Margaret Thatcher: The Autobiography

by Margaret Thatcher

  The Israelis knew when I arrived 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. 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. It was a great pity that he would shortly 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 all British people.* 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 who 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. 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 it was clear that there was no possibility of Mr Shamir 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. 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 and 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.

  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.

  South Africa

  I no more shared the established Foreign Office view of Africa than I did of the Middle East. 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. It was absurd to believe that the governing Afrikaner class 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 could the latter be considered a homogeneous group. Tribal loyalties were of great importance. 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.

  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. But simply because I recognized these facts 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 seeme
d 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.

  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 achieved 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 year 1985 was one of mounting crisis for South Africa. There was widespread rioting. A state of emergency was declared in many parts of the country. Foreign banks refused to renew South African credit and the South African Government declared a four-month freeze on the repayment of the principal of foreign debt. The international pressure on South Africa continued to mount. President Reagan, who was as opposed to economic sanctions as I was, introduced a limited package of sanctions to forestall pressure from Congress. It was clear that the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting in the Bahamas at Nassau that October would be a difficult one for me.

  Bob Hawke, the Australian Prime Minister, opened the conference debate on South Africa, obviously seeking a compromise. Kenneth Kaunda, the President of Zambia, followed with an emotional call for sanctions. I tried to meet both points of view in my reply. I began by detailing the evidence of social and economic change in South Africa. I carefully cited the number of black South Africans who had professional qualifications, who had cars, who were in business. Of course, there was a long way to go. But we were not faced with a static situation. The speech had an effect, as I saw from the reactions of those around the table. But natural caution had led me to have a fall-back position prepared which I would take with me to the heads of government retreat over the weekend at Lyford Cay, where I knew that the real business would be done.

  Lyford Cay is a beautiful spot with interesting historical associations. Private houses in the estate had been made available for the delegations. In a rather nice touch the Prime Minister of the Bahamas had seen that the house allocated to me and my delegation was the one where the Polaris agreement had been signed by Harold Macmillan and John Kennedy in 1962. At Lyford Cay a drafting committee of heads of government was formed and in the course of Saturday morning drew up a draft communiqué on South Africa. Meanwhile I got on with other work. At 2 o’clock Brian Mulroney, Prime Minister of Canada, and Rajiv Gandhi, the Prime Minister of India, arrived at the house to show me their best efforts. I spent the best part of two hours explaining why their proposals were unacceptable. I suggested that the text should include a firm call for an end to violence in South Africa as a condition for further dialogue: but this they considered far too controversial.

  After dinner I was invited to join a wider group and put under great pressure to agree to the line they wanted. Bob Hawke bitterly attacked me. I replied with vigour. In a steadily worsening atmosphere, the argument went on for some three hours. Fortunately, I can never be defeated by attrition.

  Overnight, I had officials prepare an alternative text to be presented at the plenary session due to begin at 10.30 next morning, before which a dejected Sonny Ramphal, the Commonwealth Secretary-General, begged me to compromise and show goodwill. There was certainly not much goodwill evident when the meeting began. The British text was not even considered. I was lectured on my political morality, on my preferring British jobs to black lives, on my lack of concern for human rights. One after the other, their accusations became more vitriolic and personal until I could stand it no longer.

  To their palpable alarm I began to tell my African critics a few home truths. I noted that they were busily trading with South Africa at the same time as they were attacking me for refusing to apply sanctions. I wondered when they intended to show similar concern about abuses in the Soviet Union, with which of course they often had not just trade but close political links. I wondered when I was going to hear them attack terrorism. I reminded them of their own less than impressive record on human rights. And when the representative from Uganda took me to task for racial discrimination, I turned on him and reminded him of the Asians which Uganda had thrown out on racial grounds, many of whom had come to settle in my constituency in North London, where they were model citizens and doing very well. No one spoke for my position, though President Jayewardene of Sri Lanka caused something of a ripple when he said that in any case he had no intention of ending trade links with South Africa because it would throw the Sri Lankan tea planters out of work. The heads of government of some of the smaller states also told me privately that they agreed with me.

