Our man in mbabane, p.3
Our Man in Mbabane, page 3
“You think I can find work in Swaziland?” He made it sound so easy. I present myself and get showered with fantastic job offers. Since it took me six months to find a job in the UK, this didn’t seem plausible.
“Sure. You have a master’s degree from an excellent, world-renowned university. There is always work in developing countries for such people. Maybe you could get a job at the University of Swaziland, for example. Or in the government as an economist.”
“How would I pay for the car?” As always, I was broke.
“We’ll get the cash to you.” Cash. I liked the sound of that.
“We will also, of course, pay for your airfare and some initial expenses to tide you over before you get a job. After that, you will need to be self-financing. Any other questions?”
The knot in my stomach couldn’t have been any tauter, but I was still in “interview mode” and tried to think of a question but wasn’t coming up with anything ingenious.
“You think I can get across the border from Swaziland to South Africa with a load of guns without any problems?” I asked.
“You’re White. The South African authorities won’t suspect anything, but you must be prudent in everything you do.”
“What if I get caught?”
“You will go to prison. Probably only for ten years or so. They will torture you. At a minimum, it will be psychological torture—solitary confinement and the like. But we understand this changed after the Soweto uprising, and it could be significantly harsher. It is much worse for our African comrades. Like everyone, you will confess and name your associates. All prisoners do eventually, so no need to feel guilty about it. We wouldn’t assume otherwise, and everyone compromised would be removed to a protected country.”
Was this meant to reassure me?
“It sounds dangerous,” I said.
“No fear, no fun,” he said, shrugging his left shoulder.
Easy for you to say, I thought as my breathing grew shallower.
“What about Anne?” I asked.
“She could go with you if you like,” Walter said.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I said.
“It’s up to you. It could help with your cover.”
My cover? Am I in a Bond film?
“Should you decide to accept my proposal, I have a code name for you: Polo.” He pulled out a green roll of mints from his jacket pocket, a candy similar in shape and size to Life Savers in the US. “I read somewhere that Ian Fleming named James Bond after the Bond candy bar, which they no longer make.”
“Polo. I like it,” I said. He opened the pack and offered me a mint. How could I refuse to eat one of my namesakes?
“I think you’re the ideal person for this work, and I doubt if I could find someone better to do it. I think you should think carefully about my proposal before you decide but get back to me soon.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it while listening to you. The gunrunning job sounds interesting, and I certainly agree with the anti-apartheid movement, but I think I should stay in London with Anne.”
Walter’s expression became thoughtful. Finally, after a minute of contemplating and smoking, he finished his cigarette and crushed it under his foot.
“What I could offer you is a chance to travel to South Africa and Swaziland to assess your interest in concretely supporting the ANC,” he said.
“Like a vacation?”
“We need to deliver instructional materials to some comrades in South Africa. You would need to meet with them and deliver the manuals, but you should also travel to Swaziland and see if you like it. It’s a pleasant county, though totally dominated by South Africa. If you change your mind during your travels, we’d expect you to stay in Swaziland and find a job without returning to the UK. If you decide not to do it, you can come back to London having helped out on one small mission. No hard feelings.”
“That seems fair,” I said.
“Take these books,” he said, handing me a bag with the WH Smith logo. “They might also help you decide. The history book on South Africa wasn’t written by a Marxist, but it provides an understanding of the development of apartheid.”
“Thanks. I’ll return them when I’ve finished reading them.”
“No need,” he said, and we headed toward the rooftop door. “Next week, I’ll arrange a meeting between you and Joe Slovo. He’s the special operations unit head of Umkhonto we Sizwe, “Spear of the Nation,” the ANC’s military wing, and he would be directing your activity, should you decide to accept.”
“OK, thanks,” I said, making a mental note to do some research on Joe.
Walter really wanted me to do this job, but it would derail my career for at least a couple of years, hinder my ability to pay off my student debts, put my life in danger, and destroy my relationship with Anne.
How could I take her to Africa to live with a guy who was transporting munitions into South Africa in his spare time?
CHAPTER 3
I quickly read through the books Walter gave me—Mandela’s No Easy Walk to Freedom, Freda Troup’s South Africa: An Historical Introduction, and A. Lerumo’s Fifty Fighting Years. Lerumo’s book was a history of the Communist Party of South Africa, which supported the ANC. I had time to read because James had left for a vacation with Julie on Tuesday, giving me a welcome reprieve from programming derivatives. By the weekend, I’d learned a lot about South Africa, the struggle against apartheid, and the ANC. I also learned about Swaziland—its politics and status as a British protectorate, which conveniently kept it from being invaded by the Afrikaners.
