There was a worrying contrast between the peaceful, often boring atmosphere inside the convention center and the massacres still raging around South Africa outside. But it was not a contradiction: for much of the violence was, in effect, a show of strength which was part of the bargaining process. “South Africa is not the only country in the world,” as the political scientist Stephen Ellis wrote afterward, “where revolutionary struggles have been accompanied at various stages by intensive negotiation.”3 Extremists wanted to show that there could be no settlement without them; while the ANC needed the weapon of mass action as their counter to the government’s overwhelming military power. De Klerk had been warned by Felipe González, the Spanish Prime Minister, to expect his opponents to resort to mass action and protest, and to say one thing around the conference table and quite another in public the next day, since this was the only way that resistance movements could level the playing field against the power of the state.4
But Mandela and de Klerk both accepted the basic logic behind any peace talks: that they could not win by force of arms without intolerable loss of life. Mandela was still convinced, as he had been in jail, that “a military victory was a distant if not an impossible dream.” He warned ANC militants that they could not wait for the government to fall, and that negotiations would require fundamental concessions.5 De Klerk told diplomats that he thought he could retain power if necessary for ten years, but the casualties would be too heavy.6 They had both looked into the abyss. And Mandela faced the most demanding task of his career—to negotiate a peaceful revolution without a violent backlash from the white right or the black left.
The negotiations were rightly seen as a dramatic duel between Mandela and de Klerk, both master politicians in lonely predicaments—and both, it turned out, enduring marital crises: while Mandela was separating from Winnie, de Klerk was falling in love with the wife of his Greek friend Tony Georgiadis.7 Mandela and de Klerk came from totally opposite backgrounds, the ex-prisoner against the ex-jailer, and their mutual suspicions gave a special edge to the debates. But for much of the time they were arguing with their own parties more than with each other. De Klerk had to deflect his diehards and Generals from the confrontation which had been their chief purpose for forty years; while Mandela had to restrain comrades for whom armed revolution was their life’s ambition.
It was one of the most spectacular negotiations in history, and Western governments watched it with fascination. While fighting continued in Northern Ireland, Yugoslavia and the Middle East, South Africa was seen as “the negotiating capital of the world,” and academics, journalists and diplomats converged to observe it. But in the end the South Africans, unlike the Namibians or Zimbabweans, did not need other countries to make their peace for them; and they would always be proud that they had more to teach the world than the world taught them.
The two leaders opened the convention with carefully prepared televised speeches. De Klerk emphasized the need for a democratic, “power-sharing” transitional government. Mandela gave a hopeful overview, with parts in Afrikaans and Zulu, looking forward in homely terms to 1992 bringing the first democratic elections:
The process of moving towards democracy is unstoppable. History grants all of us a unique opportunity. To exchange this opportunity for a bowl of lentil soup of the past, and negative bravado, is to deny the future.
Most of the parties then endorsed a Declaration of Intent, “to bring about an undivided South Africa, with one nation sharing a common citizenship, patriotism and loyalty.” The two main teams agreed to accept decisions by “sufficient consensus”—a deliberately vague phrase. Mandela interpreted it as an agreement between the ANC, the government and most other parties. But the ANC’s chief negotiator, Cyril Ramaphosa, put it more bluntly: “It means that if we and the National Party agree, everyone else can get stuffed.”8
Ramaphosa, the new Secretary-General, had been chosen to head the ANC’s team; and he soon made an impact on the Afrikaners, who were unprepared for such intelligence in a black man. His eyes were coldly calculating, as de Klerk saw them, and “seemed to be searching continuously for the softest spot in the defenses of his opponents.”9 He was backed up by a powerful team including Joe Slovo, Mac Maharaj and Valli Moosa, who were soon working intensely in their offices next to those of the government team, while Thabo Mbeki was also frequently in play. But Mandela himself, they explained, “was always a phone call away.” They kept thinking, “What would the old man say?,” and in crises they went to his house to find out.10
The first day of CODESA ended ominously, with an explosion between the two leaders. De Klerk claimed he had passed a message to Mandela beforehand warning him that he would be sharply critical of the ANC for maintaining its private MK army; but Mandela insisted that de Klerk “never even hinted” that he would make such an attack.11 Certainly the ANC were taken aback by de Klerk’s closing speech, which lammed into them for secretly keeping arms caches and for breaking the accord reached three months before. Mandela was outraged that de Klerk should exploit his opportunity as the last speaker to reprove him “like a schoolmaster admonishing a naughty child”; all the more because he had reached a secret understanding with de Klerk in February 1991—criticized by many colleagues—which allowed MK to remain intact until the transition.12 After de Klerk finished, Mandela, tense with suppressed fury, strode to the podium, in full view of the TV cameras, to demolish him in the third person without even looking at him, in a masterpiece of invective:
Even the head of an illegitimate, discredited minority regime, as his is, has certain moral standards to uphold.… If a man can come to a conference of this nature and play the type of politics as is in his paper—very few people would like to deal with such a man.
