by Ian Smith
I received many messages from Australians apologising for the behaviour of their Prime Minister, interfering in the internal affairs of another country. They claimed that he had failed to abide by his election promises in his own country, and calls for his resignation were mounting.
The front-line states were so desperate for a settlement, for both economic and security reasons, that they pressurised the British to deal with the problem and agreed to give Nkomo and Mugabe instructions not to walk out — as they had been wont to do. So they were locked in — a situation which no other British government had enjoyed. The other sine qua non was to remove Smith and the Rhodesian Front from the driving seat — something which no other British government had been able to do. With the connivance of John Vorster they succeeded in achieving this at the 1976 Pretoria meeting. Carrington was therefore faced with Muzorewa representing Rhodesia.
One of the stipulations laid down by the front-line states was that there should be no quick election after the agreement. This was vital, since it would enable the PF to infiltrate their terrorist forces into Rhodesia and cache their arms in readiness for their campaign of intimidation during the election. Our security forces knew that the arms handed in at the assembly points were surplus to their requirements; many of them were dilapidated and of no practical use. The front-line states’ leaders, with the support of the OAU, were in constant touch with Carrington and whenever the PF required pressure it was available in abundance. By contrast, Muzorewa had the backing of Pik Botha, who in British eyes was a lightweight. Moreover, as I knew from my dealings with John Vorster, the South Africans were working hand in glove with the front-line states, and there is no reason to believe that these contacts were not in existence during Lancaster House. The South African Foreign Office were losing no time in employing the tactic of hedging their bets!
On the lighter side, the vanguard of the British contingent had been in the country for some time. As I suppose could only be expected, a bunch of them got into a provocative argument with some of our chaps in a local pub, and as a result had to be casevaced to the Andrew Fleming Hospital in Salisbury. It appears from the reports I received that they asked for what they got. Regrettably, I must say that I have met the odd arrogant Englishman on a few occasions, never more so than when they carry with them the stamp of the British Foreign Office.
On 23 December there was much euphoria in the press and broadcasts over the signing of the agreement, with hostilities ceasing from midnight. I contacted the local editors and reminded them of previous similar occasions when a few of our people had dropped their guard and the terrorists had taken advantage of this. Was it necessary to go through this kind of hypocrisy and stage-acting to assist in building up the image of British politicians more concerned about getting themselves off the OAU hook than about the future of Rhodesia?
After the signing ceremony we were subjected to a classic Carrington statement: ‘Any party which systematically breaks the ceasefire, or indulges in widespread intimidation, will be disqualified from the election.’ There was one obvious, simple question: did this imply that breaches of the ceasefire which were not systematic, and intimidation which was not widespread, would be in order?
Messages of support from all over the world continued to pile up. One from Wales:
Speaking on behalf of many, many people, it is ironical that those who would wish to decide the future of your country did not contribute to the sweat and tears it required to hack a civilisation out of the jungle. At least your UDI bought time and showed the rest of the world that your people did not intend to be written off.
I departed for the farm to get away from everything.
21
The Election of Mugabe
I returned to Salisbury on the evening of 6 January 1980, having enjoyed the Christmas break at ‘Gwenoro’ — our farm — and so far we had enjoyed a good rainy season. I had time to reminisce over the past and plan for the future. The nation was still in crisis. People were still being killed. The first hurdle was the coming election. What sort of government would it produce?
I had an early meeting on 7 January with Chris Andersen, who reported that he had been in contact with many people, and there was a clear message that the RF was the only party to support.
My next visitor was Rowan Cronjé. He informed me that over Christmas he had had time to reflect and had discussed our situation with a great number of people; he had received a consistent message that my record was exceptional, unequalled in the latter half of this century, and that my composure and dignity over this latest disgraceful episode would be recorded in history. A group of young people had asked him to convey a message to me, saying that I was one of the few constant factors they could find in this world, that I had always stood for what was decent and honest, and that I could be assured of their continuing support. Cronjé wished to stress that, since I was the person responsible for creating this incredible nation, nothing would do more harm than my withdrawal from the political scene at this stage.
Then P.K. van der Byl arrived for a general discussion, something which I always appreciated and enjoyed — there was seldom a dull moment when he was around, and most important of all, I knew that his dedication and loyalty to Rhodesia was absolute and unswerving. Harold Hawkins had been up on a visit from Pretoria in the previous week and had called in to see him for an assessment on the local state of affairs. P.K. had told him that much of South Africa’s effort was being misdirected, as usual, and if they could be encouraged to work more closely with our people, this would be of assistance. Harold replied: ‘As you know, you can’t tell those chaps anything!’
On 8 January I had a visit from Francis Zindoga, who said that the black ministers in our government were deeply concerned that Soames and those around him were conniving with the Patriotic Front. I reminded him that I had warned them at Lancaster House of this danger but, because of weak leadership, they had landed themselves in this predicament. In all fairness, Zindoga reminded me that he had agreed with my stand, but had been unable to convince the other UANC delegates. He believed the four leaders of our government of national unity should form a delegation to protest to Soames. I agreed, saying that, as soon as the other three leaders were ready, I would join them. He departed, believing he could make the necessary arrangements.
