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Opening accords

The day on which South Africa’s two major political protagonists during the previous half-century – the National Party and the African National Congress – were to look one another in the eye and sit together around a table to deliberate had finally arrived.

Early on the morning of 22 May 1990, Mike Louw, my deputy at National Intelligence, and I arrived at Groote Schuur, arch-­colonialist Cecil John Rhodes’ imposing Cape mansion, to keep an eye on proceedings. Unusually for intelligence people, we signed our names on the top line of the Groote Schuur visitors’ book. Later, the names of many of the ‘great minds’ would follow. He and I then watched with amusement as some of these great minds of political and public life nudged one another out of the way to make sure that they would be in the frame when President FW de Klerk and Nelson Mandela held a press conference on Groote Schuur’s front steps.

When the two teams took their places around a table, away from the cameras, the tension was palpable. The veterans of both sides were there: De Klerk and ministers Gerrit Viljoen, Pik Botha, Dawie de Villiers, Kobie Coetsee, Stoffel van der Merwe, Adriaan Vlok, Barend du Plessis and deputy minister Roelf Meyer. In addition to me and Mike Louw, officials Fanie van der Merwe, Willie Willemse, Jannie Roux and Basie Smit were present.

The shrewd observer would have noticed with interest that General Magnus Malan was not present. It was a poor decision on the part of the president to exclude the minister of defence. I had advised him against this more than once during the preparations, but, naïvely, the president thought that peace had nothing to do with war. His decision, without a doubt, displayed a good dose of retribution for the alleged role that the ‘securocrats’ had played prior to 1990. However, his short-­sightedness regarding the security forces cost him dearly as the peace process unfolded.

On the ANC’s side, in addition to Mandela, Thabo Mbeki, Joe Slovo, Walter Sisulu, Ahmed Kathrada, Jacob Zuma, Mathews Phosa, Penuell Maduna, Alfred Nzo, Curnick Ndlovu, Archie Gumede, Cheryl Carolus, Ruth Mompati and Dr Beyers Naudé were also present.

There were only two items on the agenda: get to know one another, and start working on a road map for the new South Africa.

The parties carefully tested what each other knew. Everyone realised instinctively that they could not afford to drop the ball. The contributions were controlled and somewhat timid. The long and secret preparatory talks almost certainly meant that both sides preferred to keep matters around the table, rather than to indulge in propagandistic speeches.

NI had already provided the government’s team with professional and sensitive personality profiles of the ANC negotiators. We felt that this was very useful information that would equip our group well, but alas – some of the naïve government politicians were upset that we had presumed to make character evaluations of politicians. Perhaps they were more concerned about what we might know about them than they were about the value of using this information to their advantage.

That evening, there was time for enjoyable social interaction, during which Joe Slovo had ‘comrades’ and ‘enemies’ alike in stitches with his humour. During a brief power cut in the marquee, Slovo’s voice rang out in the inky darkness: ‘This reminds me of Lusaka!’

The next day, the talks resumed. They were dreary and rhetorical at times and, as they dragged on, some evidence of acrimony cropped up on both sides. It is typical of negotiations for political participants to behave in this way – later, they can reassure their power bases that they were, indeed, immutable on points that their supporters regard as non-negotiable. It is a way of taking out political insurance policies and drawing lines in the sand.

Even at Groote Schuur, it was obvious that negotiations between winners and losers in the public eye would not be a useful response to the tough questions that lay ahead. Unfortunately, much time would pass and – far more tragic – many lives would be lost before confidential negotiations by trusted core groups restored balance in the negotiation process.

Thankfully, everyone realised that these initial talks about negotiation had to succeed, whatever the cost. At the end of the deliberations, both sides accepted the so-called Groote Schuur Minute, compiled, for the most part, by Pik Botha.

As a point of departure, a joint commitment was agreed upon to clear the ‘prevailing climate of violence and intimidation, no matter what its source’ and ensure that both parties would work towards stability and a peaceful negotiation process.

It was decided to form a working group that would make recommendations about the definition of ‘political violations’ in South Africa’s circumstances, the release of political prisoners, and exempting those who had been arrested for political transgressions from prosecution. The government also undertook to bring existing security legislation in line with ‘the new dynamic situation’ that had arisen, thereby ensuring normal and free pol­itical activity.

As a historic declaration of purpose for peace through negotiation, Groote Schuur was a shining moment in South African history. On the face of it, it had not yielded anything sensational, but the very fact that it had taken place laid a public cornerstone for South Africans’ desire to cross the Rubicon together.