  Over the lunch break I made a tactical decision as to which of the prepared options I would concede. My modest choice was to take unilateral action against the import of krugerrands and withdraw official support for trade promotion with South Africa. I would only do this, however, if there was a clear reference in the communiqué to the need to stop the violence. Then, at 3.30 p.m. I went to join the ‘drafting committee’ in the library.

  As I entered the room they all glared at me. It was extraordinary how the pack instinct of politicians could change a group of normally courteous people into a gang of bullies. I had never been treated like this and I was not going to stand for it. So I began by saying that I had never been so insulted as I had been by the people in that room and that it was an entirely unacceptable way of conducting international business. At once the murmurs of surprise and regret rose: one by one they protested that it was not ‘personal’. I answered that it clearly was personal and I wasn’t having it. The atmosphere immediately became more subdued. They asked me what I would accept. I announced the concessions I was prepared to make. I said that this was as far as I was going: if my proposals were not accepted I would withdraw and the United Kingdom would issue its own statement. The ‘draftsmen’ went into a huddle. Ten minutes later it was all over. I suddenly became a stateswoman for having accepted a ‘compromise’. A text was agreed and at a plenary session later that evening was accepted without amendment.

  Though I was genuinely hurt and dismayed by the behaviour I had witnessed, I was not displeased with the outcome. In particular, I was glad that the Commonwealth heads of government endorsed an idea with which several of us had been toying – the sending of a group of ‘eminent persons’ to South Africa to report back on the situation to a future conference. This had the great merit of giving us time – both to press the South Africans for further reform and to fight the diplomatic battle. I sought to persuade Geoffrey Howe to be an ‘eminent person’ but he was most reluctant to do so. He probably rated its chances of success as poor, and events proved him right. I may, myself, have been less than tactful. For when he protested that he was Foreign Secretary and could not do both jobs, I said that I could just about cope with his as well while he was away. Since by now I was firmly in charge of our approach to South Africa, making the main decisions directly from No. 10, that may have been close to the bone. One advantage of those eventually chosen as members of the ‘Eminent Persons Group’ was that a distinguished black African, the Nigerian General Obasanjo, would act as chai
rman of the group and would see for himself what the reality of life in South Africa was. But this advantage was more than cancelled out by the problems created by Malcolm Fraser, still full of rancour at his election defeat by Bob Hawke, longing to achieve a high international profile once more and consequently making a thoroughly ‘eminent person’ of himself.

  At the press conference after the summit I described, with complete accuracy, the concessions I had made on sanctions as ‘tiny’, which enraged the Left and undoubtedly irritated the Foreign Office. But I did not believe in sanctions and I was not prepared to justify them. I was able to leave the shores of Nassau with my policy intact, albeit with my personal relations with Commonwealth leaders somewhat bruised: but that, after all, was not entirely my fault. And there were thousands of black Africans who would keep their jobs because of the battle I had fought.

  The ‘eminent persons’ visit to southern Africa was an unmitigated disaster. Whether to scupper the initiative or for quite unconnected reasons, the South African armed forces launched raids against African National Congress (ANC) bases in Botswana, Zambia and Zimbabwe and the EPG cut short their visit.

  This gave me a very difficult hand to play at the European Council meeting at The Hague in June 1986 – and because the actions of European Community countries, unlike most Commonwealth members, could have a real impact on the South African economy this was at least as important a forum for the sanctions issue as was CHOGM. The Dutch themselves – the Netherlands having been the original home of the Afrikaners – suffered from a pervasive guilt complex about South Africa, which did not make them ideal chairmen. In the end we agreed to consider introducing later in the year a ban on new investment and sanctions on imports of South African coal, iron, steel and krugerrands. But it was also agreed that Geoffrey Howe should, as a sort of lone ‘eminent person’ and in view of the fact that Britain would shortly be taking on the presidency of the Community, visit South Africa to press for reform and the release of Nelson Mandela.