P.K. came with a message just received from London. It said that Tiny Rowland and Lonrho were excited and enthusiastic over a plan to bring the veteran nationalists, James Chikerema and Michael Mawema, into an alliance with Nkomo, as the best means of keeping Mugabe out. Rowland, who was holidaying on the south coast of California, was about to return to London, and suggested a meeting with P.K. somewhere on the Continent. I was neither opposed nor enthusiastic, and suggested we wait a while and let things cool down. P.K. also informed me that one of our Arab friends, at a meeting in London to discuss Russian infiltration into the Middle East, had attended a luncheon with Margaret Thatcher. She had said that, according to her latest information, Mugabe would win the election — whether we liked it or not, it was a fact of life. It seemed as if the British were coming around to accept the view I gave them at Lancaster House.
One of our informers from the Mtoko and Mrewa district reported that everyone there was pro-Mugabe because the whole area was riddled with terrorists and mujibas (collaborators). In other words, those poor, defenceless, confused people had got the message — did they want to remain alive or not?
Our friend from the South African embassy informed us that Pik Botha and his Foreign Affairs Department were still harping on their theme of removing me, but the military chaps disagreed. It was believed that P.W. Botha did not support Pik.
Dennis Walker, our former Minister of Mines, was the next to drop in to tell me that he was taken aback when van Vuuren (South African Ambassador) told him he believed it was time I retired from the political scene, and that it was not important for our white people to stay united. Our best tactic would be to serve as a benign o
pposition, van Vuuren felt. He received a flea in his ear from Walker. To me this was no new development in South African policy — if they could neutralise us, they believed they would be able to manipulate the black politicians, and if necessary make a plan to procure their compliance. They had often told me how easy it was — witness Vorster’s ‘I have got them eating out of my hand.’ But they overlooked the evidence which proves clearly that they go on eating only as long as it suits them — the same as any other intelligent person in this world.
On 18 January I saw Soames about the massive intimidation and the confirming affidavits which had been produced — over one thousand of them. He was composed, and said he had anticipated this would be the subject of my visit. He was pleased to inform me that they had a plan. He produced a map and indicated the three main provinces where intimidation was greatest. He said they proposed to disqualify the PF in those provinces: Mashonaland East, Manicaland and Victoria. But, I pointed out, there was intimidation throughout the whole country. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. However, he then argued that there would be problems selling that to the world and, in particular, to the OAU. His team, he said, were satisfied, nevertheless, that they could get away with disqualifying the PF in those three provinces. After all, he maintained, it would achieve the objective: Muzorewa would secure a majority. I had to agree; it was easy to work out the mathematics. A typical piece of British diplomacy: dishonest but effective.
Within my party, over the past few weeks feelings over the behaviour of David Smith had been strong, with the suggestion that we must have a showdown. I had numerous representations from ministers and backbenchers, expressing themselves most forcibly, convinced that he was working in collusion with Carrington. I had strong feelings, not only because of his behaviour at Lancaster House, but also about his manoeuvring behind my back locally. Yet I adhered to my conviction that the national interest must always receive priority. Particularly at this stage in our history, it was vital to preserve white unity. Nevertheless, at our party executive meeting on 18 January the matter came to a head and David Smith was challenged. His attempt to justify himself was pathetic; something about devoting three days to persuading Muzorewa to include me in the delegation to go to London. But P.K. instantly hit that on the head by reminding him that my inclusion was determined by an open cabinet decision, and that this was recorded in the minutes. Did David Smith not recall that at the same cabinet meeting it had been agreed that Ndabaningi Sithole would be entitled to attend in his capacity as leader of one of the parties forming our government of national unity, although he himself was not a cabinet minister? I then informed the meeting that Muzorewa had approached me prior to the commencement of the cabinet meeting and asked me to determine the composition of my delegation. David Smith simply collapsed and pleaded that he had nothing further to say. The executive accepted my suggestion, with obvious reluctance from many of them, that the matter be left in the hands of the party chairman and myself. We had much work before us in our planning for the election, and decisions had to be finalised at this meeting.
Certain members of the security forces had maintained contact with me, and Rob Gaunt, one of our Members of Parliament who was a wing commander in our air force, also brought in much useful information. For some time, there had been a growing disenchantment with decisions from our Nat JOC. His report of a meeting at New Sarum told of blunt, critical talk, and a certain high-ranking officer, noted for his straight talking, told Walls that he should concentrate on his military job and leave the politics to Smith — the security forces still regarded me as their leader. Evidently, Walls was floundering, and more often than not his political assessments were proven to be wide of the mark, resulting in acrimonious recriminations.
