Bitter Harvest

by Ian Smith

  Muzorewa nodded his head in agreement and made it clear that he was merely the bearer of a message from the South Africans. He said that, on the evidence before them concerning the morale of the white people, and especially maintaining the confidence of the security forces, the UANC executive were convinced that I must not stand down. He then complimented me on the part I had played in our country, especially recently in bringing us to the current situation. History would record that I had been a great help and ally, and he hoped that my wisdom and experience would be available in the future interests of our country — his party would wish to take advantage of this.

  On 12 March David Smith and Squires reported back on their Cape Town trip. It had been most pleasant and friendly. Why? I asked with surprise, what was the cause of the change? ‘Absolutely fortuitous,’ was the reply. One day made the difference between triumph and disaster. Brand Fourie had returned from Europe the previous day to give P.W. a devastating report of Pik Botha’s meetings with the British, US, German and French governments. He had been affronted and literally snubbed by all of them. Owen’s behaviour had been particularly disgraceful, while the French Foreign Minister had insulted them by sending his deputy to meet them on arrival. The South African Prime Minister was incensed, and vehemently made the point that none of them could be trusted. Accordingly, there was only one path to follow: those of us who believed in the same ideals of democracy and civilisation in southern Africa had to stand together. ‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good,’ was my comment. The South African government had learned the hard way what we had been trying to tell them for the past half dozen years: the rest of the world would use them when it was to their advantage, and then drop them like a hot brick when the wind blew from the opposite direction.

  The South African volte face was characteristic of their over-reaction. One minute they were up to their ears in détente, with the rest of the free world working hand in glove with them to bring peace to Africa, but when things did not materialise according to their aspirations, indeed hallucinations, they were dumbfounded and resentful, and over-reacted in the contrary direction. Referring to the question of my position, the object of the visit to Cape Town, P.W. said Rhodesia’s two main priorities were to keep our white people in the country, and our white soldiers in the army. If it was believed that my continuance in politics would assist with these priorities, the answer was obvious. Squires, with his logical, analytical legal reasoning, commented to me: ‘I was happy that he didn’t attempt to explain why their thinking was in the opposite direction the previous day!’ I suggested to Squires that there could be a difference between the thinking of P.W. Botha and Pik Botha. I added that it would not surprise me to hear that the day after Pik returned to South Africa he was pressurising Hawkins over my retirement. P.W. asked our two to convey the message to me that he and the members of his government had always had great admiration for my courage and leadership during our long battle, and in the short time that he had been Prime Minister, he had come to realise the great burden and pressures that such a position carried.

  Over the following week we had visits from General Malan and other security chiefs who had obviously been given political clearance to get on with the job. Malan expressed his pleasure and satisfaction that he was now able to fulfil his plans, and give us the priority we deserved. He was scathing in his criticism of the double standards practised by the free world leaders against South Africa, but also conceded that some South African politicians had not acquitted themselves well. From the report I received this criticism was mainly directed at Foreign Affairs. Fortunately, the close contact which had been developed with P.W. while he was Minister of Defence was continuing, and this augured well for the future.

  On the morning of 3 April I had a meeting with my three executive council colleagues to consider a plan which I had agreed with P.W. Botha in the previous week involving a treaty of cooperation and mutual support in the security field after the coming election. P.W. and our security chiefs had expressed apprehension as to whether the other three executive council members would support it, but I assured them that there would be no problem, as it was clearly to the advantage of all concerned. My prediction was correct, and the meeting was terminated with all four of us signing the declaration.

  We then held a short informal discussion about the election, as it was necessary for me to apprise them of the fact that I was receiving a constant stream of reports that in many rural areas the candidates had not been seen or heard from, and the people were in the dark as to what was happening. A typical report was one regarding a meeting the previous weekend at Victoria Falls, where a large crowd turned out to listen to Zindoga and ended up informing him that it was their intention to vote for Smith — a ridiculously muddled situation, when they were confined to voting for a black candidate. So it was necessary for me to upbraid them as tactfully as possible, and urge them to greater effort.

  The British made a last effort to disrupt our progress. On 11 April I had a report of meetings in London the previous month at which David Owen had tried to convince our two leading Chiefs, Chirau and Ndweni, to break away from our Rhodesian plan and election. He received short shrift. When it was clear that he had failed to convince them, he lost his temper and his behaviour was reprehensible, according to the Chiefs’ secretaries. I was saddened to learn of this behaviour from a so-called civilised Westerner. Whether you agree with them or not, our Chiefs are traditionally men of dignity and standing, and this kind of behaviour from a British minister appalled them. They had one word to describe him: ‘Rubbish!’

