But the Bangwato – and especially the women – were ecstatic at her return, with the two children. Hundreds of tribesmen and thousands of Bamangwato women and children, reported the Rhodesia Herald, ‘were preparing to give Mrs Khama a rousing welcome’.48 She was greeted as the Mother of the people – Mohumagadi – and was driven to her new home through knots of dancing women. When she arrived, reported a correspondent for the Daily Telegraph, who had flown to Bechuanaland to cover the Khamas’ return, ‘Bamangwato women besieged Mrs Khama in her new home at Serowe with shouts of welcome.’49 Ruth and Seretse, holding the children and smiling broadly, stood on the veranda in front of a vast crowd, who were craning their necks to see them and stretching out their arms. Ruth was wearing an outfit of green cotton, with a floral motif, and a black sequin-trimmed velvet hat and black accessories, according to the Johannesburg Star. She had arrived quietly and without any fuss, ‘with a measure of poise and dignity. She made it clear that she regards herself as a Bangwato subject.’50 Speaking on behalf of Ruth in Setswana, Seretse told the cheering people how happy his wife was to have come home and to be with them. Later that morning, Tshekedi arrived at the house – and ‘the family reunion’, said the Telegraph, ‘was complete.’51
The Nationalist Government of South Africa had been silent on the ending of Seretse’s and Ruth’s exile. But in large parts of the country, there was jubilation – it seemed to herald a real change in the racial politics of southern Africa. In the townships of Johannesburg, towards the end of 1956, people danced joyfully to a song by Miriam Makeba – Pula Kgosi Seretse. The Federation of South African Women – which just two months before had organized a massive march on the Union Buildings in Pretoria to protest against the extension of Passes to women – sent a letter to Ruth to welcome her back to southern Africa. ‘We salute your courage’, wrote Helen Joseph, the National Secretary, ‘in opposing racial prejudice, your determination to choose your own way of life, to choose whom you marry.’ They knew, she added,
of the difficulties that you have faced so courageously in the past, of the difficulties you will be called upon to face in the future, and we join with the other women of Africa in welcoming you, your husband and your children, back to the land of your choice, of your husband’s birth.
She added that the National President of the Federation, Mrs Lilian Ngoyi, sent her personal greetings and recalled with pleasure getting to know Ruth in London.52
On the day after Ruth’s return, she and Seretse strolled arm-in-arm through the town. They did some shopping and then drove round to the kgotla ground, where Seretse presented to his wife some of the African officials from the district. Then, with the children, they crossed the hill overlooking Serowe to the royal burial ground where Seretse’s ancestors were interred. ‘Every tribesman bowed low as the family passed’, reported the Johannesburg Star, and ‘every Bamangwato woman showed her respect. Some showed their joy by going through some motion connected with reaping the harvest.’ On the long veranda of the Khama home, the reporter asked Ruth how it felt to be back in Serowe: ‘She stared at the tight ring of Native huts spread out over the town, took a deep breath and said, “I’m so happy, ever so happy.”’53
So were the Bangwato. It was not long, according to the Daily Herald, before a song of local dancers, beginning with the words, ‘Seretse and Ruth have come back to us’, became popular all over the Reserve.54
25
The wind of change
‘A great change has come over the Bamangwato Reserve,’ wrote a correspondent for the Johannesburg Star in 1957. Since Seretse Khama had returned from exile with his English wife, he reported, ‘the Bamangwato have settled down to a new and peaceful life. Gone are the conflicts in the Tribe, the refusal to cooperate with the authorities, and the tribal feuds, family against family.’1 Gone, too, was the cloud of sorrow and grief that had cast a shadow over daily life in Serowe for six long years.