Walter’s books informed me of the ugliness of apartheid, which began in 1948 after the Afrikaners’ National Party formed a majority in parliament with the Afrikaner Party. Apartheid was a system of institutionalized racism that segregated people by race to keep Whites in control of all political, social, and economic conditions. There were many tiers of racial status. Whites, both those of English descent and the Afrikaners of Dutch descent, had the highest rank and the most rights. They could vote and decide where to live and work, and they had full property rights. The government would often revoke the other races’ property rights to give the land to Whites to farm, sending the Africans to barren “homelands.” Since the farmers were mainly Afrikaners, this benefited the people who voted for the National Party.
Aside from the Africans, on the lowest race level, the other main racial tiers of apartheid were Asians and “Coloureds.” The Coloureds included the offspring of mixed-race relations and the Cape Malay, a wide variety of Asians who lived in the Cape area. The Europeans brought these Asians to the Cape as enslaved people from the Dutch East Indies, now Indonesia. Some were also Indians, though the government designated Indians in Natal as Asians.
Japanese, Taiwanese, and South Koreans were considered “honorary Whites” and had all the Whites’ privileges, except they couldn’t vote and weren’t subject to conscription. The special status of Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea came from their strong trade relations with South Africa and their level of economic development. Only the South Koreans broke off trade relations with South Africa when the global anti-apartheid sanctions movement gained strength in 1978.
The primary intent of apartheid seemed to be to keep the races apart. In the early days, the government moved many Africans, Coloureds, and Asians out of the areas newly designated for Whites only. It also created separate facilities, schools, restaurants, etc., for the various races. Later, the apartheid regime extended their confiscation of African land to form the Bantustans, selected territories for the different African tribes. For example, the Zulus received the KwaZulu homeland, while the Xhosa got Transkei and Ciskei. With these territories, the Afrikaners intended to displace more Africans from the lands they were currently occupying, deprive them of citizenship, and reinforce the pass laws. Pass laws were designed to constrain the movement and employment of the Africans in particular. Unlike Whites, Africans and other people of color needed a passbook to travel within South Africa and to be employed in White-owned businesses.
These Bantustan areas weren’t economically viable, and all but one, Ciskei, were patches of land separated by regions allocated to Whites. Hence, they were difficult to administer politically. The Africans who moved to the Bantustans had their passbooks replaced by Bantustan “passports.” Thus, Whites used these newly created regions to strengthen control over Africans and make them more dependent, forcing them into low-wage employment in White areas. Also, the new documents added the additional control mechanism of confining unwanted Africans to their designated Bantustan homeland. Any Africans whom the Afrikaners didn’t want in the White areas could be banned and forced to reside only in their assigned Bantustan, as had happened to Steve Biko. The South African state also hoped these territories could become independent countries recognized by foreign governments. However, no state ever accepted any of them as a sovereign nation.
Around Johannesburg, Africans who worked in the city lived in townships such as Soweto and Alexandra. The authorities would send any African living in these townships who came afoul of the law or a White person to the homelands. The police would simply ship them to the Bantustans, take away their local passbook, and give them, for example, a KwaZulu passport. The Bantustans were far removed from employment opportunities and had no sustainable domestic economies.
The Friday after I met Walter on the roof, Anne and I met my friends Christopher and his partner, Matthew, at our favorite pub.
“Frank has accepted a job in Swaziland,” Anne announced to Christopher and Matthew as we settled into a booth. “I’m not sure he will invite me to join him once he’s settled.”
I had told Anne I’d been offered a job in Africa, but I wasn’t sure if I’d stay; I needed to assess it for a while. So I put my dream job on hold by accepting the position but delaying my start date for a month, saying I needed a vacation to visit my family in the US. And so the lying began, even to my loved ones.
“Swaziland?” Christopher said. “Interesting. But why there?”
“I’ve always wanted to work in a developing country, and this job in the import-export business sounded attractive,” I said, creating a pseudo-job for myself.
“Sounds dodgy,” Matthew said. “Isn’t Swaziland one of those South African designated countries? Not really a country, just another extension of apartheid?”
“No, it was never a part of South Africa,” I said. “It was a protectorate of the British Crown and cleverly kept out of becoming part of South Africa. It gained independence in 1968.”
I had met Christopher when I was getting my master’s degree at LSE, and we became fast friends. I admired his intuitive understanding of economics, which he could explain to me clearly and succinctly. He was still in the closet that year. Later, when it became apparent that he was struggling with coming out, I walked him to a gay nightclub and shoved him toward the door. It was the least I could do after all the help he gave me. He’d met Matthew not long afterward, and I’ve always admired their longevity as a couple; they’re still together today.
“What does all that matter?” Anne asked. “It’s so bloody far away. How are we supposed to have a relationship if he is halfway across the world?”
“You make a good point,” Matthew said. “What were you thinking about that, Frank?”
“Well, I’m not sure I’ll like the job,” I replied. “I need to evaluate it, decide if I’m going to stay, then, once settled, I can bring Anne down to live with me.”
“The artful dodger,” Anne said.
