The Downing Street Years

by Margaret Thatcher

  Lyford Cay is a beautiful spot with interesting historical associations. Private houses in the estate had been made available for the delegations. The central club there was effectively the Conference Centre. 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 somehow 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 and Rajiv Gandhi arrived at the house to show me their best efforts. Alas, I could not give them high marks and spent the best part of two hours explaining why their proposals were unacceptable to me. 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, in some cases even charming, 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 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 erstwhile ‘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 chairman 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.

  More arguments about sanctions in the EC and the Commonwealth

  I had no illusions that I had succeeded in doing anything more at Nassau than stave off for the present the pressure for sanctions against South Africa. It remained to be seen what would come of the ‘eminent persons’ visit to southern Africa. In fact it 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. But Chancellor Kohl — who, at least at this stage, was as strongly opposed to sanctions as I was — led the debate. I supported him, followed by the Prime Minister of Portugal. 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.

  Geoffrey was extremely reluctant to go and it must be said that his reluctance proved justified since he was insulted by President Kaunda and brushed off by President Botha. I later learned that he thought I had set him up for an impos
sible mission and was deeply angry about it. I can only say that I had no such intention. I had a real admiration for Geoffrey’s talent for quiet diplomacy. If anyone could have made a breakthrough he would have done it.

  Shortly after Geoffrey’s return I had to face the Special Commonwealth Conference on South Africa which we had agreed at Lyford Cay to review progress. It had been decided that seven Commonwealth heads of governments would meet in London in August. The worst aspect was that because of President P.W. Botha’s obstinacy we did not have enough to show by way of progress since the Nassau CHOGM. There had been some significant reforms and the partial state of emergency had been lifted in March. But a nationwide state of emergency had been imposed in June, Mr Mandela was still in prison, and the ANC and other similar organizations were still banned. With the fiasco of the ‘Eminent Persons Group’ in addition, there was no prospect of peaceful political dialogue between the South African Government and representatives of the black population. The US Congress was exerting increasing pressure for tough sanctions and later in the year forced a change in the Administration’s policy by overruling President Reagan’s veto on a new sanctions bill. It was clear that I would have to come up with some modest package of measures, though whether this would arrest the march towards full-scale economic sanctions was doubtful. In any case, I had a little list. For use as a diplomatic weapon of a rather different kind I had another little list of Commonwealth countries which applied detention without trial and similar illiberal practices — just in case.

  The media and the Opposition were by now quite obsessive about South Africa. There was talk of the Commonwealth breaking up if Britain did not change its position on sanctions, though there was never any likelihood of either event. I was always convinced — and my postbag showed — that the views and priorities of these commentators were quite unrepresentative of what the general public felt. But that did not make it any more pleasant. On the eve of the conference Denis and I visited Edinburgh where the Commonwealth Games were to be held. We went to see the competitors — those at least whose countries had not boycotted the event — in the Games ‘village’, to be met by a few catcalls and some sour criticism. I did not disagree with Denis when he remarked that this was ‘one of the most poisonous visits’ we had ever made. It was a relief to dine that evening with my good friend Laurens van der Post who talks good sense about South Africa and who had been very helpful when we were negotiating independence for Zimbabwe.

  Then it was back to more irrationality as the Special Conference opened in London. My meetings with heads of government before the official opening filled me with gloom. Brian Mulroney urged me to have Britain ‘give a lead’ and seemed to want me to reveal my negotiating hand to him in advance: but this I had no intention of doing, having on many an occasion seen such ‘concessions’ pocketed and then immediately forgotten. Kenneth Kaunda was in a thoroughly self-righteous and unco-operative frame of mind when I dropped in to see him at his hotel. He predicted that if sanctions were not applied, South Africa would go up in flames. I wound up the meeting smartly and said that it would be better if we postponed our discussion. Later I told Rajiv Gandhi that I would be prepared to move ‘a little’ at the conference. He seemed rather more amenable than he had been at Nassau, as indeed he usually was in private.

  In fact, the formal discussions were every bit as unpleasant as at Lyford Cay, though at least they were shorter. My refusal to go along with the sanctions they wanted was attacked by Messrs Kaunda, Mugabe, Mulroney and Hawke. I found no support. Their proposals went well beyond what had been proposed the previous year. At Nassau they had wanted to cut off air links with South Africa, to introduce a ban on investment, agricultural imports, the promotion of tourism and other measures. Now they were demanding not only that these sanctions go ahead, but a whole raft of additional measures: a ban on new bank loans, imports of uranium, coal, iron and steel and the withdrawal of consular facilities. Such a package sacrificed the living standards of South Africa’s black population to the posturing of South Africa’s critics and the interests of their domestic industries. I was simply not prepared to endorse it. Instead, I had a separate paragraph inserted into the communiqué detailing our own approach which noted our willingness to go along with a ban on South African coal, iron and steel imports, if the European Community decided on it, and to introduce straight away voluntary bans on new investment and the promotion of tourism in South Africa. In the event we in the Community decided against the sanctions on coal, to which the Germans were particularly strongly opposed, though the other sanctions proposed at the Hague were introduced in September 1986.

