by Ian Smith
I understood. One had to be logical, comprehend the niceties of the situation, whether one approved or not. Any attempt by me to deliver a homily on the morals of politics in our world would have been out of touch with reality. We were entangled in a web of political dishonesty and intrigue. There was general agreement on that point; the problem was how to extricate ourselves. As Alec pointed out to me, anything we did to prejudice the Conservatives’ chances would contribute to a Labour victory, and he thought it unnecessary to remind me of how disastrous this would be for us. And, of course, he was right. The whole situation was an absolute disgrace, it was unjust, unfair, and impossible to condone. One had an urge just to turn one’s back on the whole thing and walk out. But it is in times like this that one needs to keep a particularly cool head. After all, the Conservatives were the lesser of the evils facing us!
When talks resumed next morning our conversation was no more than a rehash of the previous day’s discussion. To me it was somewhat meaningless in view of what had transpired at the dinner, and I was reconciled to playing my part: trying to avoid rocking the Conservative election boat, and accepting that we would make no progress in our talks.
That night Evan Campbell threw a splendid dinner at the Dorchester, attended not only by Home and Sandys, but by the Labour leaders as well. It was a surprisingly happy occasion, and I came to the conclusion that had it not been for the OAU, the UN and such, there would not have been much difficulty in striking an agreement, even with the Labour Party. Evan had invited Carl de Wet, the South African Ambassador, a very likeable and intelligent person, a medical doctor by profession. He took us by surprise, saying, in a most dignified manner, that this memorable dinner coincided with the birthday of his PM, and he wondered if we would care to join him in drinking to the health of Dr Verwoerd. A note in my diary records:
I liked it, but when I looked at a couple of the socialists in our midst, it was clear that their reaction was in the opposite direction. I admired Carl for having the necessary courage — these are the things which stimulate life. I should mention that he is a grandson of General de Wet, one of the most famous and heroic generals of the Boer War.
The final meeting at 10 Downing Street was held the following morning, with the preparation of a communiqué being the main task. With the various political parties already commencing their election campaigns, we had accepted that it was in Rhodesia’s best interests to avoid provocation of the Conservatives. Accordingly the communiqué was designed to satisfy both parties. It declared that Southern Rhodesia claimed independence on the basis of the current constitution. The British stated that they would have to be satisfied that this was acceptable to the people of the country as a whole. I, the Southern Rhodesian Prime Minister, replied that I would be prepared to introduce legislation to bring about independence only if I was satisfied that the majority of the people supported my request. Preparation had already started for the exercise to carry out this test of opinion, which was essential whether the British desired it or not. The Rhodesian officials would now get on with the task.
I had been through one of the most exasperating, traumatic experiences of my life, and was unable to eradicate from my mind the dreadfully hopeless situation in which my poor country, Rhodesia, was ensnared. British politicians, including the Labour Party, conceded the justice of our case, and had expressed their desire to assist in producing a solution. But they were hamstrung by the views of other people in the outside world, who were extraneous to the problem. It was agreed that constitutionally there were only two parties involved: Britain and Rhodesia. But for reasons of political expediency, winning votes in an election, the views of others must be taken into consideration. Alec Home assured me that if the Conservatives won the election we would reach agreement within months. Sadly, political analysts believed Labour would win. And when the British electorate cast their votes, no one would be thinking of Rhodesia. They would be influenced by their own lives, and rightly so: the cost of their bread and beer, health and education services, availability of jobs and accommodation. Little would they know that the fate of a great though small country, Rhodesia, some 10,000 kilometres distant, could be prejudiced by their vote.
Truly this was, by any standards, a dreadful miscarriage of justice. We were caught up in this evil web of political intrigue, expediency, appeasement — indeed, corruption — all tied together in the same package and labelled ‘Diplomacy’. What could we do to extricate ourselves? If we were denied access to justice, to a court of appeal, what was the alternative? Welensky had said that there was a limit to the amount of British dishonesty that we could tolerate. It was common knowledge that plans were being formulated to give the British their marching orders. Winston Field had told me that at one of the social functions in London attended by British cabinet ministers, it was openly stated that the best way out of our impasse was to take matters into our own hands — but, he added, of course no one was taking minutes!
On the aircraft flying back to Rhodesia my mind was preoccupied with the future, so the agonising predicament brought to a head by the meetings of the past week moved, at least temporarily, into the background.
The Advent of the British
Labour Government and the
Issue of Independence
The Rhodesian public were well pleased with my achievement, and on my return to Salisbury on 13 September 1964 I received a warm welcome home. Even the local national newspaper, the Rhodesia Herald, which had consistently opposed and criticised our government, wished me ‘good luck’, and went on, ‘He is the first Prime Minister who has admitted that all the people should have a say in determining the future of Rhodesia.’
