Jordanian-Palestinian delegation. The Egyptians were keen to see the Jordanian initiative succeed. But the sticking point was which Palestinian representatives would be acceptable to the Americans, who would have nothing directly to do with the PLO. President Mubarak felt that the Americans were not being sufficiently positive. I had some sympathy for this point of view, though I restated what I said was a cardinal principle for the US, as for Britain, that we would not agree to talks with those who practised terrorism. I felt that President Mubarak and I understood one another. He was a large personality, persuasive and direct — the sort of man who could be one of the key players in a settlement.

  My main public gesture in Egypt on behalf of British business was the unromantic one of opening the British-built Cairo Waste Water Project, in effect the city’s sewer. But before leaving Egypt I made the statutory — though no less fascinating — tour of Karnak and Luxor. It was very hot. By this time I had learned my lesson: I had my own bottled mineral water with me in the car. But a minor disaster ensued when my staff, credulously believing that a bottle labelled mineral water at the museum actually contained such a thing, promptly all went down with severe stomach upsets. I suspect that they were even more pleased than I was when we arrived that evening (Wednesday 18 September) at Amman.

  I already knew King Hussein well and liked him. He had come to see me in Downing Street on a number of occasions. Like President Mubarak, but more so, King Hussein was vexed with the Americans, believing that, having encouraged him to take a peace initiative, they were now drawing back under domestic Jewish pressure. I understood what he felt. He had been taking a real risk in trying to promote his initiative and I thought he deserved more support. I wanted to do what I could to help. So when the King told me that two leading PLO supporters would be prepared publicly to renounce terrorism and accept UNSCR 242 I said that if they would do this, I would meet them in London. I announced this at my press conference. It would have been the first meeting between a British minister and representatives of the PLO. Later, when they arrived in London, I checked to see if they were still prepared to adhere to these conditions. One did. But the other could not: he was afraid for his life. So I could not see them. I am glad to say that King Hussein supported me in that decision. But it demonstrated — if that was necessary — how treacherous these waters were.

  Before leaving Jordan I was taken out to see a Palestinian refugee camp. Denis used to say to me that these camps always tore his heart out. This was no exception. It was clean, well organized, orderly — and utterly hopeless. It was in effect run by the PLO who had, of course, a vested interest in making such camps a permanent recruiting ground for their revolutionary struggle. The most talented and educated Palestinians would not remain long there, preferring to join the Palestinian diaspora all over the Arab world. I talked to one old lady, half blind, lying in the shade of a tree outside her family’s hut. She was said to be about 100. But she had one thing above all on her mind, and spoke about it: the restoration of the Palestinians’ rights.

  Israel

  I had been to Israel several times before I became Prime Minister; and each time I visited what for the world’s three great religions is ‘the Holy Land’ it made an indelible impression. Anyone who has been to Jerusalem will understand why General Allenby, on taking the city from the Turks, dismounted to enter it on foot, as a mark of respect.

  I have enormous admiration for the Jewish people, inside or outside Israel. There have always been Jewish members of my staff and indeed my Cabinet. In fact I just wanted a Cabinet of clever, energetic people — and frequently that turned out to be the same thing. My old constituency of Finchley has a large Jewish population. In the thirty-three years I represented it I never had a Jew come in poverty and desperation to one of my constituency surgeries. They had always been looked after by their own community.

  I believe in what are often referred to as ‘Judaeo-Christian’ values: indeed my whole political philosophy is based on them. But I have always been wary of falling into the trap of equating in some way the Jewish and Christian faiths. I do not, as a Christian, believe that the Old Testament — the history of the Law — can be fully understood without the New Testament — the history of Mercy. But I often wished that Christian leaders would take a leaf out of the teaching of Britain’s wonderful former Chief Rabbi, Immanuel Jakobovits, and indeed that Christians themselves would take closer note of the Jewish emphasis on self-help and acceptance of personal responsibility. On top of all that, the political and economic construction of Israel against huge odds and bitter adversaries is one of the heroic sagas of our age. They really made ‘the desert bloom’. I only wished that Israeli emphasis on the human rights of the Russian refuseniks was matched by proper appreciation of the plight of landless and stateless Palestinians.

  The Israelis knew when I arrived in their country in May 1986 that they were dealing with someone who harboured no lurking hostility towards them, who understood their anxieties, but who was not going to pursue an unqualified Zionist approach. Above all, I could be assured of respect for having stood up to terrorism at home and abroad. (It was only a matter of weeks since I had been one of the very few to support the American raid on Libya.) The Israelis were also aware of the tough line we were taking with the Syrians about the attempt of Nezar Hindawi, who had clear links to the Syrian Embassy and Government, to place a bomb on an El Al aircraft at Heathrow. So if anyone was in a good position to speak some home truths without too much fear of being misunderstood it was I.