What had not gone were the seething resentments of the white community against Ruth. A few of them were loyal friends, but most lost no time in trying to make her life as miserable as possible. She was harassed by the police for trivial matters concerning her car, such as a badly positioned rear light. The police also tried to prosecute her under the liquor laws, when she bought alcohol from the hotel in Palapye. ‘What was bugging [them] of course,’ commented a sympathetic official, ‘was that no doubt Seretse would enjoy some of the gin and being a “native” would be breaking the law.’ When the Serowe tennis club committee learned that Seretse and Ruth planned to attend the annual dance the next day, with a party of four African friends, the event was quickly cancelled on the pretext of the extreme heat.2
But Ruth ignored these slights and settled into a happy domestic routine with her family. She also started the welfare work she had been longing to do for the people of Serowe, and launched the first club of the Council of Women, which provided a range of services for women, including crèches for the children of working mothers. With the help of the hospital where she had given birth to Jacqueline, she also organized classes in hygiene, baby care and nursing first aid, including how to make bandages from mealie bags. Spread around in her drawing room were catalogues and British women’s magazines, from which she was collecting patterns for dressmaking, knitting and crochet classes. She was also arranging lessons to teach women how to grow their own vegetables, because a cabbage and many greens cost more than a day’s wage; to demonstrate good methods, she had cultivated a flourishing vegetable patch in her own backyard.3
Sometimes Ruth wished the railway line was nearer, so that she could get fresh fruit and fish, to vary the daily meals of meat. She also missed her parents and sometimes drove all the way to Francistown to telephone her mother. But otherwise, she was content. The post came three times a week and letters of support came from all over the world, one of which was addressed to ‘Ruth, Edge of Kalahari Desert’.
Together, Ruth and Seretse set up a cricket club, organizing nonracial matches in front of their house, as well as tennis and boxing clubs. They organized sports sessions and social functions such as dances, to raise funds for a community building. ‘We can’t rely on charity,’ said Seretse – ‘we’ve got to learn to help ourselves.’4
They were watched by the Bechuanaland Protectorate Special Branch, which filed regular reports to London.5 They were also watched by South Africans who drove over the border to look at them, peering through car windows at the family. It was as though, said Seretse with distaste, ‘we were some strange animals’.6
Seretse built a new house for his family high on a hill overlooking Serowe, with generated electricity and water pumped from a borehole; they moved in a year after their return. Then, in 1958, Ruth gave birth to twin boys: Tshekedi Stanford and Anthony Paul. In the past, twins had been regarded by the Bangwato people as an evil omen; but as they witnessed the joy of Seretse and Ruth, they welcomed the twins and joined in the celebrations.7 Seretse’s and Ruth’s decision to name one of the twins after Tshekedi was a powerful way of demonstrating that the years of bitterness between nephew and uncle were firmly in the past. The other twin, Anthony, was named after Anthony Wedgwood Benn, who had done so much to help end the Khamas’ exile and who by now had shortened his name to Tony Benn. Seretse was the godfather of Melissa, Benn’s daughter.
‘It’s wonderful to be back,’ said Seretse, ‘and to feel I am doing something worthwhile.’8 He was busy with his vast herds of cattle and carrying out experiments to improve farming in Bechuanaland.9 But he was also becoming involved in politics. Before leaving the UK, at a press conference, he had described his hope ‘to assist my people to develop a democratic system, to raise our standard of life, and to establish a happy and healthy nationhood’.10 Now he put this into action.
Towards the end of 1957, he and Tshekedi took a leading role in the creation of a Bangwato Tribal Council, democratically elected in the Kgotla; Rasebolai was Chairman, Seretse was Vice-Chairman, and Tshekedi was Secretary. John H
atch, writing to Seretse from the UK, warned him that Tshekedi had ‘an extremely tortuous mind, and one which continually harbours ulterior motives’. He was glad, he said, that uncle and nephew were cooperating together, but he was concerned that Seretse might be circumvented by his uncle’s manoeuvres.11 What Hatch did not understand was that both Seretse and Tshekedi genuinely wanted the best possible future for their nation – that although they had had their differences in the past, they had come together and reached a truce for the sake of their people.