  The security aspects of the election were paramount. I wrote in my diary:

  12.04.79 — For the past week I’ve been talking with Nat JOC about a few trans-border operations. From captured terrorists we have information that it is their intention to step up operations during our election in order to harass and embarrass us. ZIPRA has a base in Botswana, and they travel to and from Zambia using the Kazangula ferry. The ZIPRA HQ is in Lusaka, the nerve centre from which all their operations are planned. And they have a large base west of Lusaka from which operations in that area are conducted. One captive from that base tells us that they are planning a big operation to take over a landing strip in north-western Matabeleland, to which they will fly in aircraft from Angola. Our chaps on the ground are hoping that they will try, because they will all be eliminated and we would welcome a few extra aircraft to add to our fleet! But of course, they have neither the ability nor the nerve for such an operation.

  So we are going in tonight with a four-pronged attack, just to give them a reminder. The preparations have been meticulous, because at this kind of game the element of surprise is crucial and for that reason one seldom has a second chance. As always, there are great risks, especially with daring operations, and one of these involves driving over the Kafue Bridge on the main trunk road, which is heavily guarded. But our SAS have a plan, and they are confident. These fantastic chaps have proved so many times in the past that they can do the almost impossible. I wished them well, and that night offered up a prayer for their safe return. Many a time I have heard visiting military specialists comment that our Army and Air Force must be, for its size, one of the finest in the world.

  13.04.79 — The operation was a success which exceeded our expectations, with everybody safely back — the most serious casualties were two cuts and a bruise. The snatch from ZIPRA base in Botswana brought back 14 terrorists for interrogation, the Kazangula ferry was at the bottom of the Zambezi River, Nkomo’s house, which is a stone’s throw from State House in Lusaka, was demolished, and ZIPRA HQ and an arms cache nearby blown up. The base west of Lusaka was sent flying in all directions.

  Poor old Kaunda; I felt a certain sympathy for him, having to put up with all these humiliations. Our crack troops, SAS, Selous Scouts and RLI, went into Zambia whenever they wished, and the local army did the only sensible thing: they got out of the way. This particular occasion was especially emb
arrassing for Kaunda, as he was hosting an OAU summit in Lusaka attended by 300 delegates. Apart from having their sleep disturbed by the explosions and gunfire, however, they were in no danger. As all Zambians, Mozambicans and Botswanans knew, we were interested only in Rhodesian terrorists who had declared war on their constitutionally elected government, using women and children and innocent civilians as their principal targets. There was that occasion in 1978 when our air force put an aircraft over Lusaka airport, giving instructions to the control tower to delay all arrivals and departures, particularly those of the Zambian air force, while our aircraft bombed a nearby ZIPRA camp. The instructions — reinforced by a flight of Hunters circling the area — were all faithfully carried out until the operation was completed.

  14.04.79 — The news of yesterday’s exploits has reverberated throughout the world — our friends are thrilled and our opponents mad. The fact that there were so many OAU leaders in Lusaka is the cause of considerable alarm — what if we had killed them? It would have been easy enough, but as I have said, that kind of action has never been part of Rhodesia’s code of conduct. We despise terrorists and have never believed that their despicable acts give us licence to reciprocate. Our troops are meticulously disciplined, and although this might sound outdated in this dreadful world, there is great spiritual solace in knowing that one has been able to abide by those genuine standards of civilisation to which we have constantly paid lip service and claimed to support.

  These successes were topped off by the general election. By Saturday 21 April, I could record: ‘A very successful week with a 63 per cent turnout of voters for the election, in spite of the fact that terrorists had attempted to intimidate people into abstaining.’

  There was a big gathering of press and observers from different parts of the world, and they were highly impressed and commented favourably on the whole procedure. The results went much as we predicted, with a majority for UANC (Muzorewa), but fortunately not enough to encourage abuse of power. We received messages from supporters in Britain and USA, who believed that after our obviously free and fair and successful election things could only move our way. They promised to assist us to realise our goals.

  At least one lesson had been learnt. On the night of 20 April Ndweni, proud of his election success, dropped in for a short discussion and to thank me for my advice and encouragement. The next morning, Gabellah and Bafana came on a similar mission, and the most important point they both made was that the Matabeles now realised that their mission was to concentrate on Matabeleland, and stop trying to bluff themselves that they could influence politics in Mashonaland. It was so logical and obvious. No Matabele had ever won an election in Mashonaland, other than a turncoat who had deserted his own people, and no Mashona had ever won in Matabeleland. It was far better to be honest and accept these facts of life. They are different people with a different language, different culture, different traditions, but nevertheless they can live and work together peacefully in the same country, as happens in many other parts of the world.

  19

  My Last Days in Office

  Muzorewa was to take over power from the transitional government on 1 June 1979, so there was much to be done by way of preparation for that and to wind up my premiership.