* * *

Less than two months later, on 24 June 1990, Mac Maharaj sent a strictly confidential and coded message from Johannesburg to Siphiwe Nyanda in Durban. It referred to ‘pieces’ (the codeword for firearms) that had to be stored by the ‘outfit’ under ‘Ntaba’ (the codename for Jacob Zuma).

Jumbled references to the fact that these weapons were currently in the hands of a ‘hostile group’ that was planning ‘Madiba’s assassination’ followed. One of these weapons, according to ‘Ntaba’, had night-vision capability; Maharaj commented in response: ‘I am attracted to borrowing one of these pieces if it is suitable for use by us, even if on a temporary basis’.1

A few weeks later, Nyanda was taken into custody for his alleged involvement in Operation Vula. The car in his possession was found to have hidden storage compartments. In one of these was a .45-calibre sub-machine gun, complete with silencer and night-­vision equipment.

Was it part of a planned attack on Mandela’s life? Did radicals in the ANC believe that murdering Mandela would spark a revolutionary takeover of the country?

Earlier that same year, Nyanda had written in the ANC mouthpiece, The African Communist, that ‘a single spark can start a veld fire’ and referred to a call upon the masses to ‘trigger a chain of events leading to insurrection.2

Operation Vula went back as far as 1987, when certain members of the executive committee of the ANC – most of whom were also members of the central committee of the Communist Party – set up the so-called President’s Committee. This committee would carry out the ANC’s secret operations under the codename ‘Vula’, and had an internal and external branch. Mac Maharaj, Ronnie Kasrils and Siphiwe Nyanda directed matters in the internal branch.

Two years later, Maharaj and Kasrils entered the country illegally and unnoticed; they then helped to establish Operation Vula’s underground structures. Once peace talks had commenced and the Groote Schuur Minute had been signed, they quietly slipped out of the country again, so that they could re-enter – openly and officially. However, this was not the end of their plans.

Early in July 1990, based on information in their possession, the security police swooped on certain houses and other places in Durban and surrounds and, later, also in Johannesburg. In addition to firearms, explosives, limpet mines and components for manufacturing car bombs, they also seized sophisticated communication equipment, about a thousand pages of documents, and about four thousand pages of computer printouts detailing extensive plans for a violent takeover of the country.3

Following classic communist doctrine, underground bases would be formed that would lead to the creation of a people’s army – which, in turn, would be trained and given the logistical support necessary for leading a people’s revolution. According to the documents, the training of cadres, similar to that undergone by MK members in countries such as Angola, Tanzania and East Germany, had already begun in May 1990.

On 7 May, a highly secret consultative conference of the SACP was held in Tongaat in Natal where individuals such as Kasrils and Slovo expressed their determination to utilise the freedom of movement (the ‘space’, according to the teachings of Mao Zedong) that the announcements of 2 February had created.

In Kasrils’s words: ‘Taking the thesis seriously, we should be wary that we do not think that now with negotiations, we have arrived in Babylon. The legal space now creates the possibility of this kind of uprising much more than ever before …’4

* * *

Although Mandela swore that he was unaware of Operation Vula, we should take his and the ANC negotiators’ uncomfortable denials with plenty of salt. This was simply not how the ANC’s decision-making processes worked. Oliver Tambo, president of the ANC, was himself a member of Vula’s external branch.5

If the police had been more autonomous, proceeded ‘by the book’ – which they were certainly entitled to do – and arrested some of the negotiators and destroyed some of MK’s ‘safe houses’, the negotiations could have been derailed even before they began in earnest. It is to the credit of De Klerk and the security forces that they realised that the ANC was trying to take extra precautions to make sure that the ‘Boers’ did not outwit them.

Another minute and an accord

The next round of discussions between the government and the ANC was the outcome of the Groote Schuur consultations three months earlier. This time, the venue for the talks – held on 6 August 1990 – was the presidential guesthouse in Pretoria. The two teams of negotiators were smaller than at Groote Schuur; the pressure on both sides to perform well was thus appreciably higher.

The core dilemma, the elephant in the room, loomed large: violence and peace are irreconcilable. Political science teaches us that violence sometimes leads to peace. However, this kind of peace is usually the outcome of conflict from which one party emerges as the clear winner. This was definitely not the case in South Africa during the negotiations in Pretoria.