“Anyway, the politics are interesting,” I said. “I’ve been reading some books about South Africa to learn about Swaziland. The history is ugly—the Sharpeville and Soweto massacres, Nelson Mandela in jail. But there’s no apartheid in Swaziland.”
“Ugly is an understatement,” Christopher said. “The police shot teenagers in the back in Soweto last year as they were running away. I can’t comprehend how anyone could do that.”
“They recently arrested Steve Biko,” Matthew said. “He had the audacity to travel outside his restricted area. Imagine being unable to travel outside your assigned ‘township.’ He was banned; he isn’t allowed to speak in public or write articles for newspapers.”
“Biko is a leader in the Black Consciousness Movement, but there’s also the African National Congress, Mandela’s organization, which is a potent anti-apartheid group,” I said. “Unfortunately, its leaders are either in jail or exile.”
“How can they be effective if they’re in jail or outside the country?” Anne asked.
“The ANC has been around since 1912 and tried to promote change peacefully until the Sharpeville massacre in 1960,” I said. “At Sharpeville, the police opened fire on a large crowd of Africans protesting the pass laws at the police station. Over sixty people were killed, including women and children. That massacre, and the widespread protests that followed it, caused the government to declare a state of emergency. So, the ANC leadership went underground, created a military wing, and began sabotaging infrastructure. I’m not so sure how effective it has been, but I can’t see how you can get rid of apartheid without an armed struggle. The bloodbath in Soweto last year proves that. Still, leaving all that aside, it would be interesting to work in a developing country to understand the economics.”
“So, you’re leaving to improve your education?” Anne asked.
“I guess I’d like to learn more about poorer countries, and I’ve never been to Africa.”
“We could go as tourists,” Anne said. “You don’t have to live there to learn about it.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
I asked about Christopher and Matthew’s jobs and was able to turn the conversation away from me. For the rest of the evening, we discussed our work, Anne’s computer course, UK politics, and beer.
Lying was surprisingly easy, even though being deceitful with my friends gave me great discomfort. I also needed to fabricate a suitable story for Anne about the trip to South Africa. Finally, I worried about whether or not I could be successful if I decided to accept Walter’s challenge. Delivering the package sounded straightforward, but going to Swaziland, getting a job, buying a car, and transporting munitions into South Africa sounded like an undertaking of a completely different order.
CHAPTER 4
In evaluating my feelings for Anne, I was conflicted. I could see that the ANC needed help, and Walter thought I would be effective in transporting armaments. But this would hurt Anne. How could I do that to her? On the other hand, if I decided to stay in Swaziland and run guns, I wouldn’t want her to be with me; it would be too dangerous. How could I live with myself if she were harmed or jailed?
In most people’s lives, there comes a time to make a significant decision. After receiving a lucky number in the military draft of 1972, I often wondered whether I had the courage to face war. I thought this challenge would give me an opportunity to prove to myself that I avoided Vietnam for political reasons, not from cowardliness. After all, some of my friends from high school had enlisted and gone directly to Nam. Furthermore, it would be a way to demonstrate my commitment to changing the world for the better and supporting oppressed people—to myself as much as anyone else.
As a young adult, I was facing a decision that would define me as a person; was I going to be someone who simply worked in my own self-interest, or could I spend a significant amount of my youth supporting a just cause? I couldn’t help thinking that the Peace Corps might be a safer way to spend time helping poor people in emerging markets. But Walter’s challenge resonated with me; it aligned directly with my political views.
On the other hand, my selfish side yearned for the London economic consulting job, which was a great career opportunity.
Having started with the lie of a job offer in Swaziland, it was easy to continue lying to my family. Here’s what I wrote to my beloved sister:
1 Sept. 1977
Dear June,
Prepare yourself for a not-so-pleasant shock.
I got a job offer in Swaziland, working on exports and imports, and will go down to see if I like it enough to stay. I also have an attractive offer here in the UK, but I want to assess the Swazi one first. If I keep the Swaziland job, I may not be able to visit the US for some time.
On the one hand, the Swaziland experience would be a valuable working experience in a developing country. With some luck, I would be able to get a few ideas for a PhD, and after two years at the most, I’d see if I could get into a US university with a juicy grant. On the other hand, the UK position is well paid, and I could continue living with Anne. I’m really torn.
Your last two letters (which I have just reread) sound very cheery—I’m glad to hear that the new flat is so pleasant. It makes a big difference—one’s living quarters, that is. Our place here in Tufnell Park is enjoyable. I can’t complain.
Anne and I had a lovely time touring around England, Wales, and Scotland. After Stratford, we went to Wales. It is a beautiful country, and we visited some of the castles. We also walked up to the top of Snowdon. Afterward, we stayed in the Lake District for four or five days, then went to Edinburgh for the Festival, where we saw many well-done plays, a superb mime artist named Amiel, and an electronic music concert. It was all fun, save one terrible staging, which was as bad as I somehow expected all the fringe theater to be but found it enjoyable instead.
