by Julian Beale
Kurt Kruger was then invited by the President to speak and I was cringing at some of his words. His views were completely at odds with Joe Kaba’s aspirations. Kruger was all about South Africa and nowhere else. He was obsessed with the disadvantages which ‘his’ people were suffering. If there was a larger picture, he was quite unable to see it. Then he finished with emphasis on the need for ‘a reverse apartheid’. He couldn’t have conjured up a more damaging image and I felt Marble Mo licking her lips.
My despair was soon increased. Ms Albemarle rose to conclude the case for the Motion and she was devastating. She stood there, tall, elegant, domineering and confident in her ability to destroy the opposition. She started with a reminder of the Motion — this House deplores neo-colonialism in all its form — and she emphasised the ‘all’. Then she offered a definition of ‘neo colonialism’.
‘It means,’ she said, ‘the use of economic, political or cultural pressures to control or influence other countries.’ She paused to good effect as she swept her eyes over her audience before continuing.
‘It is precisely this which we in the United States deplore and that’s why I’m here to argue for this Motion. From all that we have heard from the advertising of the Future Group this evening, it’s clear this activity is their entire intent in South Africa. That honourable Republic, which is striving every sinew to serve its population and to improve the lot of its citizens, is being held to ransom by the greedy and grasping business people of the Future Group who, despite being citizens of the same country, are placing a steep price on their availability to help. Mr Kruger has made that abundantly clear and he has even stooped to describe their policy in a word which encapsulates infamy.
‘But there’s still worse. Look at the history of the last twenty years and you’ll see that towering example which is encouraging the followers of Future to believe they can flout the law in their own land and break faith with their own people, feathering a new nest for themselves while letting their fellow citizens fester in misery.’
Whatever your view, this was language to raise the temperature and I could feel the whole chamber stir with renewed interest. Marble Mo stood tall and poised and perfect, occasionally wagging a finger at me as she tore into Millennium, ripping at our past, denigrating our achievements and pouring scorn on the plan for Aurora.
‘This isn’t about charity,’ she said, her voice dripping acid, ‘it’s all about buying legitimacy and international respect. It’s time that even the fabulous Mr Hugh Dundas should learn he can’t buy that status. It has to be earned, and that will never happen. Millennium should never have happened. It arrived by stealth, was established by piracy and continues to exist through bribery and cunning. The whole place is a blot on the world’s landscape, created by the cupidity of vipers who sprang from this very heart of learning and I am glad to be here to denounce them. I would like to be addressing their President elect Joe Kaba, but I won’t kill his messenger,’ and she paused to curl her lip at me, ‘I don’t need to. I’m sure he will give us whatever it was that Mr Kaba intended to contribute to this debate, and when he’s finished, I’m just as sure that this House will support the Motion. It’s the only way forward for our modern world.’
Wow. This was not going to plan. When working up Joe’s speech before I left Century, we had been confident of a relatively easy ride. We had not anticipated such venom. We had not expected a vicious and sustained attack and I could see the shock on Mary’s face beside me while Kurt Kruger had his head in his hands.
Perhaps we hadn’t done our homework, but there was no time now for recrimination.
I was on and I stood up to the Secretary’s table, holding Joe Kaba’s script in both hands like it was a lifeline. And then the world stood still, my head cleared and my hands stopped shaking.
Bugger this, I thought. I’m not taking this lying down. So I chucked Joe’s papers on the table and started speaking for myself.
‘Ms Albermarle accuses us of grandstanding,’ I said, ‘well she should know!’
This opening sally drew laughter and better still, it had Mo’s face snapping up and staring at me. I had her concentration and that of our audience as well. My confidence grew. I went on.
‘It’s nonsense to compare the Dedicated Territories in South Africa with the sovereign State of Millennium. My nation has been in existence for years and I am proud to be a citizen of the country. Let me tell you some reasons why.’
Then I set out some of the statistics and the track record. Not too much though. I had just watched Trevor Mullen bore them into fidgets, but equally, I knew how little was really understood about Millennium and it was time to make a few things clear. I finished my short summary with a conclusion.
‘Does that sound to you like a place which is using pressures of any sort to influence events outside our borders? I don’t think so. I think it’s the reverse. Millennium concentrates on its own. We’re successful and America doesn’t like to see a success for which it can claim no credit.’