The question about the use of force as an instrument for reaching a political goal stalemated the government and the ANC. The government, which had to wield the power of the sword to maintain law and order, was accused by the ANC of making shameful misuse of this function to deny the black population its legitimate claim to full democratic political rights.

The ANC’s dilemma, on the other hand, was that it could not negotiate for peace even-handedly and continue simultaneously with its terror campaign to enforce a settlement process that had already begun – and to which, at Groote Schuur, it had morally and contractually committed itself.

Added to this, the ANC did not trust the government and felt that ending the armed struggle would mean giving up its only powerful handle on the negotiations. For the ANC, negotiating without continuing the armed struggle would be a matter of peace at all costs, which could well lead to its losing the negotiations and the peace.

One needs to understand the fear that the formidable South African Defence Force, supported by other sympathisers in the security forces as well as far-right white reactionaries, was capable of launching a ‘coup’ on an unarmed ANC. It cannot be denied that, in sections of the security forces and among those of the far-right political persuasion, there was vehement resistance to the negotiations and that, in these circles, plenty of talk of a coup was being bandied about.

After intense and lengthy debate, it was finally agreed at Pretoria that the ANC’s armed struggle would be suspended immediately, but not ended.

This represented vital progress and a win–win situation for both parties. The government could claim it had gained an important concession from the ANC and that South Africans could continue their lives with greater peace of mind; the ANC could assure its followers that it had not abandoned the struggle, and could fall back on it if necessary.

This decision, which formed a core part of the Pretoria Minute, was a brilliant coup that released both the government and the ANC from the grip of a stalemate.

The minute, as had been agreed at Groote Schuur, dealt in more detail with indemnity against prosecution, the release of political prisoners and the return to South Africa of members of previously banned organisations. Time frames were also laid down.

Both parties expressed serious concern about the escalation of politically motivated violence in Natal and there was general agreement that, in the search for peace and stability, all communities should be made to understand that problems could and would be solved by the negotiation process. Additional channels of communication between the different and opposing parties would be set up at local, regional and national level. In the light of ‘the new circumstances that were developing’, security legislation would be reviewed and amended continually, including the possible lifting of the state of emergency in Natal.

The minute pronounced: ‘We are convinced that the agreements we have reached can become a milestone on the road to lasting peace and prosperity in our country.’

The government and the ANC also declared that they did not profess to be the only parties in the country involved in the process of creating a new South Africa. ‘The path ahead is now open to move forward in the direction of negotiations for a new constitution.’

While the Pretoria Minute was being formulated and written, something else took place that was destined to have a huge effect on the settlement process and subsequent public life.

Thabo Mbeki and Joe Slovo of the ANC were delegated to help draw up the minute, while Fanie van der Merwe and I were chosen to represent the government in this process. Without further ado, we adjourned to the snooker room of the Old Presidency. Between heavy draws on our cigarettes, Fanie wrote down the gist of the negotiation in his scratchy handwriting, while we all argued back and forth and helped with the formulation.

The question of amnesty for all those who had been involved in acts of political violence was part of the discussion during the ‘summit’, after which, with an eye to reaching consensus and formulation, the matter was referred to us as a working committee of four members.

We held an in-depth discussion and convinced one another that it was imperative that we closed the book on the past. This implied granting general amnesty to everyone, on both sides of the proverbial divide. We were convinced that digging up old bones about the violence and terror of the past would get us nowhere.

It was not difficult to discern that Mbeki and Slovo regarded this as a quid pro quo to appease ANC radicals for the concession MK had made to suspend the armed struggle. We were very excited about what we regarded as a breakthrough and agreed that we would present it as a proposal to our respective superiors.

At that very stage, ministers Kobie Coetsee and Gerrit Viljoen made their appearance in the snooker room to see what progress we had made and, presumably, also to check whether we two officials had not sold the government down the river.

Coetsee immediately declared himself categorically opposed to a general amnesty. Fanie and I quietly took him aside. An intense debate followed, during which we tried to persuade him of the merits of an amnesty for everyone. We made the point that, if we missed this opportunity, a protracted witch-hunt could follow that would deal the security forces a blow and drive MK even further underground.

But Coetsee remained as stubborn as a mule. Soon afterwards, in a penetrating discussion with De Klerk, Fanie and I did our utmost to persuade him of the unintended and disastrous consequences of selective amnesty, but he could not, or would not, see our point of view either.