  I was looking forward to seeing Prime Minister Shimon Peres again. I knew him to be sincere, intelligent and reasonable. I had met him many times. It was a great pity that he would shortly, under the arrangement reached with the Likud Party in the national coalition, hand over the premiership to the hardline Yitzhak Shamir. Both Mr Peres and I wondered in the light of past history how people would react to seeing the Union Jack and the Star of David flying side by side. But we need not have worried. I arrived to be greeted by welcoming crowds at Tel Aviv, and was driven up to Jerusalem to stay at the King David Hotel — so full of associations for me and for all British people.[68] Outside the hotel even larger crowds were cheering in the darkness. I insisted on getting out of the car to see them, which threw the security men into a fit of agitation. But it was worth it: the people were delighted.

  I breakfasted the following morning with Teddy Kollek, the Mayor of Jerusalem. I knew him well: he combined a warm humanity with formidable administrative zeal and — a still more valuable combination — loyalty to his own people with a sympathetic understanding of the problems of the Arabs. The whole day — Sunday 25 May — was full of evocative demonstrations of Israel’s history and identity. Naturally, I attended the Yad Vashem Memorial to the Holocaust: as on every occasion, I came out numb with shock that human beings could sink to such depravity.

  I went on to a meeting with Mr Shamir. It was impossible to imagine anyone more different from Shimon Peres. This was a hard man, though undoubtedly a man of principle, whose past had left scars on his personality. There was no hostility between us: but nor could there ultimately be any meeting of minds about the way forward. It was clear that there was no possibility of Mr Shamir himself giving up ‘land for peace’ and the Jewish settlements on the West Bank would continue to go ahead.

  I believed that the real challenge was to strengthen moderate Palestinians, probably in association with Jordan, who would eventually push aside the PLO extremists. But this would never happen if Israel did not encourage it; and the miserable conditions under which Arabs on the West Bank and in Gaza were having to live only made things worse.
I also believed that there should be local elections on the West Bank. But at that time one of the strongest opponents of concessions on this — or anything else it seemed — was the then Defence minister, Mr Rabin, with whom I had breakfast on Monday. He proceeded to read out his views to me for forty minutes with barely time for a bite of toast.

  But I was not to be put off. I repeated my proposals for local elections in a speech that afternoon to a group of Israeli MPs at the Knesset — the Israeli Parliament — chaired by the eloquent and respected Abba Eban.

  Later I went to a dinner with carefully selected moderate Palestinians — mostly businessmen and academics — of precisely the sort I felt the Israelis should be prepared to deal with. They poured out their complaints, particularly about their treatment on the West Bank and especially in Gaza, where conditions were worst, partly because of insensitive security policing and partly, it seemed, because of economic discrimination in favour of Jewish business. I promised to take these matters up with Mr Peres — and did so in detail the following day — but I also made clear to them the need to reject terrorism and those who practised it. Although the general view was that only the PLO were able to represent the Palestinians, I also detected in conversations with smaller groups that this did not mean that there was any great love for that organization.

  During my visit I had two long discussions with Mr Peres. He was conscious of the need to keep King Hussein’s now faltering peace initiative in play, not least so as to avoid destabilizing Jordan itself. But he was obviously highly sceptical about the proposal for an international peace conference. For all his understanding of the need for some kind of compromise, I did not come away with any real optimism. In fact, the succession of Mr Shamir as Prime Minister would soon seal off even these few shafts of light.

  However intractable the diplomatic issues were, there was no doubt about the warmth of my reception in Israel, which indeed continued to grow as the visit went on. On Tuesday on my way to the airport for my return flight I stopped at Ramat Gan, a suburb of Tel Aviv that was twinned with Finchley. I had expected that I would be meeting the mayor and a few other dignitaries, perhaps some old acquaintances. Instead, 25,000 people were awaiting me. I was plunged into — at times, to the horror of my detectives and staff, almost sank into — a huge crowd of cheering residents, before being squeezed through and onto a large platform from which I had to give an unscripted speech — always the best. Later, during the Gulf War scud missiles from Iraq fell on Ramat Gan. The people of Finchley raised money to rebuild the houses that had been destroyed. This, I thought, was what ‘twinning’ should be all about.

  AFRICA

  The Problem of South Africa

  I no more shared the established Foreign Office view of Africa than I did of the Middle East. Whereas Israel was considered the pariah of the Middle East with which we would be ill-advised too closely to associate, this role was allotted within Africa to South Africa. The basic, if usually unstated, assumption seemed to be that Britain’s national interests required that we should ultimately be prepared to go along with the opinions of the radical black African states in the Commonwealth. In fact, a clear-sighted analysis suggested something rather different.