I stepped up the attack. ‘The USA is well represented here today by Ms Albemarle. Listen to the language from the world’s leader and the global nanny. But it’s all ‘do as we say’, not ‘do as we do’. Look at the history. About two hundred years ago, the first Americans, the ‘49ers, were setting out from Council Grove in their wagon trains to spread across that vast land. Was it empty at the time? No it wasn’t, and many Indian tribes like the Sioux, the Cheyenne, and the Apache were ground beneath the wagon wheels of the settlers’ progress. It was those local people was who paid the price of establishing the Land of Liberty. Wasn’t this the very sort of piracy of which we in Millennium now stand accused?
‘America claims to carry the standard for enlightened civilization. The American people stand proud in recognition by the world community that it’s you who set the example and force the pace. It’s you who get things done. Everything is possible in America. So during the hard and troubled history of the continent of Africa, what help and comfort have you given to us? What initiatives? What guidance? What support?
‘Where were you in the 1960’s when the Nigerian Civil War choked the life out of Biafra?
‘Where were you in the Rwanda genocide of 1994 which killed almost one million people?
‘Why did you pay court to Mobutu of Zaire for over thirty years while he plundered enough to fill the Grand Canyon?
‘Why did you stand aside whilst Mugabe of Zimbabwe wreaked havoc in a model economy?
‘Where were you during the Sudan war of 2015?’
I gave myself a break here. I was happy to note that I had a captive audience. You could have heard a pin drop. I continued.
‘Can it be that there is one simple answer to all these questions? Is it that the United States of America felt too self important to care?
‘And yet now, Ms Albermarle is claiming that it’s Millennium which is wallowing in selfishness: that we are, how did she put it? “a blot on the world’s landscape”. She should think again and examine the facts, for which there is an early opportunity waiting. Millennium does not yet have an American of high stature to visit us for Aurora, and surely Ms Albermarle is the ideal candidate. Marble Mo’s just gotta go!’
There was uproar at this, the speakers opposite springing to their feet in protest and the President rang his bell for order and silence before rebuking me for my intemperate language which risked being slanderous.
‘Please moderate your language and move to conclude. You have only a minute left of your allotted time.’
I inclined my head in apology, but inside, my blood was zinging.
‘Millennium is different,’ I said, ‘we are an established nation, made up of many peoples and backgrounds and cultures. We work and live in harmony and we are succeeding. We are the new face of Africa and we are proud to say so. And finally, I am personally moved to be in Oxford where the men and woman who turned a dream into reality first came to know each other. And the memory of one of them, our fou
nding President David Heaven, means still more to me because he was also my grandfather, the father of my mother.’
We lost the vote which followed, but narrowly, and it didn’t seem to matter much. We had given a good account of ourselves. The experience had been dramatic and fulfilling but the debate had always been the sideshow to Joe’s week. I caught a final glimpse of Marble Mo as she swept out of the Union’s courtyard with her minder from the Embassy. I had a quick drink before leaving. Mary Clovelly was excited and friendly. The President thanked me and said that he was pleased, adding,
‘We had a big crowd in tonight. People like to hear a good scrap and you guys certainly gave them that.’
Soon after, it was time to go. I shook hands all round and walked back to the Randolph. As I got into bed, I was still buzzing and my imaginings were all about Oxford in days of long ago. I would be thinking of other things in the morning.
As I was shaving, I was startled to hear my name mentioned in a short news bulletin on the TV which had moved to other things before I could get in front of it. I grabbed the newspaper pushed under my door and reached for my watch to tune into the Net. An enterprising Oxford newsman had been in the audience at the Union and made the most of his opportunity during the night. It was a quiet Friday morning for world events so there was an international appetite for this entertaining snippet and a fair bit of coverage.
‘Millennium founder grandson attacks the US’, was the prominent inside page headline in one paper and this was also the theme used by the TV reports. I was horrified. In no profession, especially not in diplomacy, should you step out of line in public. I had done just that — but big time. I’d chucked away the brief and put in my own. I’d probably given poor Joe Kaba another heart attack. I’d surely be for the high jump myself and God knows what would happen to Aurora. And there was the President herself.