Mandela insisted that the ANC would turn in their weapons only when they became part of the government collecting those weapons, and accused de Klerk once again of secretly financing violent organizations including Inkatha: if a man in de Klerk’s position did not know about that, he said, “then he is not fit to be the head of government.” But he was still prepared to work with him in spite of all his mistakes.
Mandela’s ANC colleagues were amazed. “He was quivering,” said Barbara Masekela. “You could see all those years in jail coming out.” “Never had a head of state been publicly attacked like that,” said Frene Ginwala, who was on his staff. But whatever Mandela’s personal anger, the outburst served a crucial political purpose, for it made forcefully clear that the ANC were there, as Kathrada said, “not as a defeated party but as a proud participant.” And some journalists saw the aura of power already shifting to the ANC.13
De Klerk was quietly furious, hurriedly taking notes and whispering. “I was hard put to control myself,” he told me later, “but luckily I received the grace to keep a grip.”14 He gave a short reply, explaining that unless the issue of arms was resolved, “we will have a party with a pen in one hand while claiming the right to have arms with the other.”
The next morning both sides were carefully conciliatory: “We are like the zebra,” said Pik Botha. “It does not matter whether you put the bullet through the white stripe or the black stripe. If you hit the animal, it will die.” Mandela shook de Klerk’s hand and promised to work with him, to the relief of other Afrikaners. But de Klerk reckoned afterward that “Mandela’s vicious and unwarranted attack created a rift between us that never again fully healed.”15 The convention adjourned with some pessimism, leaving five negotiating groups to work out detailed agreements before the next full meeting in May.
De Klerk soon received a humiliating defeat from white voters when in February 1992 his National Party was defeated in a by-election at Potchefstroom, one of its strongholds, by the Conservative Party, which opposed any talks with the ANC. He then made a bold decision: to declare a referendum for all white voters on the simple issue of negotiating a new constitution. Many ANC leaders saw it as a cynical diversion from the actual talks, as the government went into camp
aign mode. Mandela, though he could not approve any all-white election, gave tacit support to de Klerk. On March 17 de Klerk won a triumphant victory—68.7 percent of the vote, with an 86 percent turnout, and declared: “The nation rises above itself.” Liberal whites saw it as his finest moment. But Mandela knew it was not a vote in favor of black majority rule, and that it strengthened de Klerk’s position.16 De Klerk would never again be so strong; but he still seemed to be playing for time.