Coetsee presumably thought that, by allowing a general amnesty, the chance would be lost to throw the book at the ANC for its human rights abuses. In the end, this attitude boomeranged tragically. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) was established and, during its hearings, it was the sins of the security forces, for the most part, that were teased out month after month and broadcast amid much publicity. Coetsee was conspicuous by his absence at the TRC hearings, where he could have given a full exposition of his brave views.

At the news conference the day after the signing of the Pretoria Minute, the first signs of tension between Mandela and De Klerk began to show. It was patently obvious to me in the body language of both men and linked, presumably, to the ANC’s difficulty in selling the idea of the suspension of violence to all its followers – many of the comrades regarded this as an act of surrender. Protest action had broken out everywhere; on a countrywide roadshow, Mandela and his lieutenants had their work cut out to explain the reasons behind the decision to supporters at grassroots level.

In accordance with the Pretoria agreement, a working group comprising members of the government and the ANC met several times to reflect on the implications of the suspension decision. In September 1990, a provisional report was issued and, on 12 February 1991, the final report appeared, becoming known as the DF Malan Accord.

In terms of this, it was agreed that various initiatives linked to struggle violence would be suspended, from armed attacks and the secret stockpiling of arms to expressions that incited violence. In principle, it was also agreed that, in a democratic society, no political party or organisation should have a private army. It was noted that the ANC, ‘in good faith and as a contribution to the process with an eye to a peaceful settlement’, had halted all armed and allied activities ‘on the supposition that the process will lead to a situation where there will be no return to armed activity’.

In compliance with the accord, it was of great importance that control be exercised over cadres and weapons that had been brought into the country earlier. Public demonstrations would still be allowed, but ‘mass action’ could not be accompanied by violence and intimidation. It was also agreed that the security forces and the ANC would both make a concerted effort to curb conflict situations and that the working committee would monitor adherence to the agreement.6

This was a praiseworthy attempt to address the issue of violence and to keep the peace process on track, but, in practice, the agreement was not enforced.

In the spring of 1990, I was privileged to be part of the first official visit by a South African head of state to the United States of America – at the time, the world’s only superpower. This was also President De Klerk’s first overseas visit since the release of Nelson Mandela more than six months earlier.

From 23 to 25 September, De Klerk, Pik Botha (the minister of foreign affairs) and a South African team visited Washington. The Americans rolled out the red carpet from the moment SAA’s Hantam landed at the Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington. We were then flown by helicopter to the reflecting pool beside the memorial obelisk in the Mall. It was an extremely hospitable gesture on the part of the Americans to accommodate us in the well-known Blair House.

As Neil van Heerden, director general of foreign affairs, liked to say: ‘We no longer had to loiter at the back entrance wringing our hands. We could walk proudly through the front entrance into the world’s diplomatic boardrooms.’

The high point of the visit was De Klerk’s appointment with President George HW Bush in the Oval Office the next morning. Afterwards, the delegations from both countries held a highly constructive work session in the Cabinet Room of the White House.

De Klerk was in his element. In his clear and logical manner, he explained our intentions as far as the settlement negotiations in South Africa were concerned, placing emphasis on the guarantees, the ‘checks and balances’ of a constitutional state, and the protection of minority rights. Apparently, the Americans found it difficult to see the need for such stipulations. Today, they probably understand it far better; it was only in 2014 that Washington became aware of the global challenges of migration and minorities.

That afternoon, De Klerk and Pik Botha met James Baker, the seasoned US secretary of state. This also developed into a constructive discussion. Baker saw South Africa as a platform for American influence in Africa and was of the view that the old regime’s years of experience in government would be invaluable to the new South Africa.

At a wide variety of events, De Klerk addressed the American media, members of Congress and business leaders. As an excellent speaker, he acquitted himself well; unlike his predecessor, PW Botha, he understood and had mastered the art of public speaking on the international stage. President Bush’s generous statements about South Africa to the media and his positive comments about events in the country riled the black caucus so much that it took Bush to task.

Bush’s comments were among the signals that his administration wanted to send to Congress and the public to ring in the coming US policy changes towards South Africa. But, at the same time, Pretoria had to be constantly aware that Washington was bent on pursuing its own power politics and interests and would, no doubt, be wary of embracing South Africa in the diplomatic sphere. Many American interest groups had been strongly influenced by the ANC and believed firmly that the NP regime was not to be trusted. They believed that we wanted merely to break the stranglehold of international isolation and would then do an about-turn and continue the struggle to maintain the apartheid state.

