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Introduction
By Peter Wonacott
Those who wanted to remember Nelson Mandela's life traveled in recent months to a Pretoria
...
Unencumbered by a legal representative, Mr. Mandela the politician launched rhetorical
salvos at the apartheid state. In h...
"Madiba's moral courage, this country's historical transition to a free and democratic nation
has been a personal inspirat...
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Capture
The Mystery ofMandela's Arrest

Nelson Mandela 's capture in 1962 changed South Africa's his...
Some in African National Congress want to fight, but Mr. Mandela fears bloodshed
could set back reforms. By Roger Thurow (...
As Mandelas Mind Their Businesses, Brows Furrow

Some of Nelson Mandela 's family members have kicked up a public stir wit...
THE CAPTURE
The Mystery ofMandela's Arrest
By Peter Wonacott

December 22, 2012
On a gently sloping road leading out of the town of Ha...
Those who believe a CIA informant betrayed Mr. Mandela point to media reports, decades
later, about a junior U.S. diplomat...
MANDELA THE PRISONER
Is Nelson Mandela Pretoria's Prisoner?
Or Is the White Government His Captive?
By Roger Thurow
July 11, 1989
JOHANNESBURG,...
designated successor, F.W. de Klerk, will do it once he takes over. All they need, government
spokesmen say, is a commitme...
Cry of South African Revolution Has Moderate Ring at Mass
Rally
By Roger Thurow

October 30, 1989
JOHANNESBURG, South Afri...
The ANC vows to keep up pressure on the government. Speakers yesterday called on foreign
governments to increase sanctions...
Act of Exorcism: Pretoria Tries to Ease Its Isolation by Ending
Ban on Black Groups
By Roger Thurow
February 5, 1990
CAPE ...
But now the government, secure with a five-year mandate and eager to reduce tensions at
home and eliminate economic, cultu...
Indoctrination of white South Africans began shortly after the Dutch explorers landed at the
Cape of Good Hope more than t...
FREEDOM: FROM PRISONER TO POLITICIAN
Agence France-Presse/Getty Images

Nelson Mandela and his wife Winnie raise fists upon Mr. Mandela's release from prison o...
Time of Trial: As Mandela Goes Free, South Africa Enters Era
of Great Moment
By Roger Thurow
February 12, 1990
CAPE TOWN, ...
table. The African National Congress expects him to be a messiah, bringing the organization to
power after 78 years of fru...
Messrs. de Klerk and Mandela are expected to meet often in coming months, trying to
narrow the vast differences in their v...
The Peacemaker: F.W. de Klerk Holds, With Nelson Mandela,
South Africa's Future
By Roger Thurow
February 28, 1990
CAPE TOW...
Mr. de Klerk, who is 53 years old, was born into a family of politicians and raised in the art of
give and take. He is a l...
tribes as well. He believes that it is only the evil of apartheid, the institutionalized subjugation of
blacks by whites, ...
Mr. de Klerk nodded. "Yes," he said, "you are right."
The three clerics were speechless. "The president didn't take {the e...
Troubled Township: South Africa Blacks Speak Freely Now,
and Pressure Pretoria
By Joe Davidson

April 4, 1990
PORT ELIZABE...
been joined by the many. T -shirts with Mr. Mandela's picture on them are everywhere. Nearly
everyone who spoke to this re...
they use the system to work for the aspirations of fellow blacks. "It is a fact we are in the
apartheid grid," says counci...
Mandela Legend Grows to Superhuman Proportions
By Roger Thurow

June 19, 1990
JOHANNESBURG, South Africa-Nelson Mandela ha...
Despite the tremendous pressure on his tours-in the U.S., he will go from a ticker-tape
parade to a meeting with President...
name of the child." It went on like this until 20 minutes before landing when the pilot invited
Mr. Mandela into the cockp...
Deepening Despair: Rising Black Violence in South Africa Puts
Mandela on the Spot
By Roger Thurow
September 14, 1990
SEBOK...
Mr. Mandela, who has been a free man for seven months after 27 years in prison, faces a
dilemma of Gorbachevian proportion...
The wave of violence began after the ANC suspended its armed struggle on Aug. 6 in return
for an agreement with the govern...
elements who want to see blacks fighting blacks. He told the people to silence their calls for
weapons, because arms would...
