Two more committees were formed under Coetsee’s leadership: the Working Committee for Security and Security-Related Matters and the Security Information Committee. The designation ‘security and security-related matters’ in the full name of the former was significant – clearly a veiled attempt by Coetsee and the security forces to become directly involved in the negotiations. It remains a mystery why the president allowed Coetsee to build his own empire alongside the existing structures.
Further, dozens of ad hoc committees were formed from time to time. They advised various negotiators and colleagues on a wide range of topics, such as the Interim Constitution; executive transitional councils; the use of traditional weapons during demonstrations; the possibility of including the TBVC states (Transkei, Bophuthatswana, Venda and Ciskei) in the negotiations; new heraldic symbols for the country; and official language/s.
The government’s management mechanisms for the negotiations arose, in part, from De Klerk’s obsession with keeping officials in their place and maintaining the politicians’ sovereign power. From the officials’ side, however, we always ‘knew our place’; but, we also had enough cynical insight into politicians’ weaknesses not to be intimidated by them.
There may have been very little wrong with the government’s planning structures for its negotiation effort, but the same could not be said of its implementation, decision-making and execution.
Unlike the ANC and other parties, the government had a unique asset at its disposal: an elite corps of officials. The ANC relied largely on foreign bedfellows, influence peddlers and planted ‘state administration experts’ to help it along; a large number of their officials had, apparently, already worked for the ANC as sympathisers, secret supporters or paid lobbyists.
On the whole, however, the state officials were of sterner stuff. In management ranks, many top officials had roots in the culture of the poor white question and had imbibed hard work, loyalty and determination with their mothers’ milk. In many departments, the cream of the younger guard came from recent university graduates, and consisted of enthusiastic officials who were inspired to make the bureaucracy an innovative and powerful mechanism for the country’s administration. Of course, there were also the usual shirkers and, here and there, an obdurate, dyed-in-the-wool manager who did not meet the demands of modern public management.
Years later, when I was part of the government’s attempt to broker peace between the Israelis and Palestine, I thought back with pride and gratitude on the role that the Civil Servants’ Committee played. Unlike the people of the Middle East, we did not preach about peace while at the same time looking for reasons why the negotiations should be suspended.
We of the Civil Servants’ Committee also stared apparently insurmountable problems in the face, but our approach was different. We tackled our problems head-on, seeking solutions, not excuses. In its contribution to this endeavour, and the guarantee of an orderly negotiation process, the AK11 set a unique and valuable example.
1 FL Schuman, International Politics (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1958), pp. 211–226.
Chapter 5
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