On May 15, 1992, the second full meeting of the convention, CODESA 2, was held at the World Trade Centre. De Klerk and his team seemed buoyant after the white referendum, and were insisting on a three-quarter majority vote for the passing of key points in the constitution. Mandela suspected that de Klerk was simply dragging out the talks, to frustrate majority rule: he complained that no progress had been made over the last five months. He was aware of criticism from the left that the ANC was conceding too much for too little. And the working group on the constitution was now reaching deadlock. De Klerk was still looking to Swiss or German models, with formulae for “power sharing,” including rotating the presidency, and appointing a senate of regional representatives to safeguard minorities. They were designed to avoid control by a simple majority, or “winner takes all”; Mandela saw them as perpetuating white rule by dividing the blacks. He suspected that de Klerk hoped to keep the National Party in power even after he had lost an election, which he had called a policy of “loser takes all.”17
At the end of the first day of CODESA 2 Mandela and de Klerk met to avert an impasse. “The whole of South Africa and the world is looking at you and me,” said Mandela. “Let us leave the door open and say we have made progress.” De Klerk agreed that the negotiations must be kept going, and they both made hopeful statements; but de Klerk was convinced that the ANC was trying to break up the talks. The convention adjourned in deadlock. “The essence of the problem is not one of percentages or arithmetic,” Mandela said in Sweden five days later. “It is that the National Party is trying to hold on to power at all costs.”18 But de Klerk insisted that the communists and militants in the ANC had now taken over, and would reject the concessions: “They still favoured the revolutionary expulsion of the government and the seizure of power by the people.”19 In fact, the ANC executive were divided at their next meeting about continuing negotiations. Albie Sachs argued that since the government were not serious, the ANC should break off the talks until they agreed on key conditions. Mandela persuaded Sachs not to put it to the vote.20
But a few days later, on June 17, a band of Inkatha supporters, heavily armed, invaded the Vaal township of Boipatong and killed forty-five people. White men with blackened faces joined the attack, and the police clearly colluded (as the Truth Commission later confirmed).21 Mandela visited the desolated township in disgust, convinced that the government had connived in the massacre, and compared apartheid to Nazism and genocide. He was met with placards saying MANDELA GIVE US GUNS.22 “I can no longer explain to our people,” he said at the victims’ funeral, “why we continue to talk to a regime that is murdering our people.” He wrote to de Klerk, breaking off the negotiations, repeating the ANC’s constitutional demands and insisting that the culprits of the massacre be brought to trial. De Klerk asked to meet him, but Mandela saw no point, accusing him of “factual inaccuracies, distortions and blatant party political propaganda.”23 De Klerk’s lack of control was exhibited when he visited Boipatong in an armored Mercedes, to be greeted by shouts of “Kill the Boers!”; he had to turn back. He was told that one of the Afrikaner Generals in the next car said: “Now he can see what his fucking new South Africa looks like!”24
The negotiations seemed back to square one, while the whole country appeared to be on the edge of chaos, with continuing violence and an economic crisis. Each leader was now questioning the other’s command over his own party. De Klerk complained that he had to deal with two different ANCs.25 Mandela thought that the right-wing Afrikaners were enforcing their own policies—particularly after further evidence emerged about the third force. When he asked de Klerk why he had not prevented Zulu violence he replied: “Mr. Mandela, when you join me you will realise I do not have the power which you think I have.” But Mandela thought de Klerk was paralyzed: “He has got the capacity to put an end to the violence.”26
Mandela was disturbed, he had told the people of Boipatong, that “the international community is so quiet about the ongoing massacres,” and he now looked abroad for support. He called on the UN Secretary-General, Dr. Boutros Boutros-Ghali, to summon a special session of the Security Council. He flew to Senegal for a meeting of the Organization of African Unity, which endorsed the request. Mandela discussed the situation with Boutros-Ghali, and proposed a UN peacekeeping force. In London the Anti-Apartheid Movement, led by Trevor Huddleston, lobbied the British government to press for UN intervention.
On July 15 and 16 the Security Council met in New York to hear representatives from the different South African parties, including Pik Botha from the government and Buthelezi from Inkatha. Mandela made an aggressive speech, warning members against the “sweet-sounding words” from a government whose constitution “the Security Council has declared null and void.” He insisted again that: “This violence is both organised and orchestrated. It is specifically directed at the democratic movement.… It constitutes a cold-blooded strategy of state terrorism.”27
The UN passed a resolution calling for the perpetrators of Boipatong to be brought to justice, and appointed a special representative—which Mandela had asked for. They sent out Cyrus Vance, the former U.S. Secretary of State, who pressed all parties to resume their talks. It was a reminder to de Klerk of Mandela’s global clout, and his own need for international acceptance; but the UN would never play a decisive role in the negotiations.