Price of Victory: South Africa's ANC Finds Sanctions Are a
Blessing and a Curse
By Roger Thurow
September 24, 1990
NEW BRI...
organization may settle for a "statement of intent" from the government on the shape of a new
constitution, rather than ac...
Nelson mandela -_making_peace
Nelson mandela -_making_peace
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  1. 1. Introduction By Peter Wonacott Those who wanted to remember Nelson Mandela's life traveled in recent months to a Pretoria hospital, where the walls were covered with tribute banners. It became a place where people tried to put into a few words what the South African leader meant to them. "My father told me that you were in prison for 27 years and became the first black president of South Africa" wrote one 7 -year old well-wisher. "I pray to God you should be well very soon." Mr. Mandela died Dec. 5 in his Johannesburg home. He was 95. His condition in his last days was sufficiently precarious that an admiring nation and world finally began to come to terms with his mortality. When Mr. Mandela was admitted to the hospital in early June, many doubted he'd live to see his next birthday. Yet on July 18 another banner went up: "Happy 95th Birthday to a Legend." Before Mr. Mandela became a legend, he was many other things. Among them: A son of a village chief; a lawyer; a political activist; a would-be saboteur; a prisoner; a negotiator; a president; and, late in life, an African statesman who stepped away from politics only to become an even more powerful symbol of freedom, reconciliation - and graceful retirement. The passage between these points could be abrupt, sometimes stemming from spur-of-themoment decisions. He wound up the world's most famous political prisoner, for example, after he chose not to draw a concealed pistol when police pulled over his car on a lonely stretch of road outside a town called Hawick on Aug. 5, 1962. Dressed as a chauffeur and recently trained as a soldier, Mr. Mandela was scouting for targets to blow up, he wrote in his autobiography, "Long Walk To Freedom." He had just noticed a rail line when he was pulled over by a Ford V -8 full of white men. Along with his party, the African National Congress, Mr. Mandela had taken aim at the system known as apartheid. The Nationalist Party introduced legislation that mandated racial segregation after it came to power in 1948. People of different skin colors were forced into separate enclaves, funneled into different schools and forbidden to marry across racial lines. The laws erected boundaries that ensured white minority rule over the country's black majority - and created a bitter legacy of inequality that still shadows South Africa. Mr. Mandela's resistance to this political order defined his life. After his arrest, he stood before a white magistrate, white prosecutor and white jailers and delivered a wilting indictment of an unjust justice system. "Your Worship, I hate racial discrimination most intensely and in all its manifestations. I have fought it all my life. I fight it now, and I will do so until the end of my days. I detest most intensely the set-up that surrounds me here. It makes me feel that I am a black man in a white man's court. This should not be." In the cavernous courtroom, which was once a Jewish synagogue, Nelson Mandela the lawyer became Nelson Mandela the politician. He decided to forego a conventional defense in favor of representing himself.
  2. 2. Unencumbered by a legal representative, Mr. Mandela the politician launched rhetorical salvos at the apartheid state. In his autobiography, Mr. Mandela admitted he was "technically guilty" of both charges - inciting unrest and leaving the country without valid travel documents -and didn't make much effort to contest them. But he scored a victory where it counted most at the time. His speech galvanized antiapartheid activists and helped turn him into a symbol of their struggle. "He wanted to run this as a political case. He knew the consequences," said Ahmed Kathrada, secretary of the "Release Mandela Campaign," who was put under house arrest following the trial and would later spend 18 years imprisoned on Robben Island with his friend and fellow revolutionary. "It gave people courage." Mr. Mandela received a stiff five-year sentence. The life sentence that he would serve mostly on Robben Island off Cape Town would come at a later trial. Over the years, Mr. Mandela's African National Congress rallied support for South Africa's political prisoners while campaigning for other countries to isolate the government. The pressure paid off. Choked economically and squeezed politically, the apartheid government buckled. In 1990, Mr. Mandela was released from prison. The