Bitter Harvest

by Ian Smith

  Our considered opinion was sent in a message on 18 October, giving all the above objections. In addition we drew attention to the most recent evidence that Nyerere of Tanzania had threatened to withdraw his country from the Commonwealth if Britain agreed to grant independence to Rhodesia before majority rule — something which had never been accepted by any British government. This was blatant blackmail from Tanzania. The Zambian government added to this by saying that Wilson’s latest proposal was no more than a time-consuming device! And India disassociated itself from the idea. In other words Wilson’s plan was floored before it started, so the whole thing turned out to be an utter farce. How could we allow ourselves to be led into such an obvious ambush? Why, I asked, did Wilson not make a greater effort to reach agreement with us during the week which we had just spent in London?

  I made one more appeal, writing to Wilson on 20 October, asking that the British government grant us our independence and put us on trust to observe and abide by the principles of the 1961 constitution, and we would accept a solemn treaty to guarantee the agreement. If we broke the agreement, we would stand condemned by the whole world; even our friends would turn against us, and the British government would have universal support for any action they took. I stressed that we had made a decision in principle on the action we were to take if the British government continued to deny us what we believed was our proven right. ‘Its implementation and the consequences which flow from it now depend entirely on your response to the appeal I now make to you at this eleventh hour.’ Wilson could not claim that he had not been given an absolutely positive and serious warning.

  Local businessmen who kept in close touch with the British High Commission had been surprised for some time that their official attitude had been one of discounting the possibility of UDI, and this must have influenced Wilson and his colleagues. Clearly this had now changed, with a state of near alarm developing in Britain. The British government embarked on an, intensive brainwashing campaign, with Rhodesia hitting the headlines on a daily basis, on using extravagant language, and African nationalists appearing with increasing frequency on BBC programmes.

  Wilson replied to my letter the next day, 21 October, saying that, as obviously there was still much to be discussed, he and Bottomley should visit Salisbury without delay. I agreed. This was an encouraging sign, because it meant that Wilson, at long last, had woken up to the fact that unless he made some constructive move, we were heading for our UDI. It was still my most earnest wish that, if possible, this should be avoided.

  The large British party arrived in Salisbury on Monday 25 October and on the following morning business opened with a meeting in my office. I began by informing the British team that, in the short time since my return from London, I had received evidence of an increasingly realistic opinion among our black people, believing that a continuation with the current constitution would be preferable to the unpredictable future after a UDI. I added that we had made it clear to those who were in restriction, that if they gave an undertaking to forgo violence and unconstitutional action, they would be released. I hoped that the British were prepared to support us in this effort.

  Wilson replied positively and, turning to the question of the treaty, tried to increase the area it was to cover. To our minds, however, the position was clear: it was to ensure that nothing would be done to curtail black political advancement. Wilson’s new proposal was that all government’s legislation would require approval of the Privy Council, clearly a ridiculous proposition. Wilson claimed that his interpretation was in keeping with Alec Home’s original idea. But, when I suggested that the matter could be settled by a simple message to Home, we never heard anything more on the subject.

  When the meeting broke up Wilson handed me a personal letter from the Queen, in which she mentioned the happy memories she had of our beautiful country, and expressed her hope that we would succeed in solving our problem. There were some misleading comments in the media concerning the letter, and so I took the opportunity at a lunch given by the Mayor of Salisbury to put the record straight by quoting from it.

  Then, much to Wilson’s embarrassment, he received a letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr A. Michael Ramsey, expressing support from the Council of Churches, adding that if Wilson ‘should judge it necessary to use force I am sure a great body of Christian opinion would support you.’ Wilson disassociated himself from the suggestion, and the Council of Churches renounced the proposal, saying that it was purely personal. A letter was circulated saying that the latest hymn adopted by the Anglican Church was ‘Onward Christian Soldiers, shoot your kith and kin’, and numbers of Rhodesians throughout the country threatened to burn their bibles and send the ashes to Ramsey.

  Over the next few days the British interviewed people — anyone and everyone covering a wide spectrum — and there was strong support for our government’s stand, except from Nkomo and Sithole. Wilson openly admitted that they were impossible, that they refused to work together and thus combine their effort, refused to renounce unconstitutional action, refused to negotiate with our government, refused to accept Wilson’s five principles as a basis for negotiation, and demanded that the British should use military force to eject the current government and install their government. Wilson was clearly disillusioned, and I was pleased that he had been subjected to their irrational behaviour. We hoped that it would bring him down to earth and make him realise the kind of people we were dealing with, and the complexity of the problems with which we were trying to grapple. Dealing with our black people was something we took in our stride; the problem was with the extreme nationalists who were stirred up by the communist agitators, and even more insidious was the treacherous support which was constantly on tap from fellow travellers like the British Labour Party and the Archbishop of Canterbury.