The deadlock gave more scope to the militants, or “insurrectionists,” within the ANC who were arguing for a return to the armed struggle. Ironically many communists now supported the “Leipzig option,” so called after the East German rebels who had launched mass demonstrations in the streets of Leipzig three years earlier which helped to unseat the communist dictatorship. But while de Klerk blamed the communists, there were many noncommunists within the ANC who were equally militant. Mandela was faced with a critical balancing act; as his friend Fatima Meer explained: “He cautiously balanced negotiation and mass mobilisation, knowing full well that the responsibility for both fell on his shoulders.”28 He achieved a compromise: a program for “rolling mass action” to press the government to give way. Mandela launched it himself on June 16, the anniversary of the Soweto uprising, addressing the packed Soweto stadium in a baseball cap. The program culminated on August 3 in a general strike—the biggest in the country’s history—when over four million workers stayed away, a triumphant contrast to Mandela’s abortive strike thirty years earlier whose failure had driven him to embrace the armed struggle. This time he led a march of between 50,000 and 100,000 people to the Union Buildings in Pretoria, where he told the huge crowd that the demonstration must not overspill into violence or “allow any of us to become dizzy with success.”
The militants now wanted to extend the campaign into the homelands, which were technically outside South Africa, to rally ANC supporters. The National Executive authorized a march to Bisho, the capital of the corrupt republic of the Ciskei, while de Klerk sent Mandela messages pleading for restraint.29 On September 7 an ANC procession of 70,000 crossed the border and entered a stadium outside Bisho. The local magistrate had ordered them to go no farther, but the buccaneering Ronnie Kasrils led a group through a gap in the fence and headed toward the capital. It was not a prudent decision (the Truth Commission later judged), for it “contributed to the volatile and unpredictable situation.”30 Ciskei soldiers opened fire without warning and killed twenty-eight of the marchers, many of them shot while running away.
Mandela appeared angry, with both de Klerk and his own militants, but he defended Kasrils against critics:
“It was a decision of the organization,” he said a week afterward, “which he was merely carrying out.”31 He recognized the frustration: “My people are beginning to say to me: what was the value? Let’s abandon negotiations; they will never be able to take us to our goal.” But he thought that the Bisho confrontation had brought both sides close to disaster, and had damaged the ANC’s image with friends at home and abroad. He blamed both the ANC and the government for having “embarked on an electioneering campaign while we are negotiating.”32 The Bisho massacre led to a painful reappraisal, and the African Communist reexamined the Leipzig idea: “How realistic is this option?” asked the editor, Jeremy Cronin. “We must be careful not to fetishise mass insurrection or see it as the only possible revolutionary way.”33
The massacre strengthened Mandela’s case for resuming negotiations, and de Klerk saw Bisho as a turning point that strengthened the hand of the ANC moderates. There was now some hopeful movement behind the scenes. Cyril Ramaphosa had been working very closely with his Afrikaner opposite number, Roelf Meyer, through their “back channel,” to reach agreements in forty meetings between June and September. Ramaphosa had his own firm principles about negotiation—as he would tell the Northern Irish in Belfast three years later: you must maintain the threat of the armed struggle, but not use it, while you must establish personal trust with your opponents.34 Like Mandela, Ramaphosa could empathize with the Afrikaners’ own past suffering under their British oppressors, while Meyer understood the blacks’ grievances much better than de Klerk. The common memory of oppression helped to bring the two men closer together.
De Klerk’s bargaining position was weakening after his delaying tactics. He had made the same kind of mistakes as Gorbachev in Russia—or Ian Smith in Rhodesia—even though back in 1990 he had specifically warned against Smith’s shortsightedness.35 His cabinet was already much diminished. The right-wingers Magnus Malan and Adriaan Vlok had both been forced to resign. The original chief negotiator, Gerrit Viljoen, had retreated. De Klerk’s loyal Minister of Information, Stoffel van der Merwe, also departed. His Minister of Finance, Barend du Plessis, had resigned. P. W. Botha, the ex-President, who still had some allies, watched from retirement with contempt, telling de Klerk: “You left South Africa in the lurch.”36 Many of de Klerk’s colleagues were disillusioned with him. “He had complete confidence in his ability to control the situation, but no real strategy,” recalled Barend du Plessis. “He misread the Mandela situation completely,” said Leon Wessels, the young Deputy Foreign Minister. “He thought he could retain his authority, and share his power. When that failed, he had no fallback position. He didn’t understand black politics.”37
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