multi-racial vote that elected him president, and brought the ANC to power, followed in storybook fashion. The extraordinary journey of a nation, embodied in the extraordinary life of Mr. Mandela, is chronicled in this new e-book. These excerpts of articles originally published in The Wall Street Journal take you back to events of Mr. Mandela's public life: the jubilant crowds that surrounded him as he walked from prison, a free man after 27 years; his pleading with angry and vengeful black South Africans to trust him as he negotiated the nation's new social and political structure with his former jailers; his election as president; and after one term, his retirement from public life. More recently, Wall Street Journal reporters wrote that a wave of labor turmoil and investor skepticism about South Africa's dimmed economic prospects are testing Mr. Mandela's promise that racial equality would fuel economic prosperity for all. The articles were edited for readability and length; they represent the facts as reported at the time of publication and have not been updated. This is history as it unfolded, often from obscure places. As a result, the articles present a colorful mosaic of Mr. Mandela and a grassroots view of South Africa's young, evolving democracy. Mr. Mandela's stand inspired generations of activists far beyond South Africa. One of them, in the early 1980s, was a college student named Barack Obama. In his autobiography, "Dreams From My Father," Mr. Obama recalled telling fellow students at Occidental College in Los Angeles about a struggle in faraway South Africa "that touches each and every one of us. Whether we know it or not.. .It's a choice between dignity and servitude. Between fairness and injustice. Between commitment and indifference. A choice between right an d wrong. " Afterwards, Mr. Obama wrote that he didn't think his speech would make any difference in the anti-apartheid campaign. The chasm between white affluent college students, who called for divestment from South Africa in between games of Frisbee, and those in black South African townships, who dodged police bullets in street protests, appeared too wide. But in June of this year, President Obama traveled to South Africa in part to reach out to students in Soweto who seemed so distant three decades ago. In doing so, President Obama paid tribute to a man he called a "personal hero," someone who had breached political and racial barriers- and even won the Nobel Peace Prize- just as he would do.
  3. 3. "Madiba's moral courage, this country's historical transition to a free and democratic nation has been a personal inspiration to me," he said, using Mr. Mandela's popular clan name. "It has been an inspiration to the world." South Africans remain proud of the country's largely peaceful political transformation. But the key milestones and monuments of that transition are only beginning to come to light, as history is written and restoration funds are found. Today, locked iron gates prevent the public from walking through the arched entryways to the apartheid court. Inside, many of the floorboards have been ripped up and used for cooking fires. The dying grass beyond its 10-foot gates is littered with cigarette butts and candy wrappers. The "Old Synagogue" is not far from the Pretoria hospital where Mr. Mandela has spent so much time of late, but it has become a forgotten relic of a discredited regime. It is where, more than a half century ago, Mr. Mandela explained why he would not stop fighting. "There comes a time, as it came in my life, when a man is denied the right to live a normal life," he wrote. "I was driven to this situation, and I do not regret having taken the decisions that I did take." The last chapter of Mr. Mandela's not-normal life played out in the global spotlight, as television and radio broadcasters stood vigil outside the Mediclinic Heart Hospital. After he was discharged, journalists stood outside his home in a quiet Johannesburg suburb. President Jacob Zuma in early September told a group of editors that Mr. Mandela's return home represented "progress" in his condition. But he also acknowledged what had become clear. "The father of South Africa's democracy," President Zuma said, "is old and not well." Many South Africans were not ready to let go. On the white hospital sign, in small black letters, someone has scrawled a message directed to a leader whose refusal to accept his lot changed a country. "Keep fighting," it said. For months, Mr. Mandela did just that- until he could no longer. Thank you for reading "Nelson Mandela, Making Peace" and The Wall Street Journal. Peter Wonacott is chief of The Wall Street Journal's Africa bureau in Johannesburg, South Africa.