‘Do your best for us, Olty’ had been her final words to me. I doubted that this sort of publicity was what she’d had in mind.
But I had to get on with it and face the music, and to do that I had to go home which had been the plan anyway. I was due out of Heathrow on that evening’s flight to Century so I had plenty of time. I rang Hereford and spoke to my father who was sympathetic but guarded. I pushed down a small breakfast, checked out of the hotel but leaving my luggage there as I went and wandered the streets of Oxford, very much distracted by my worries. I must have walked miles and was glad that it was a fine day. I read all the papers I could find and kept checking news on the Internet. To my relief, they moved to other things as the day wore on.
In the late afternoon, I collected my things from the hotel and found my way to pick up a bus which went to the airport direct. It was a huge electric thing with three floors and was much less than full. I had plenty of space to myself, to look at the passing countryside and to chew over my worries.
I arrived at the busy airport and went straight from security to check in at the departure gate, carrying my hand luggage. I was sitting there when a ground staff member approached and asked me to wait until called. I wasn’t surprised. I was no doubt an embarrassment and they would prefer to slip me on at the last minute. Eventually, the girl came back and asked me to follow her. I did as I was told. She paused to check my boarding card and passport and then we were walking again and turning the corner to pass onto the air bridge.
It was then that I came up short with a gasp of surprise. I didn’t count the numbers but it seemed that half the aircrew were lined up there, and in front, my old chum Arnie Schwartz, immaculate in full Millennium Airways uniform, complete with jacket and cap, standing there with his hand out in greeting.
‘Welcome aboard, Olty,’ he said in his guttural Afrikaans accent, ‘you and I both may be close to our last flight, so let’s make it a good one together. And Olty. Everyone here and many more beside just want to say thank you for what you said last night. We’re proud of you for giving us pride in ourselves.’
Arnie never hangs about, and he turned sharply to go back to work. There were smiles and a little ripple of applause. I felt unbearably embarrassed and a bit tearful with the emotion of it all. But then I was being ushered onto the plane, straight through the front entrance, into first class and to a seat which I had been lucky enough to occupy many times before. I can’t remember much about the flight until the end of it. I certainly had a few drinks with dinner, and I’m sure that I slept a bit. That’s my pattern. But I do remember everything about our arrival into Millennium the next morning. I will never forget it.
Arnie’s voice came over the PA to say we were on time and due to land in Century at 0800 local. The familiar movements to make ready were everywhere around me. I accepted a cup of coffee and sat sipping at it, wondering what life would bring next. I felt calmed by the background of my family and my antecedents. I felt the spirit and comfort of my grandfather around me and my thoughts played over others who had gone before, Aischa and Conrad especially.
The screen in front of me flicked on and I heard Arnie’s voice again, giving us more details of our arrival and speaking of a special welcome. Suddenly there was a clear image of the scene, quite a crowd on the apron in front of the terminal building, the huge sign above announcing ‘Heaven International Airport’, and then I could see Pente Broke Smith, a vast compelling figure on the tarmac and probably scrabbling for a cigar in violation of all the rules.
I could see the camera vans now, clearly marked with the logo of Century Seven, my favourite News Channel, and I flicked over to see the image they were beaming. I could see and feel the aircraft move as Arnie flipped us to port and we moved around onto final approach. The bright sun of Africa caught the Millennium flag on our tail plane and it flashed on the wings of our morning as the Dreamliner snapped sharply into level descent. Arnie was determined on a smart and perfect landing. We were on target with just a few minutes to go.
I was tired from travel, emotionally charged by recent experience and no doubt fired by imagination. But the vision which then appeared remains crystal clear to me and I know that it will never diminish.
I saw it first on the screen in front of my seat, a small cloud marooned by itself against the embracing blue of Millennium skies. As we drew closer, the cloud seemed to reform itself into two figures enjoined, two head and shoulder profiles which startled me with the reminder of that precious photograph of Aischa and Ouye, captured in Mocamedes so many years ago.
I looked out of my window then, and as this feathery image drifted past, the faces seemed to turn towards me, blowing a single word of greeting, and the salutation of our people came sighing down the generations in welcome to a warrior, returning home.