  On the Thursday night, 28 October, we had an enjoyable dinner at the prime minister’s residence — ‘Independence’ — and were treated to a good repertoire of stories. Angus Graham (the Duke of Montrose and my Minister of Agriculture) was in his element. At one stage Wilson asked if we should talk business, and I said ‘No’ because on these occasions we preferred to relax. Serious discussion could be left for the conference room, where minds were usually clearer. It is sad to recount that the press was by this time printing the story that Wilson and his comrades had used the occasion as an opportunity to lecture us on the folly of a UDI — they call it British diplomacy, but I can think of stronger terminology.

  All parties understood that there had been no progress, and there was an air of despondency over the scene. However, this was suddenly broken the next morning, when my office received the message that Wilson had a new proposition which the British believed had excellent potential. The meeting was laid on and Wilson put forward his suggestion: a Royal Commission of three eminent, highly respected people to carry out an impartial investigation and make a recommendation. The chairman would be Sir Hugh Beadle, Rhodesian Chief Justice, assisted by one other Rhodesian and someone from Britain, whom he would prefer not to be a member of the Labour Party. Obviously it would not succeed in pleasing everybody, but if its recommendation called for a bit of give and take from both sides, this could be a way out of the impasse. I saw distinct possibilities. Maybe because of the shock of his meetings with Nkomo and Sithole, Wilson was beginning to see reason. We decided to adjourn to give us time to consider; we would meet again after dinner. The first point requiring consideration was the commission’s terms of reference. The British had their ideas, and so did the Rhodesians. Each side was trying to ensure that its own wishes were laid down as a guide to the commissioners. Clearly this was unworkable. The idea of a commission was to recommend an agreement, something which we had failed to do. We should not be trying to do the work of the commission. The talk was going on and on, and we were making no progress, so I stressed the point that if we were going to have a commission then we should ask them to get on with the job, and not tell them how to do it. Wilson agre
ed, and made a very encouraging comment, that if the commission produced a report which he disliked, or the majority of his government disliked, he did not see how he could reject it. I concurred, saying the same applied to me, and in addition stressed the point that we were the only ones taking a risk, because if the recommendation prejudiced us, our country and our lives would be at stake, while if it went against the British, they would not bat an eyelid, but simply get on with their lives and business exactly the same as before. It was for this very reason that some of my colleagues were uneasy about the idea. I stressed the time factor, making it plain that we were not prepared to get caught up in an exercise which might drag on. We were all suspicious that Wilson’s strategy was to go on buying time, but he had no compunction in saying that he was of the opinion that they could complete their task in two months. It all seemed to me to be too good to be true, but maybe it was an astute plan on his part to extricate himself from the lock-grip of the OAU and the UN.

  Wilson flew out of Salisbury on the morning of Saturday 30 October to consult with his cabinet on this new proposal. He would ask Bottomley and Elwyn Jones to deal with any loose ends which required attention. Wilson called in to Ghana and Nigeria on his way home, presumably to obtain their concurrence. According to the local British High Commission he received a rebuff in Ghana, but in Nigeria, where the leader Abubakar Tafawa Balewa was one of the mature and experienced leaders, he received support for his proposal. Once again this gave some hope.

  On 3 November Wilson dispatched the message we were awaiting. It started on the right foot, accepting that the Royal Commission should carry out its analysis based on the existing constitution. But — a very big ‘but’ — Wilson insisted, in all their discussions the commissioners were to inform everyone that this constitution was unacceptable to the British government. Second, before commencing their investigation they were to submit a report on how they proposed to carry out their task. Third, the report would have to be unanimous. Finally, the British government would not commit themselves in advance to accepting the report.

  The last three points clearly annulled the first point. It was farcical for the British government to appoint a Royal commission to report back to them, and instruct the Commissioners that, when taking evidence, they had to inform all and sundry that the proposal they were putting forward was unacceptable to the British government! Was this not a scene from Gilbert and Sullivan? To appoint a high-powered commission of most distinguished people to investigate and then have insufficient confidence in them to allow them to decide how to conduct their task — was this not tantamount to a vote of no confidence in them before they commenced? To claim that we had agreed that the report would have to be unanimous was a blatant lie. Not only did my entire cabinet attend that final meeting after dinner (as opposed to the team of three at the conference table), but also present, taking their minutes, were the cabinet secretary and his deputy. Not one of us could recall the question of a unanimous decision being mentioned. And if it had been brought up, is it not ridiculous for anyone to believe that we could have agreed to such an illogical suggestion? It is a well-known and established procedure that if a commission, or committee, or panel of judges is not unanimous, it submits a majority report and a minority report. Finally, not only were our memories clear, but the secretariat’s report minuted Wilson’s comment that even if the commission’s report was not to his liking he could not see how he could reject it. Now he was trying to renege on this. The conclusion I came to was that he had received messages from his ‘comrades’ in the Commonwealth, the OAU and the UN. Wilson had succumbed to the pressure, and so was going to extricate himself by breaking the agreement he had made with us, and introducing new conditions which he knew from previous discussions were unacceptable to us.