  4. 4. TABLE OF CONTENTS The Capture The Mystery ofMandela's Arrest Nelson Mandela 's capture in 1962 changed South Africa's history, but who tipped off the police? By Peter Wonacott (December 22, 2012} Mandela the Prisoner Is Nelson Mandela Pretoria's Prisoner? Or Is the White Government His Captive? South Africa's government, desperate to improve its international image and resolve its internal conflict, needs the cooperation, and freedom, of Nelson Mandela. By Roger Thurow Uuly 11, 1989} Cry of South African Revolution Has Moderate Ring at Mass Rally African National Congress and government engage in a wary dance to possible negotiations. By Roger Thurow (October 30, 1989} Act of Exorcism: Pretoria Tries to Ease Its Isolation by Ending Ban on Black Groups South Africa's de-demonizing stops short of one man, one vote, and big obstacles remain. By Roger Thurow (February 5, 1990} Freedom: From Prisoner to Politician Time ofTrial: As Mandela Goes Free, South Africa Enters Era of Great Moment An end to apartheid may be in sight, but old forces of violence aren't tamed. By Roger Thurow (February 12, 1990} The Peacemaker: F.W. de Klerk Holds, With Nelson Mandela, South Africa's Future Pragmatic and religious, South Africa's president tries to bridge the abyss between the nation's races. The big test is majority rule. By Roger Thurow (February 28, 1990} Troubled Township: South Africa Blacks Speak Freely Now, and Pressure Pretoria Shantytown in Port Elizabeth holds political rallies and sees conflict ahead. By Joe Davidson (April 4, 1990} Mandela Legend Grows to Superhuman Proportions African National Congress leader's appeal is grounded on great charisma and unusual stamina. By Roger Thurow Uune 19, 1990} Deepening Despair: Rising Black Violence in South Africa Puts Mandela on the Spot
  5. 5. Some in African National Congress want to fight, but Mr. Mandela fears bloodshed could set back reforms. By Roger Thurow (September 14, 1990} Price of Victory: South Africa's African National Congress Finds Sanctions Are a Blessing and a Curse International sanctions help the black majority win reform but also gut its economic inheritance. A look at the void left by GM and Ford. By Roger Thurow (September 24, 1990} For Nelson Mandela, Time Is an Enemy Free from jail one year, the South African leader steps up his efforts. By Roger Thurow Uanuary 29, 1991} Black Township Joyfully Greets Vote In South Africa; Nearby Whites Somber As millions of South Africans of all races began voting, generations of white domination and official racial discrimination came to an end. By Thomas Kamm and Joe Davidson (April 28, 1994} President Mandela Mandela, Amid an Ovation, Is Elected President of Democratic South Africa "Today we are entering a new era of our people, "Mr. Mandela said in his first speech as president-elect. By Joe Davidson (May 10, 1994} Nation in Flux: The New South Africa Sheds Calvinist Past and Mutates Daily A year into its experiment in nonracial democracy, South Africa is a place where all the old rules have largely been thrown out, and new ones are being written, and rewritten, daily. By Ken Wells Uune 9, 1995} Mixed Feelings: 'Coloreds' Struggle to Find Their Place in a Free South Africa Rejecting a black identity, mixed-raced South Africans fear new leaders will leave them behind. By Ken Wells (December 6, 1995} South Africa After Mandela Chapter Two: On Eve of Election, South Africa Ponders Life After Mandela His successor, Thabo Mbeki, is a mystery to many; some fear he is a strongman. By Ken Wells Uune 1, 1999} Truth & Reconciliation-Healing Pains: South Africa Shows Just How Tricky Is Reconciliation's Path A Truth Commission pried into apartheid horrors, but what of 'justice'? By Roger Thurow Uuly 17, 2000} Soweto Turns Anger on African National Congress As World Cup opens, South Africa's poor complain of neglect. By Peter Wonacott Uune 9, 201 0}
  6. 6. As Mandelas Mind Their Businesses, Brows Furrow Some of Nelson Mandela 's family members have kicked up a public stir with the launch of a new reality-television show and a new lawsuit over their patriarch's assets. By Devon Maylie (April27, 2013} Mining Debate Rattles South Africa Unions renew push for nationalization as companies plan cuts to cope with slowing demand. By Devon Maylie (May 16, 2013} Nostalgia Swells for Mandela Era As markets fall, South Africans lament nation's dimmed prospects. By Patrick McGroarty, Devon Maylie and Peter Wonacott Uune 13, 2013} Nelson Mandela's Long Walk to Hollywood Anant Singh set out to shoot a film about the life of Nelson Mandela. It took almost as long as South Africa's first black president spent in prison. By Peter Wonacott (Nov. 21, 2013} Mandela's Death Nelson Mandela, South African Leader and Apartheid Foe, Dies at 95 Nelson Mandela, who rose from militant antiapartheid activist to become the unifying president of a democratic South Africa, died at his Johannesburg home. By Peter Wonacott (Dec. 5, 2013}
  7. 7. THE CAPTURE