  In late April, I called in the service chiefs, Lieutenant General Walls, his deputy at combined operations headquarters (Comops), Air Marshal McLaren, and the commanders of the air force and army, Air Marshal Mussell and Lieutenant General MacLean, to apprise them of my plan to prepare the ground for Muzorewa to approach Khama of Botswana and Kaunda of Zambia in search of reconciliation and the promotion of trade, which was natural and had always been part of the scene. With a new black leader in our country, the time was obviously propitious, and there was no merit in delay. With Khama the position was straightforward, as he had always got on with the business of running his own country and avoided provocation. He was a mature person who had governed his country with wisdom, and the beneficial results of this were obvious. Kaunda, on the other hand, was a different case. He had got himself embroiled with the terrorists, his country was in tatters and deteriorating by the day, and his protégé Nkomo was waiting in the wings, expecting to take over as the new leader of our country. No doubt they were both kicking themselves over the opportunities they had thrown away, caused mainly by Kaunda’s inability to stand up to Nyerere.

  There were obvious tactics that we could use, however. First, we would desist from provocative attacks in and around Lusaka, and deep penetration into Zambia — those acts which were so humiliating to Kaunda. But around our borders there would be no slackening of effort or lowering our guard. This would help to pave the way by enabling Muzorewa to take the credit. Second, I had asked the economic ministries to produce some plans which would be of economic assistance to Zambia. The Zambians desperately needed this, and it would obviously be a useful bargaining point for Muzorewa. The security chiefs were in full agreement, and said they would commence with their part of the plan.

  I met Muzorewa on Thursday 3 May, to advise him of these plans, and he readily concurred. He said he would think of an emissary to send to Khama, and we would make plans for Kaunda, and follow that up with Machel. He asked a number of questions about simple problems that were cropping up, difficult to deal with for those without experience, and clearly indicating the advantage of our agreement for an evolutionary handover as opposed to a revolution with its associated convulsions. I reminded him of the most important change he had to face up to, as now that he was the leader of his country, he accordingly had to put the national interest before party interest. This meant orientating himself towards government and his official advisers, and away from party HQ and all its hangers-on. He agreed and expressed the hope that I would continue to make my help and experience available, and shaking my hand warmly, he said: ‘Thanks, my friend, we will go forward together.’ I noted in my diary that, if this were to materialise, he would need to produce greater qualities of leadership and develop the ability to make decisions.

  I attended a pleasant dinner that evening with the van Vuurens, South Africa’s representative. Rowan Cronjé was there and recalled the meeting at ‘Libertas’ when Vorster was giving us a vivid description of the latest British thinking on our problem. I had asked, ‘Are there British here, and if so wouldn’t it be an idea if we met them together?’ Vorster was taken aback, and after a few uneasy seconds admitted they were there, and agreed to make the request. It never materialised because of some lame excuse, but Rowan said he could never forget the coolness of my approach and the sixth sense which indicated to me that the British were probably around. An embarrassed Vorster had no option but to tell the truth, or face the probability of the information leaking out.

  The next day, 4 May, brought wonderful news of the British election. I wrote a short note to Margaret Thatcher: ‘All Rhodesians thank God for your magnificent victory, and pray that you will have success in your difficult assignment. May you succeed in restoring decency and honesty to the British political scene.’

  On Sunday morning, 6 April, I went out to pay my respects to the Selous Scouts and reassure them over the future of our country. I encouraged them to talk and ask questions, and Ron Reid-Daily, their colonel, said they were all satisfied. At the conclusion they sang their tremendous song — nothing could be more stirring. I had an interesting talk with Chris Schulenberg, the first man to win our highest decoration for bravery, the Grand Cross of Valour (GCV). The first citation covering his award of the Silver Cross in the SAS included a series of acts which seemed to be almost impossible, but the second dealing with his top award went even beyond that — it was difficult to credit the man’s complete disregard for his own life and safety. He introduced me to a couple of his black colleagues, who were highly decorated; one of them was our first soldier to be awarded both the Bronze Cross of Rhodesia (BCR) and the Silver Cross (SCR). I recall this being drawn to my attention, and specifically the fact that he was a blac
k man. My response was direct: ‘I am not concerned with the colour, but the merit of the case.’This individual’s foot had been blown off by a landmine, and as soon as the wound had healed and the artificial foot fitted, he was back in camp, insisting he should go on the next raid and performing with fearless bravery. Yet our ‘friends’ in the British and US governments persisted in accusing us of being white racists, attempting to suppress our black people.

  It was our firm policy to preserve the highest standards for our awards; indeed, many people claimed they were too high. During our approximately ten years of war, mild to begin with, then growing in intensity, there were only two awards of our GCV: Schulenberg GCV, SCR (SAS and Selous Scouts) and Graham Wilson GCV, SCR and BCR (SAS). These truly were the bravest of the brave. There were a few citations, however, for the Silver Cross, which involved such exceptional valour that I felt they may have been deserving of the higher award — the margin was indeed slim. Then, as in most theatres of conflict, there were the unsung heroes, acts of courage and leadership which went unnoticed, sometimes necessitating the supreme sacrifice, just part of one’s duty in the cause of preserving freedom and justice and one’s country. ‘Greater love hath no man than that he lay down his life for his friends.’