  I despatched a message forthwith to Wilson, expressing our utter dismay at these latest proposals which were a clear contradiction of what we had agreed in Salisbury before his departure. I gave him the reasons as stated above, and then added:

  I therefore regret to tell you that the only conclusion to be derived from your letter is that it is tantamount to, and can only be interpreted as, a rejection of the proposals agreed with you in Salisbury. The impression you left with us of a determined effort to resolve our constitutional problem has been utterly dissipated. It would seem that you have now finally closed the door which you publicly claimed to have opened.

  In spite of this clear message, added to the many other occasions when I stressed that we were being driven into a situation where we would have no alternative to a UDI, when Wilson spoke in the House of Commons on the day of our declaration, 11 November, he said: ‘Smith gave me no indication that a decision to take illegal action had been taken.’

  What a sad reflection on our society, when the prime minister of a country like Great Britain can make an important statement in their renowned and highly respected Parliament, which is such a travesty of the truth, and get away with it. If it were an isolated case, perhaps it would not be so serious, but judging from our history with Britain, it was a regular performance.

  On 7 November Wilson sent a message suggesting that Chief Justice Beadle should come to Britain to discuss the Royal Commission. But he had already invited Beadle, who had accepted, informing me that he was going in his private capacity in the hope that he could make some contribution. As usual, Wilson was being careless in his handling of the truth.

  On 8 November I sent another message reiterating to Wilson that our positions were obviously irreconcilable, and for good measure spelt out again the points mentioned in my previous message indicating how he had reneged on the agreement we had made on the Royal Commission. In spite of our misgivings, we were prepared to stand by the agreement, and all that was now necessary was for Wilson to honour his part of the agreement — time was running out.

  Our contingency planning had been going on for some time, ensuring procurement of fuel and other essentials, equitable distribution of strategic requirements, export routes, a state of emergency had even been proclaimed on 5 November — an obvious precaution — and yet Wilson could still claim on 11 November that he had not received any prior indication of ‘illegal action’.

  All day Tuesday 9 November, we waited for a reply from Wilson. All Wednesday morning, 10 November, we waited. That afternoon we gathered in the cabinet room to make arrangements for the final decision. I encouraged free discussion, even at this late stage. There was no emotionalism or raised voices. We had been through so many crises and periods of expectation, hope and then disillusionment. Clearly, there had been a number of times when we had been through the trauma of reconciling our natural feelings and impulses with the considered reasoning of our consciences. We were seasoned campaigners at living by that deadly game of ‘by guess and by God’.

  It seemed to me that everyone had exhausted his views when my PPS entered to say that Johnston, the British High Commissioner, had turned up with an oral message from Wilson — at 7.30 p.m. It sounded strange, but then we had learned from experience that we were dealing with a strange man. Instead of going out personally to speak to him, and then returning and briefing cabinet, I suggested that Johnston be brought in. Not only would this save time, but my colleagues would see for themselves what was going on.

  I asked for a copy of the message he had brought to read to us. He replied that his instruction was to put nothing in writing. I asked if he did not agree with me that this was most unusual. Johnston did not reply. I wondered if I should ask him to go away and return with something in writing, as was the custom. But I thought, on the spur of the moment, that this would play into Wilson’s hands, since he could then accuse us of ejecting his emissary and refusing to accept his message. I told him to proceed. There was absolutely nothing new. It was a rehash of the Royal Commission proposals, with the introduction of new wording in the hope that this would create new impressions. Finally, Johnston said that, when Beadle returned, he would be able to reassure me on any outstand
ing points. We did not want reassuring. How long had we been going backwards and forwards through the process? The only thing we had been reassured of was that Wilson was dedicated to appeasing his ‘comrades’ in the OAU and the UN. All the time Wilson was doing this at the expense of Rhodesians, those whom he spuriously claimed he was trying to assist. We wanted a straight answer: was he going to honour the agreement we made when he was last in Salisbury, on setting up the Royal Commission? A simple message saying ‘Yes’ and the matter would be solved. Even a direct ‘No’ would have been preferable to the perfidious diplomacy and intrigue and blatant deception which went on day after day.

  We were all of the same opinion: the contents of the message, and its form of delivery, far from helping, had hardened our position. A few members of cabinet were so exasperated that they were ready to finalise the decision there and then. But we had been through a long and testing day, so I insisted that we retire for a good night’s sleep. We would return at 8.30 the following morning, with fresh, clear minds, and make a decision. I told Gerald Clarke that they could carry on with the preparations, because it looked fairly certain that a decision would be made in the morning — if we changed our mind, no harm would be done.