  8. 8. The Mystery ofMandela's Arrest By Peter Wonacott December 22, 2012 On a gently sloping road leading out of the town of Hawick, South Africa, a Ford V -8 full of police waved over a car carrying a tall black man wearing a white chauffeur's jacket. The sight wasn't so unusual during the country's apartheid era, except the would-be chauffeur was in the passenger's seat. That day, Aug. 5, 1962, Nelson Mandela's life as an underground revolutionary came to an end. He would spend 27 years as a venerated political prisoner. Somehow, the police had known in advance that one of the nation's most wanted men would be posing that day as a driver delivering his employer to Johannesburg. The question that lingers is, who tipped them off? Some South Africans remain convinced that it was the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency. Just outside of Hawick, there is now a massive steel sculpture of South Africa's first black president. It marks the 50th anniversary of the apartheid regime's most important arrest-and a turning point for the country's people. "This is where you could say South Africa's history changed," says Brendan Grealy, manager of the Mandela Capture Site and its newly opened museum. "Here he went to jail. When he came out of jail, we became a democracy." The fading health of Mr. Mandela-recently hospitalized for a recurring lung infection-has spurred a rush to better understand his 94-year life. Google has been digitizing his papers and photographs in partnership with the Nelson Mandela Center of Memory, part of the expresident's foundation. But there is still no definitive answer to how the police knew to wait for Mr. Mandela. The person actually driving the car, Cecil Williams, was posing as a wealthy white businessman. Only his skin color was authentic. He was really a well-known theater director and South African Communist. Mr. Mandela had recently returned from military training elsewhere in Africa and had sneaked back into the country to lead a band of saboteurs targeting public utilities. Frustration with the limits of peaceful protests had led the African National Congress, banned by the apartheid regime in 1960, to create a military wing. As they drove to Johannesburg from the city of Durban that afternoon, Messrs. Mandela and Williams were scouting for sites to strike. When the police car swerved in front of them and stopped the car, Mr. Mandela initially stuck to his alias-David Motsamayi, chauffeuraccording to his autobiography, "Long Walk to Freedom." But the unshaven police sergeant didn't buy it and delivered his arrest warrant. A judge sentenced Mr. Mandela to five years in prison-three for inciting people to strike and two for leaving the country without a passport. That was extended after a 1964 trial, in which he and seven others were given life sentences for sabotage and other acts. Who gave him up? Denis Goldberg, a fellow activist who was also found guilty in the 1964 trial, believes a CIA agent got wind that Mr. Mandela was in Durban and shopped the tip to South African security in order to extract an informant from jail. The intelligence community was cozy in those days, he says: "They all knew each other; they all drank together."
  9. 9. Those who believe a CIA informant betrayed Mr. Mandela point to media reports, decades later, about a junior U.S. diplomat at the Durban consulate who allegedly boasted at a party of steering the police to Mr. Mandela. South African and British newspapers identified the diplomat as Donald Rickard. Mr. Rickard now lives in Colorado and, when reached by phone, said "that story has been floating around for a while." He added: "It's untrue. There's no substance to it." Mr. Rickard declined to discuss his posting in South Africa, calling it a "private affair." A request for information from the National Archives and Records Administration and the CIA yielded no information on Mr. Rickard, nor a possible link between the CIA and Mr. Mandela's arrest. The CIA declined to comment. South African police didn't immediately respond to queries about the arrest. The U.S. government was no fan of South Africa's apartheid state. A confidential 1964 State Department memo-obtained from the National Security Archive, a nonprofit that publishes declassified information-expressed alarm at the number of arrests targeting those who stood up to apartheid. The memo noted with concern that Mr. Mandela and others in the 1964 trial might be sentenced to death. "Their deaths would probably mean increased resort to violence and radical measures," it read. Mr. Mandela himself attributed his arrest to a clumsy job of disguising his movements. "I cannot lay my capture at [the CIA's] door," he says in his autobiography. "It was a wonder, in fact, that I wasn't captured sooner." Still, at the height of the Cold War, the U.S. counted on the apartheid government as an antiCommunist ally. It also showed keen interest in the role played by South African Communists, but the U.S. was wary of helping the regime crack down on them. A 1962 secret report from the U.S. embassy in Pretoria, now declassified, suggested that for the U.S. to "reduce or prevent Communist subversion in South Africa," it needed to pressure the government to relax repressive race policies. Mr. Mandela has described how he had hidden a loaded revolver in the car that day in 1962 but decided not to use it. Choosing not to fight his way out began a journey that would take him through prison to the presidency on a platform of peace, forgiveness and reconciliation among the nation's races. In 1996, Mr. Mandela visited the capture site and described how years in prison changed him and others in the movement. "Although it was a tragic experience, it was also very helpful, because we were able to reassess our work and the mistakes that we had made and the achievements," he said. "And we came out better prepared to carry on our work and to face new challenges." Neanda Salvaterra contributed to this article.