As the designated Kgosi of the Bangwato, Seretse had been primarily concerned about the needs of his own people. But now he became involved in the politics of the Protectorate as a whole: he became a member of the African Advisory Council and the Joint Advisory Council, both advisory bodies to the Resident Commissioner, along with the European Advisory Council.12
Then the Bangwato suffered a great shock. Unexpectedly, Tshekedi fell gravely ill with kidney problems and was rushed to the UK, accompanied by his wife Ella, to consult specialists. Seretse flew to London to be with his uncle. When he arrived, Tshekedi – though struggling to stay conscious – greeted him with a joyful smile and said, ‘I am glad you have come. Let’s forget the past and start afresh.’ Seretse had brought with him an agreement between the Bangwato and a mining company, so that Tshekedi could sign it as a witness. Tshekedi had missed the historic moment at which negotiations between the company and the Bangwato nation had been concluded – negotiations in which he himself had taken such a crucial role. This was his very last signature.
Tshekedi moved closer to death. Seretse sat at his bedside, along with Ella, Tshekedi’s sons and a stream of British friends and supporters, including W. A. W. Clark, David Astor, Michael Scott, Mary Benson (who was writing his biography) and members of the LMS.13 The Earl of Home also visited: although Tshekedi was too weak to talk, he reached out to clasp Home’s hand.14 Finally, on 10 June 1959, at the age of only 54, Tshekedi died. In Bechuanaland, even those who had disagreed with him mourned the loss of this strong and powerful man, who had been at the centre of the Bangwato nation.
Tshekedi’s death has been described as the end of an era, allowing Seretse, who now succeeded his uncle as Tribal Secretary, to develop his own path for the future of the Protectorate. Seretse’s approach to politics was very different: he attracted support instead of creating conflict and antagonism.15 He was a statesman who commanded respect and love – and not fear. Moreover, he was firmly committed to democracy, unlike his more autocratic uncle.
Seretse had very clear ideas about how the Protectorate could best meet the needs of its people and offer to the region the model of a non-racial state. As he said at his inaugural sitting on the Joint Advisory Council in 1958:
I think it is time that we ourselves in Bechuanaland, who neither belong to the Union of South Africa nor the Federation [of Rhodesia and Nyasaland], or any other part as far as I can see, except Great Britain, should try to formulate a policy of our own which is probably unique to us.
This policy, he explained, was one of ‘even teaching those countries who profess to be more advanced than ourselves, that in as far as administration and race relationships [are concerned], they have more to learn from us than we from them’. He had been disturbed, he added,
to find that on the whole there is a tendency to look always over our shoulders. Perhaps I am wrong, if so I stand corrected. We want to see what is happening elsewhere instead of getting on with what we know is peculiar to us and to the country itself.
But, he urged,
We should get on and have no fear that we may incur someone’s displeasure, as long as what we do is internationally accepted… And if we are right I am afraid emotion must come into this; we should not bother very much with what anyone might say… We have ample opportunity in this country to teach people how human beings can live together.16
The idea of teaching ways in which human beings could live together would have been a formidable challenge in any part of the world in the middle of the twentieth century. In southern Africa, racked by the sickness of racial segregation and white supremacy, it was a hugely ambitious plan – but all the more urgent.
Seretse and other prominent men from all over Bechuanaland called on the British Government to set up a multi-racial Legislative Assembly for the whole of the Protectorate, to which the Government agreed in 1960. Plans were developed for a Legislative Council that would rule Bechuanaland, subject to a British veto, with an Executive Council operating like a Cabinet. Although at least a third of the members would be nominated British officials, the remainder would be elected – ten African, ten white, and one Asian. Quite clearly, observed John Hatch, it was ‘a constitution designed to lead gradually to eventual democratic representation’.17 Elections were held in 1961, and because Seretse got twice as many votes as any other man, he was made a member of the Executive Council.
‘Democratic development’, said Seretse in a press interview that was reported by Time, ‘is much better than being a Chief.’ He was now starting to be seen not simply as the leader of the Bangwato, but the leader of the whole of the nation of Bechuanaland. He was ‘obviously’, added Time, ‘the most powerful politician around.’18
One of Seretse’s key concerns was the racial discrimination operating in the Protectorate. One of the most visible examples was the law prohibiting the sale of liquor to Africans; this was a relic of the days when Khama III and other diKgosi had called on Britain, as the protecting power, to enact this prohibition. It had now produced a situation where not only were Africans unable to purchase liquor, but hotels used this as a way of refusing customers on the grounds of race.19 A Liquor Law was passed in 1961, abolishing all distinctions based on race in regard to the sale and consumption of liquor and replacing them with distinctions based on ‘standards of civilisation’.