We had good confidential information about this. But, at the same time, one needs to note that this was the umpteenth intelligence error from some in Washington. Had their information been accurate, they would certainly have known that, by now, the die was cast – there was no chance of turning back to the ancien régime.

When the Hantam took off on the evening of 25 September from the Andrews Air Force Base, it was with a satisfied team of South Africans on board. We were making our way towards full membership of the international world. At the very least, a breach had been made in our international isolation and a blow against the acceptance of the ANC as South Africa’s face in the world.

For South Africans, the main challenge was now, without international prescription or pressure, to make peace between ourselves.

About eight months after this visit, American sanctions against South Africa were lifted. Harry Schwarz, at the time a prominent member of the Progressive Federal Party, had been part of the South African group. A few months later, he succeeded Dr Piet Koornhof as ambassador to the United States.7

* * *

Late in January 1991, about fifteen thousand farmers from virtually the entire country descended upon Pretoria with tractors, harvesters, bakkies, cattle trucks and caravans … and paralysed the city centre.

While, according to the organisation known as the Boere Krisis Aksie (BKA, the Farmers Crisis Action), their protest action was a response to higher input costs and lower prices for their products, there were also clear signs of right-wing sentiment among many of the protesters. The leader of the Conservative Party (CP), Dr Andries Treurnicht, and eighteen members of his caucus put aside their parliamentary activities in Cape Town and flew to Pretoria.

‘The CP stands behind the farmers,’ declared Andries Beyers, chief secretary of the CP. Eugène Terre’Blanche, the leader of the Afrikaner-Weerstandsbeweging (AWB), also turned up in the capital city to support the farmers.

Quite apart from their dissatisfaction about agricultural conditions, the farmers were also unhappy about labour legislation that would afford farmworkers more protection, and about the proposed land reforms. ‘Once farmers, now share-croppers’ was one of the slogans seen on a caravan.

The farmers were determined to hand over a petition listing their grievances to President De Klerk at the Union Buildings, but this did not happen.

The city council had approved the protest action subject to ten conditions, including that no more than five thousand people were to take part; that road and pedestrian traffic should not be disrupted; and that no speeches were to be made. The farmers were unconcerned by any of this. Emergency supplies of blood for urgent medical operations had to be flown by helicopter to hospitals because major roads had been blocked or occupied.

The city council eventually obtained a court order to force the farmers to leave the city.

A volatile situation arose when this order was ignored and about two hundred farmers were arrested. Some policemen were injured when farmers who refused to move their vehicles from the streets were involved in scuffles with police.

Meanwhile, the farmers had not lost their sense of looking after themselves. In addition to gas barbecues, fridges, canvas chairs, folding tables, portable toilets and generators, at least one farmer had brought along a slaughtered sheep, a frozen sheep and one that was still very much alive. Boeremusiek rang out; braais were enthusiastically held on the pavements; and much ‘Klippies’ and Coke was enthusiastically consumed.8

Despite this bonhomie, the siege also sent out a clear message: Do not ignore the rightwing in white politics. Furthermore, many of the farmers were part of the South African Defence Force (SADF) commando system, which increased the potential of right-wing violence.

1 Report from a covert source, National Intelligence.

2 Siphiwe Nyanda, in The African Communist: Journal of the South African Communist Party, First Quarter, 1990, pp. 35–43.

3 Connie Braam, Operation Vula (Johannesburg: Jacana, 2004), pp. 28–270.

4 Ronnie Kasrils, Armed and Dangerous (Johannesburg: Jonathan Ball, 2004), pp. 246–250.

5 Padraig O’Malley, Shades of Difference: Mac Maharaj and the Struggle for South Africa (New York: Viking, 2007), pp. 244–256, 260–284, 287–291, 365–388.

6 Available at www.nelsonmandela.org/omalley, accessed 14 October 2016.

7 E-mail with additional information: Derek Auret, 28 July 2016 and 2 August 2016.

8 Eugène Terre’Blanche, My storie (Cape Town: Griffel Media, 2010), pp. 156–158; ‘Pretoria plofbaar ná Boere-beleg’, Beeld, 30 January 1991; ‘Regter verklaar protesaksie onwettig’, Beeld, 30 January 1991; and ‘Slagskape, trekkers dra by tot karnaval-gevoel’, Beeld, 30 January 1991.