  10. 10. MANDELA THE PRISONER
  11. 11. Is Nelson Mandela Pretoria's Prisoner? Or Is the White Government His Captive? By Roger Thurow July 11, 1989 JOHANNESBURG, South Africa-For three hours last month, Nelson Mandela entertained two old friends at his house on the grounds of the Victor V erster prison farm near Cape Town. They chatted by the swimming pool, listened to music on the radio and shared a catered lunch. When it was time for the visitors to go, Mr. Mandela, the leader of the banned African National Congress, walked them to the house gate before saying goodbye. "I must leave you here," he said. "This is as far as I can go." "That was a reminder for us," says Amina Cachalia. She and her husband, Yusuf, were granted a rare visit with Mr. Mandela. "Despite the house, the pool and the nice meal, Nelson Mandela is still a prisoner of the government," she says. Last week, when Mr. Mandela was driven through the prison house gate to the Cape Town home of South African President P.W. Botha, it became clear the government is also a prisoner of Nelson Mandela. For 45 minutes, over tea and cookies, the two old adversaries-Mr. Botha was once quoted as saying Mr. Mandela could "rot" in jail-talked about the need for bringing peace to this racially divided country. Then Mr. Botha sent Mr. Mandela back to prison. But one conclusion is inescapable: the government, desperate to improve its international image and resolve its internal conflict, needs the cooperation, and freedom, of Nelson Mandela. "As long as Mandela remains in jail," says Mr. Cachalia, a veteran opponent of Pretoria's system of racial segregation known as apartheid, "the government can't succeed in its plans for changing South Africa." Mr. Botha's surprise meeting with the ANC leader was a clear acknowledgment of this, and the strongest indication yet that Pretoria may finally be prepared to release Mr. Mandela, who was jailed for life in 1962 for conspiring to overthrow the government. A government spokesman said the meeting wasn't a negotiating session and that no further talks were planned. But the meeting comes at a time when Pretoria, once again, is promising the world that it is serious about dismantling apartheid and including blacks, who are shut out of national politics, in a central decision-making body. To have even a chance at success, the government must free itself from the "Mandela factor." The one thing that unites black leaders across the political spectrum in South Africa is a blanket refusal to negotiate a new constitution with the government until Mr. Mandela is released. Foreign governments are adamant that international economic sanctions will continue as long as Mr. Mandela, who turns 71 next week, remains in jail. But how to release Mr. Mandela after decades of official propaganda demonizing the ANC and its leader? And how to do so without triggering a white backlash that will boost the chances of the pro-apartheid Conservative Party in the Sept. 6 parliamentary election? The current betting is that Mr. Botha-who moved Mr. Mandela to the house at Victor V erster after the prisoner was hospitalized with tuberculosis last year-will set Mr. Mandela free after the election but before he retires from the presidency later in September, or that his
  12. 12. designated successor, F.W. de Klerk, will do it once he takes over. All they need, government spokesmen say, is a commitment to peace from Mr. Mandela, who was involved in establishing the armed wing of the ANC after the organization was banned in 1960. But releasing the world's most famous political prisoner also poses risk for the government: It could give the process of political change a momentum that Pretoria can't control.