The two important by-elections that were pending in Salisbury constituencies took place on 1 October, and both Roy Welensky and one of his lieutenants, Sidney Sawyer, were soundly beaten. This was in keeping with our predictions, because although the elections were held in constituencies most likely to support the old establishment of Malvern and Welensky, Rhodesians had turned their backs on compromise and appeasement. They had made up their minds that we were no longer dealing with friends whom we could trust, but with enemies who would happily sell us out for their own convenience.
Soon after my return from London I set up a committee of eight MPs, four government and four opposition, to investigate and report on the best means of testing black opinion. They reported on the numerous complicated problems. First, there were large numbers of alien workers from foreign countries (countries which were independent, but whose people preferred Rhodesia, because they enjoyed a better life there). Second, the vast majority of urban workers were also tribesmen, so where would their votes be recorded? The fact that the majority of indigenous people were illiterate, and did not possess birth certificates, compounded the difficulties. It would be virtually impossible to guard against a number of malpractices associated with voting, such as identifying people and avoiding multiple votes. One also had to overcome the people’s natural resistance to a system which was foreign to them. And probably most important of all, there was limitless potential for organised intimidation.
All of these were serious and complicated problems, with which foreigners were unacquainted and thus found difficult to comprehend. It conclusively confirmed the evidence which had been accumulated over many years. If we were to embark on any bogus exercise in an attempt to influence outside opinion, this would be reckless and irresponsible action. We would try to satisfy world opinion, but in the final analysis we would have to do what we knew was best for our country, and face the consequences.
The process of holding a grand Indaba of Chiefs and Headmen was under way, but it was a far more involved and complicated exercise than I had imagined, involving approximately 700 people. In turn it was necessary for them to obtain evidence from some 30,000 kraalheads who, at the level of the family, represented an estimated 3 million tribesmen.
The nationalist politicians lost no time in getting their gangs of inti
midators into the field, and already one Chief had been burned alive in his thatched-roof hut. I was advised to avoid delay at all costs, and the reasons were obvious. Intimidation is a dreadful evil at any time, but even more formidable since we were dealing with a primitive society, of simple, peaceful people, living under rural peasant conditions in huts built of local wood poles with thatched roofs. They had no electricity, and their only security came from the odd isolated police camp, which might be 100 miles distant. The normal mode of transport was on foot, or, for the fortunate, a bicycle. Added to this was a new dimension, previously unknown in our country, provided by gangs of intimidators led by well-trained terrorists recently returned from indoctrination camps in Russia, China, Libya and North Korea. They were charged with the task of disrupting our plans of working together with our black people for a peaceful constitutional change to bring about our independence. Their first objective was to undermine our system of preserving civilised standards, with its justice and freedom and evolutionary progress dedicated to raising people’s standards of living, giving them improved facilities and a better life. All of this was anathema to the communists. In order to achieve success they required power to implement their plan. There was no hope of this where people were living in peace and contentment. This had to be changed, so that the people were living in fear, their lifestyle disrupted, and their daily needs unfulfilled — the fertile soil in which communism thrives.
There was overwhelming evidence that the agitators and intimidators had moved out of the cities and towns and were now operating in the rural areas among the simple, unsuspecting tribesmen, and using their despicable tactics of intimidation against the Chiefs and Headmen. The decision was made to hold the Indaba as soon as possible, in order to minimise the effects of the campaign of intimidation, and so the date was set for 22 October.
The British general election was due to take place on 15 October, and I gave instructions that a message should be sent to the incoming government informing them of the Indaba and requesting them to send observers. Sadly, there was a miscalculation somewhere down the line, and the message arrived in London on the day of the election, instead of the day after. The message reached Alec Home at his constituency in the north of Scotland, and he sent a message back saying that my method of dealing with this was not quite in keeping with his ideas, and he therefore could not commit himself to supporting it! You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was unable to understand how any normal person would not have been able to comprehend that the message was for the new government. My office were of the opinion that this was made clear to the local British High Commission and that they had misrepresented the message. A view was expressed that the rushed reply played into Wilson’s hands, but I question this. I believe Labour would have declined the invitation in any case.
However, we were faced with the change — Labour had scraped through with the slim majority of three seats. Once again, we were in an impossible position. The British electorate had decided to change their government for reasons affecting themselves and their lives; not one of the voters would have been influenced by Rhodesia. But had they voted Conservative, the Rhodesian problem would have been solved. Because they voted Labour, there would be no solution. Clearly, we could not continue in this invidious position.
Six hundred and twenty-two Chiefs and Headmen gathered in Salisbury on 22 October for the biggest Indaba ever held in the country. Eight nations agreed to send observers: Australia, Austria, France, Norway, Portugal, Sweden, Greece, South Africa. But Britain refused, although it claimed to be the responsible power. Once again we had to ask: how could we be expected to accept such deceit, especially when the tradition of the Indaba was such an important part of our history, starting at the beginning when Rhodes and the Matabele met in the Matopos in 1893 and agreed to end their war. Then in 1923, when Rhodesia obtained ‘responsible government’ an Indaba of Chiefs was consulted, in which the British participated. There was a similar procedure on the declaration of war in 1939. When discussions were taking place on the formation of our Federation the then Labour government sent their Secretary of State, Patrick Gordon Walker, to the Chiefs’ Indaba in 1951. The Monckton Commission set up by the British government in 1960 to report on the Federation stated: ‘It is important that nothing should be done to diminish the traditional respect of the Chiefs. In Southern Rhodesia it is part of the Government’s policy to increase the prestige, influence and authority of the chiefs in their tribal areas. We endorse this policy.’