  Admitted that fundamental changes must be made in South Africa’s system, the question was of how best to achieve them. It seemed to me that the worst approach was to isolate South Africa further. Indeed, the isolation had already gone too far, contributing to an inflexible, siege mentality among the governing Afrikaner class. It was absurd to believe that they would be prepared to relinquish power suddenly or without acceptable safeguards. Indeed, had that occurred the result would have been anarchy in which black South Africans would have suffered most.

  Nor, I knew, could the latter be considered a homogeneous group. Tribal loyalties were of great importance. For example, the Zulus are a proud and self-conscious nation with a distinct sense of identity. Any new political framework for South Africa had to take account of such differences. Not least because of these complexities, I did not believe that it was for outsiders to impose a particular solution. What I wanted to achieve was step-by-step reform — with more democracy, secure human rights, and a flourishing free enterprise economy able to generate the wealth to improve black living standards. I wanted to see a South Africa which was fully reintegrated into the international community. Nor did I ever feel, for all the sound and fury of the Left, that this was anything other than a high ideal of which no one need be ashamed.

  It was also true that Britain had important trading interests in the continent and that these were more or less equal in black Africa on the one hand and South Africa on the other. South Africa had by far the richest and most varied range of natural resources of any African country. It was the world’s largest supplier of gold, platinum, gem diamonds, chrome, vanadium, manganese and other vital materials. Moreover, in a number of these cases South Africa’s only real rival was the Soviet Union. Even if it had been morally acceptable to pursue a policy which would have led to the collapse of South Africa, it would not therefore have made strategic sense.

  South Africa was rich not just because of natural resources but because its economy was at least mainly run on free enterprise lines. Other African countries, well endowed with natural resources, were still poor because their economies were socialist and centrally controlled. Consequently, the blacks in South Africa had higher incomes and were generally better educated than elsewhere in Africa: that was why the South Africans erected security fences to keep intended immigrants out, unlike the Berlin Wall which kept those blessed with a socialist system in. The critics of South Africa never mentioned these inconvenient facts. But simply because I recognized them did not mean that I held any brief for apartheid. The colour of someone’s skin should not determine his or her political rights.

  President P. W. Botha was to visit Europe on the occasion of the fortieth anniversary of the Normandy Landings and I sent him an invitation to come to see me at Chequers. He had a whole programme of visits in Europe, made possible by an agreement that he had reached earlier in the year with President Machel of Mozambique which seemed a promising development to many European states. Nevertheless, my invitation provoked accusations that I was ‘soft’ on apartheid. On Wednesday 30 May Bishop Trevor Huddleston, the veteran anti-apartheid campaigner, came to Downing Street to put the case against my seeing Mr Botha. His argument was that the South African President should not be accorded credibility as a man of peace and that South Africa should not be allowed to re-enter the international community until it changed its internal policies. This seemed to me to miss the point. It was South Africa’s isolation which was an obstacle to reform. Before his European trip, the only country that Mr Botha had visited in recent years was Taiwan.

  One thing which the opponents of apartheid — perhaps because so many of them were socialists — never seemed fully to grasp was that capitalism itself was probably the greatest force for reform and political liberalization in South Africa, as it was in the communist countries. South Africa could not fulfil its economic potential unless black labour was brought in to the cities and trained. Capitalism in South Africa was already creating a black middle class which would ultimately insist on a share of power.

  President Botha came to Chequers on the morning of Saturday 2 June. I had a private conversation with him which lasted some forty minutes and then I was joined over lunch by Geoffrey Howe, Malcolm Rifkind and officials — the South African President by his Foreign minister R. F. (‘Pik’) Botha. President Botha told me that South Africa never received any credit for the improvements which had been made in the conditions of the blacks. Although there was some truth in this, I had to tell him also how appalled we were by the forced removal of blacks from areas which had been designated for white residents only. I went on to raise the case of the imprisoned Nelson Mandela whose freedom we had persistently sought. It was my view, moreover, that no long-term solution to South Africa’s problems could be achi
eved without his co-operation. But the main discussion concentrated on Namibia, the former South African colony, where South Africa had reimposed direct rule the previous year. Our policy was to support Namibian independence. There was little progress here: South Africa had no intention of allowing Namibia to become independent while Cuban troops remained in Angola, but there was no prospect of Cuban withdrawal until civil war ended in Angola — which at the time seemed a forlorn hope. The South Africans clearly wanted to have more secure relations with their neighbours and hoped that the carrot of economic aid from South Africa might enable better relations to be built. In fact, for the reasons outlined above, this was to be a vain hope because the South African social and political system had begun to hamper economic growth.