  13. 13. Cry of South African Revolution Has Moderate Ring at Mass Rally By Roger Thurow October 30, 1989 JOHANNESBURG, South Africa-Out of the mouths of revolutionaries are coming words of moderation. Here, at a soccer stadium near the black township of Soweto yesterday, were eight leaders of the African National Congress, seven of whom had spent most of their adult lives in prison for sabotage and conspiracy to overthrow the government. Here were more than 70,000 ANC supporters, gathering for the first ANC rally inside South Africa since the black liberation movement was banned in 1960. Here was the state security appartus poised to pounce on any words or acts of provocation, let alone revolution. But the words that boomed over the loudspeakers bore messages of peace, unity, negotiation and discipline. "We stand for peace today and we will stand for peace tomorrow," said Walter Sisulu, the ANC's former secretary general who, along with five of his colleagues, served 26 years in prison before being released two weeks ago. Some members of the huge crowd shouted "Viva peace, viva." These are curious times in South African politics. The government and the ANC, the bitterest of enemies, are engaged in an elaborate mating dance designed to entice each other to the negotiating table. Pretoria releases the ANC leaders, most of whom were serving life sentences, and allows them to speak freely, hoping that the ANC will abandon its use of violence. The ANC leaders speak in tones of moderation, emphasizing discipline, hoping the government will be encouraged to take further steps, such as freeing Nelson Mandela, the most prominent ANC figure, and unbanning the organization. The government of President F.W. de Klerk is using this situation to improve its international image and head off further economic sanctions. Meanwhile, the many organizations inside the country that back the ANC are taking the opportunity to regain their strength and mobilize their supporters even though the state of emergency, which has severely curtailed black opposition, remains in force. The result is that the unthinkable and illogical are happening. Six months ago, government approval for an ANC rally was inconceivable. Equally inconceivable is that the ANC, given the chance to hold a rally, would extend a hand, albeit warily, to the government. In a message read out at the rally, exiled ANC President Oliver Tambo, who can't legally be quoted in South Africa, said the country was at a crossroads and that Mr. de Klerk "may yet earn a place among the peacemakers of our country" if he chooses a "path of genuine political settlement." Still, this doesn't mean that either the government or the ANC is changing stripes-or that either has moved significantly closer to the other. The government may ease repression in some areas, but it still keeps a tight grip in others. For instance, it releases Mr. Sisulu without conditions, yet his son, Zwelakhe, a newspaper editor, is restricted to his home much of the day and isn't allowed to work as a journalist.
  14. 14. The ANC vows to keep up pressure on the government. Speakers yesterday called on foreign governments to increase sanctions against Pretoria and urged supporters inside the country to continue defying emergency restrictions and racial segregation, known as apartheid. "We cannot wait on the government to make changes at its own pace," Mr. Sisulu said. Because the ANC remains banned, both the government, which approved the rally, and the organizers, who orchestrated it, denied it was an ANC rally. They both called it a "welcome home" gathering. Nevertheless, an ANC rally by any other name is still an ANC rally. The recently released leaders sat high atop a podium in one section of the stadium stands. Behind them was a huge ANC flag and an even bigger sign that said "ANC Lives, ANC Leads." Next to them was the red flag of the outlawed South African Communist Party, which has long been an ANC ally. In the stands, people waved ANC flags, wore ANC T -shirts, sang ANC songs and chanted ANC slogans. "Today," said Mr. Sisulu, "the ANC has captured the center stage of political life in South Africa." As a police helicopter circled overhead, Mr. Sisulu repeated the ANC's demands on the government to create a climate for negotiations: Release all political prisoners unconditionally; lift all bans and restrictions on individuals and organizations; remove all troops from the black townships; end the state of emergency; and cease all political trials and political executions. If these conditions are met, he said, the ANC would be prepared to discuss suspending its guerrilla activities. "There can be no question of us unilaterally abandoning the armed struggle," he said. "To date, we see no clear indication that the government is serious about negotiations. All their utterances are vague." Echoing a phrase from Mr. de Klerk, Mr. Sisulu said, "Let all of us who love this country engage in the task of building a new South Africa."