As is clearly obvious, when it suited the British government, they supported the Chiefs and the concept of the Indaba. When it did not fit in with their underhand intrigue they conveniently changed their minds. How could any fair-minded person blame us for coming to the conclusion that we had to terminate this perfidious association?
The Indaba continued for five days. As is customary, time is not a factor; it is important that representatives speak their minds and elaborate on their reasons. One Matabele Chief who represented Matopos, one of their most sacred places, told the gathering that there was a very large boulder on the hill where Rhodes and the Matabele made their peace. Recently this had crashed to the bottom, making an amazing noise like thunder coming from the heavens above. This was an omen telling them to cut their strings so that they could live their own life in their own land. Most of the talk, however, dealt with practicalities. All the Chiefs and Headmen were deeply concerned at the increasing intimidation, this dreadful thing which was new to their lives. Not only men, but women and children were being killed. There were youngsters, upstarts, who had no standing in the community but who were received by the British government. Yet when they, the Chiefs, the fathers of their people, visited Britain, the Prime Minister did not even meet them. And now, on this, the most important occasion in their lives, the British government had once again insulted them by refusing to send a representative to hear their views. The Chiefs were deeply hurt at this blatant discourtesy. All of these actions indicated the British government’s ignorance of their history, traditions and way of life, and their obvious lack of concern for what was now taking place. This proved that they could no longer be of any service to their country. The Chiefs’ decision was one of unanimous support for independence on the 1961 Constitution.
Our next step was the referendum of our electorate on 5 November. This was a resounding success, with 89 per cent of the voters in favour of independence on the 1961 Constitution.
By any yardstick these two tests of opinion indicated almost total support. The Chiefs represented the tribesmen, who constituted 90 per cent of the population. As for the rest, they had access to the franchise, and thence participation in the referendum — indeed this also applied to any tribesman who wished to avail himself of the opportunity. All Rhodesians, whatever their race, colour or creed, had equal access to the voters’ roll.
However, as we had anticipated, our opponents claimed that our consultations had not gone far enough. But they did not point out that the reason large numbers of blacks did not participate was the intimidation. The nationalist agitators demanded a boycott of the voters’ roll and the referendum. In fact, their demise was self-inflicted, so who else could be blamed? But as we were aware, it was part of the communist-inspired plan to disrupt and discredit the process, and the British government were prepared to turn a blind eye to this.
While we were conducting these two exercises, the new British government were getting into their stride, and the first move came from Arthur Bottomley, who had taken over the Commonwealth Relations portfolio. He sent a letter declining the invitation to send observers to the Indaba, but saying that as an extension of his pending visit to Zambia for their independence celebrations he would be available for a visit to Salisbury in order to have discussions with me, providing he could also hold discussions with the two nationalist leaders Nkomo and Sithole. His arrival was scheduled for 26 October. I had no option other than to tell him that this was unacceptable. His visit
would have coincided with the important and sensitive Chiefs’ Indaba. Moreover, the nationalist thugs were intimidating and murdering innocent people, and both Nkomo and Sithole were not being detained because of their political activities; rather, they had been sentenced to prison by our High Court because of their criminal activities. And these were the people whom Bottomley wished to visit! Yet he was not willing to extend the courtesy of a visit to the Chiefs’ Indaba. I found it difficult to believe that there could be such lack of sensitivity from a British minister, and it only added validity to the Chiefs’ claim that the British government were conniving with the terrorists in their campaign of intimidation, arson and murder. This was only the first of many occasions when I had to make it clear to the British that they could no longer call the tune in Rhodesia.
In a short time a letter from Harold Wilson followed, on 23 October, regretting my reply to Bottomley, and asking me to visit London for talks with the two of them. I had to refuse this as well, not for any churlish reason, but because of pressure of work, the referendum campaign, and a sitting of Parliament — once these were over I would consider the invitation. Referendum campaign meetings had been planned for me throughout the country, and I would have thought it obvious that I could not leave the country during this period.
Surprisingly, Wilson then had a rush of blood to the head, and immediately sent a message demanding from me a statement that there would be no UDI; if this were not forthcoming, he would issue a public statement warning of the serious consequences. This kind of behaviour was completely out of keeping with the accepted code of conduct between members of the Commonwealth and was entirely unprovoked on my part. I did not believe it was out of place for me to ignore it. When the resident British High Commission enquired about the reply, they were informally told that if by now they had not received the message that this kind of tactic did not work with me, let them learn the lesson this time.