  Perhaps the most extraordinary feature of these discussions was that they seemed to be carried on without regard to what was happening in South Africa itself. P. W. Botha’s Government was unimaginative and inflexible and the nationwide state of emergency had been imposed. But, as I was informed by our excellent new ambassador, Robin Renwick, and by others who had dealings with the real rather than the bogus South Africa, fundamental changes were taking place. Black trade unions had been legalized, the Mixed Marriages Act had been repealed, influx controls had been abolished and the general policy (though not without exceptions) of forced removals of blacks had ended. So had job reservation for whites and the very unpopular pass laws. Still more important, there was a practical breakdown of apartheid at the work place, in hotels, in offices and in city centres. The repeal of the Separate Amenities Act had been proposed and seemed likely to be implemented. In all these ways ‘apartheid’, as the Left continued to describe it, was if not dead at least rapidly dying. Yet South Africa received no credit for this, only unthinking hostility.

  I was less prepared than ever to go along with measures which would weaken the South African economy and thus slow down reform. So as the 1987 CHOGM at Vancouver approached I was still in no mood for compromise. In some respects the position was easier for me than it had been at Nassau and in London. Events in Fiji and in Sri Lanka were likely to occupy a good deal of attention at the conference. My line on sanctions was well known and the domestic pressure on me had decreased: I had made headway in winning the sanctions argument at home during the London conference. But it would not all be plain sailing. It seemed to me that the Canadians, our hosts, wanted to be more African than the Africans — particularly since countries like Zimbabwe knew that they could not possibly afford to implement full-scale sanctions themselves and hoped that we would do it for them. Brian Mulroney was keen to gain agreement for setting up a committee of Commonwealth Foreign ministers to monitor events in South Africa, which seemed to me not just a waste of time but counterproductive — as I told Mr Mulroney at a meeting with him on the eve of the conference. I said that its only purpose would be to satisfy the ego of the Commonwealth heads of government and I would criticize it publicly and strongly.

  I also had a talk with President Kaunda who was under some pressure to set his own country’s economic affairs in order to meet the requirements of the IMF. Our views were no more similar on South Africa than they had been. At one point I said that I regretted that I had not yet been able to visit Africa, apart from my attendance at the Lusaka CHOGM in 1979. Mr Kaunda said that Africa was not at all my area, which I found intensely irritating. I retorted that he himself had charged me with the duty of bringing Rhodesia to full independence as Zimbabwe at the Lusaka Conference and that I had accomplished it. But his off-hand remark did confirm me in my intention of making a visit soon to black African countries.

  In my speech to the conference I pointed out just how damaging sanctions and disinvestment were to those we were allegedly trying to help. I gave the example of an Australian firm which had just closed a fish-canning factory near Cape Town putting 120 non-whites out of jobs. I noted that a general ban on fruit and vegetable exports would destroy between 100,000 and 200,000 non-white jobs — and all those affected would have no social security benefits to fall back on. Nearer the knuckle, I said that I well understood why
neighbouring countries had not imposed the whole range of sanctions. Eighty per cent of Zimbabwe’s external trade passed through South Africa. A million migrant workers earned their living there. Over half of Lesotho’s GNP came from their remittances. So I was more firmly convinced than ever that sanctions were not the answer. Of course, such arguments cut little ice with those determined on gestures.

  As usual, the main decisions were deferred for the — this time mercifully quite brief — retreat at the Lake Okanagan resort up in the mountains. The discussions took place and meals were provided at a central hotel with individual chalets dotted around it. It was bitterly cold at Lake Okanagan. But the Africans, of course, felt it more than I did. They turned up at the central hotel with blankets over their shoulders. Rajiv Gandhi obviously considered that exercise was the best way to keep warm and always seemed to appear in a tracksuit having jogged between meetings.

  The atmosphere at our discussions was not much warmer. I was not prepared to go along with the draft communiqué which they wanted. At a dinner given by Rajiv Gandhi back in Vancouver I was left to kick my heels for forty-five minutes on my own waiting for other heads of government to turn up. They had in fact been holding a press conference on South Africa to which I had not been invited and of whose existence I was unaware.