As I had predicted at Lancaster House, Walls, Flower, Hector MacDonald and David Smith fell into the trap laid by Carrington and the British Foreign Office. It was becoming more and more difficult for them to refute the evidence that Mugabe was heading for a victory, unless they succeeded in preventing intimidation — and so far, they were not succeeding. And most important of all, they convinced Muzorewa to go along with the plan and to turn his back on me. If we had worked together, we could have insisted on a few amendments that would have made all the difference. After all, we had come a long way, creating the transitional government, which in turn led to the election of our current government with Muzorewa as the first black Prime Minister of our country. Sure we had our differences, all part of healthy democracy. But we were united in our opposition to the dead hand of communism and all its associated evils. There were encouraging reports at Lancaster House that Muzorewa was resisting pressure from Carrington and the British Foreign Office. He had often spoken to me of his distrust of the British government. But it was his own friends and advisers — the four mentioned above — who finally convinced him to co-operate with the British. Then there was Pik Botha representing the South African government, who played a not insignificant part. Into the bargain, as one would expect, the South Africans used the powerful weapon of financial assistance for the election, and this was followed by those covert meetings when Muzorewa and David Smith visited Pretoria to make the necessary plans. Muzorewa distanced himself more and more from me as he came under the influence of his ‘friends’, who had swallowed hook, line and sinker the theme that: ‘poor old Smith, great guy that he may have been, is now over the hill and unable to adapt to the realities which surround him’.
But they were changing their tune now, with copious condemnations of the British government’s devious plan. In truth they were paying for their own mistakes which, as everyone knows, is part and parcel of the hard school of gaining experience in life, and the price exacted is always greater for those who arrogantly believe that they know all the answers. There were a few exceptions, maintaining their support for the British, albeit discreetly. They were the people who expected to be rewarded for their compliance and who were obviously not prepared to do anything which would prejudice their ill-gotten gains. After all, there is honour even among thieves, and their efforts would be rewarded no matter what the final result.
Moves were being made to prevent Mugabe from taking power. For example, on the evening of 21 January I received a message saying that Tiny Rowland was giving his backing to a plan to keep Nkomo and Mugabe divided, and eventually bring Nkomo into an alliance with the other parties in order to ensure the defeat of Mugabe and the communists. The ultimate objective was an anti-communist government of national unity, incorporating the whites as well as the majority. In other words, this was the plan which Carrington assured me the British were working on at Lancaster House. Rowland had always supported Nkomo and ZAPU, so this was nothing new. It looked to me as though Rowland, smart tactician that he was, had not been kept informed of the British Foreign Office’s change of tactics.
Another message, received on 24 January, came from the local South African military representative to say that one of their top security men close to P.W. Botha was coming to make a personal assessment, as they were not satisfied that they were getting the right message from their Department of External Affairs.
On 25 January I was contacted by some Portuguese chap in Maputo wanting to know how he could get a parcel of prawns to my mother. This gift was an expressed wish of Tongagara before his demise on 25 December 1979 on a road in Mozambique, and his Portuguese friend wished to honour it. Tongagara had stated that he would always remember the kindnesses which he and his friends had received from my mother when they grew up in the Selukwe district. His death was a great tragedy and the announcement that he had been killed in a motor accident rang hollow to me, especially because of his disclosure to me in London that he had to guard his back against those die-hard extremists in his party who took strong exception to his philosophy that the time had come to forget the bitterness of the past, and work together constructively with all other parties to build our country. He had accepted reconciliation. He was one of the few black politicians who gave me hop
e. I made a point of discussing his death with our police commissioner and the head of special branch, and both assured me that Tongogara had been assassinated. This was a dreadful act of treachery that would have sad ramifications on the future of our country. If the extremists were so much in control that they could do this kind of thing with impunity, then it boded ill for the future.
There were growing fears about the likely outcome of the election; a visit from three territorial force officers typified this concern. The permanent force officers were going along with Peter Walls’s contention that the election was on course and the anti-Mugabe parties would win a majority. The territorials disagreed, believing that they were more in touch with grassroots opinion and were therefore able to make a more accurate assessment. They reiterated the point that Walls was out of his depth in politics.
On Monday afternoon, 28 January, I went to see Soames once again to stress my concern over the mounting intimidation and the importance of getting on top of the problem. I reminded him that the Lancaster House agreement laid down that a party which indulged in intimidation or breached the ceasefire would be disqualified, and asked if we were still on course to disqualify the PF in the three provinces he had indicated to me last week. This clearly upset him, and he claimed that such action would cause alarm and be condemned both internally and externally — Peter (Carrington) had told him the idea would upset the OAU and therefore had to be abandoned. I pointed out that there was already much alarm over the barbaric methods which the PF were using to subjugate the masses into accepting them, as he was well aware from the affidavits he had received. I argued that if the truth about this dreadful intimidation was made public and, in all honesty, we were committed to this, there would not be any objection or condemnation from the free world — quite the reverse. I found him evasive, however, and it was clear that there would be no answer to my questions. He looked tired and dispirited and one of his comments towards the end was: ‘Every day is a long day.’ He had the unenviable task of trying to make a bad plan work, and it was obvious that the Foreign Office were keeping him on a tight rein in order to ensure that they worked hand in glove with the OAU. On the way out through the front door I ‘accidentally’ bumped into his wife, who introduced herself as Mary Soames. I was happy to meet Winston Churchill’s daughter and talked for a few minutes.