Then, in 1962, at the insistence of Seretse, a Select Committee on Racial Discrimination was appointed to examine ways of eliminating discriminatory practices. It produced a report recommending a number of measures: the unification of the legal system, with one set of courts for everyone; the same tax system for everybody; equal opportunities for employment; and the creation of a non-racial system of education. The report was met with hostility by many of the Europeans, especially the plan to open every school to all children, regardless of colour. They managed to water down the recommendations and suspend legislation.20 Seretse was bitterly disappointed: clearly, the road to non-racialism would be uphill.
In 1962, Seretse formed a political party – the liberal-democratic Bechuanaland Democratic Party (BDP). Other founding leaders of the BDP included Ketumile Masire of the Bangwaketse, a former schoolteacher from Kanye and editor of Naledi ya Batswana, whom Seretse had met in 1960; like Seretse, he had studied at Tiger Kloof. The aim of the BDP was to build a non-racial society based on the principle of equal opportunities for all, and independence from Britain. ‘Seretse Khama is a strong nationalist,’ stated a report to the State Department in Washington, ‘and his BDP policies call for early independence and a good positive program of economic and social development. They are campaigning earnestly.’21 Equally earnest was the Opposition: the Bechuanaland People’s Party (BPP), a nationalist organization led by Philip Matante, which had been formed before the BDP and which was actively supported by Ghana. Both parties called for independence from Britain. But unlike Matante, Seretse and Masire were more interested in finding pragmatic solutions to the problems of their country, than in the adoption of any movement or ideology.
Seretse and Masire complemented each other well: they came from two of the major nations of Bechuanaland, in the north and in the south; Seretse was royal, while Masire was a commoner; Seretse had natural authority, while Masire was a technocrat, with a great organizing ability and a sound knowledge of finance and economic affairs.22
They were a powerful team to bring the different regions of the Protectorate together into a nation.
In 1963, when Ma
sire was going to the UK to attend a Commonwealth Parliamentary Course, Seretse sent a letter to Tony Benn in London, asking him to find someone to instruct Masire on party organization. He explained:
As you may have heard I lead a political party known as the Bechuanaland Democratic Party. We have been in existence for just over a year now… We have reason to believe that in a couple of years’ time, Britain will grant us internal self government and with this in view, it is our wish to organise ourselves on a proper party basis.
Benn did all he could to help – ‘We often think of you all and wonder how things are going. When are you coming back… to catch up with events in London? Your god-daughter is quite a big girl now and would love to see you again.’23
The British and US Governments were watching Seretse’s growing political role – and his advocacy of a non-racial state – with approval and satisfaction. In 1961, G. Mennen Williams, the American Assistant Secretary of State for African affairs, reported to the Secretary of State in Washington that he had met Seretse Khama and been impressed by his intelligence and ability and by the ‘constructive interest’ of his wife in the future of Bechuanaland. While in the region, he added, he had had a frank and open discussion with Bernard Braine, the British Parliamentary Under-Secretary for Colonial Affairs, in which they had ‘reviewed [the] African scene in general and High Commission Territories in particular’. Braine, he said, had ‘developed [the] idea of making a Commission Territory a showpiece for multiracial democracy in a critical area, to which I heartily subscribe’.24 This was no different from Fenner Brockway’s idea of creating a successful non-racial state, as a healthy alternative to South Africa (a far cry from Britain’s policy just ten years earlier, of supporting South Africa at all costs). But the British and American Governments were less idealistic and more cynical than Brockway. Worried that the developing policy of apartheid would drive nationalists in the region into the arms of Communist groups and nations, they were hoping that Seretse – as a moderate, with close links to Western democracy – would draw supporters away from radical groups such as the BPP, which was believed to have links with the USSR and China.25
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