  15. 15. Act of Exorcism: Pretoria Tries to Ease Its Isolation by Ending Ban on Black Groups By Roger Thurow February 5, 1990 CAPE TOWN, South Africa-The elderly white woman selling the day's newspapers had been staring at the news all day. Still she couldn't comprehend it. "The African National Congress unbanned! Oh my, I just don't know what to think anymore," stutters Thekie Stefanos as she wipes the newspaper ink off her hands. "Some people say it's all over for us, that there's no turning back now. I just don't know anymore." The news came straight out of the blue of a sweltering Cape Town morning. President F.W. de Klerk was nearing the end of his speech opening the country's color-coded parliament on Friday when he unexpectedly announced that the government is unbanning the ANC and its ally, the South African Communist Party, after 30 years of relentlessly vilifying the organizations. He also said the government is preparing to release ANC leader Nelson Mandela, whom it sentenced to life imprisonment 27 years ago for conspiring to overthrow the white state. The moves are a courageous bid to both begin negotiations over white-black power sharing in this racially divided country and to end South Africa's international isolation. They also represent a bold political gamble that white South Africa is ready to enter a new era. Almost immediately, white reaction reflected the society's deep polarization: Those on the left applauded warmly, those on the right recoiled in horror, and the timid majority who are usually willing to follow wherever the government leads wrung their hands in apprehension. But for all of South Africa's five million whites, Friday's moves to normalize the country's political life have upset the old order of things. What was good and bad, right and wrong when they awoke that day is no longer so today (although some of the security measures of the 44month-old state of emergency remain). After 40 years of state-enforced racial segregation, in which black militants were demonized as bogeymen, the government now is demanding that the country's white population undergo a painful political exorcism. For many whites, the news stirs embedded fears. "In the 1950s, we thought Hendrik Verwoerd (apartheid's architect) was the greatest man, second only to God," says Maryann de Villiers, a manager of a yarn shop in a working-class suburb of Cape Town. "Now it turns out he was wrong and apartheid is bad. I'm praying for F.W. de Klerk, but how do we know that some years from now the things he is doing won't be wrong? We whites are supposed to be civilized. But how about the ANC, can they be civilized?" For the past three decades, since the ANC was banned in 1960, government propaganda has cast the black liberation movement as the bloodthirsty enemy, sparing no effort to whip up white fears. "Communists!" screamed the pro-government newspapers, pouncing on the ANC's close alliance with the South African Communist Party. "Terrorists!" screeched the state-owned television, focusing its lenses on the ANC's sporadic guerrilla campaign. "Swart gevaar," or black peril, became a government rallying cry which has kept the National Party in power since 1948.
  16. 16. But now the government, secure with a five-year mandate and eager to reduce tensions at home and eliminate economic, cultural and sports sanctions abroad, says it is willing to sit across a negotiating table from the ANC, and other black organizations, and bargain over the country's future. For its part, the ANC, which was founded in 1912 and enjoys large support in the country's black, colored (mixed race) and Indian townships and minimal support among the whites, has responded with a cautious enthusiasm. It has welcomed the unbanning but stressed that before exiles can return and genuine negotiations begin, additional steps must be taken, such as the entire lifting of the state of emergency and its strict security legislation, and the freeing of all political prisoners, including those convicted of terrorism. Even then, the differences to be negotiated between Pretoria and the ANC remain huge. The ANC wants one man, one vote, where the will of the majority will prevail; Pretoria stops short of this, envisioning a constitution that balances and protects the interests of the various races, where neither the white minority nor black majority will dominate. But getting the ANC to the negotiating table may prove an easier task than getting the whites to accept its presence there. "The government has created a Frankenstein, and how do you negotiate with Frankenstein?" asks Loot Pretorius, a law professor at the University of Bloemfontein who ruffled the conservative campus when he, along with several other lawyers, met the ANC-in-exile last year. "First it must kill the monster-it must rebrainwash the people." In fact the re-education process has already begun. Last October, the government freed six ANC leaders convicted along with Mr. Mandela, even allowing them to travel and speak freely. The television stations and newspapers that were once the agents of the demonizing have been giving these black spokesmen wide coverage, quoting their moderate words and picturing their smiling faces. One of them, 77 -year-old Walter Sisulu, even appeared on a radio call-in show and told inquiring housewives that the ANC has never wanted anything but peaceful negotiations. Since Friday, television news readers have presented the ANC response with the black, green and gold ANC flag superimposed on the screen. And the faces of ANC officials, such as spokesman Tom Sebina and Communist Party head Joe Slovo, have flashed across the screen. Until Friday, these pictures were illegal. The government strategy now is to let the ANC and the Communist Party speak for themselves, and let all South Africans, white and black, draw their own conclusions. Pretoria believes that events in Eastern Europe have discredited many of the ANC's policies-such as nationalizing parts of the economy and the need for a strong central government-and it is no longer afraid of open debate. "This government would welcome a wide-ranging discussion of the ANC's economic policies," says foreign minister Pik Botha. The ANC is also eager to put the old demons to rest. "To our white compatriots we say ... 'welcome the ANC back to political life,"' says Patrick Lekota, a spokesman for the United Democratic Front, an ally of the ANC, who was jailed on treason charges until a month ago. But this exorcism will be torturous, and will likely trigger a powerful white backlash. For in creating one demon, the government created an equal reaction: a pro-apartheid right stridently opposed to white concessions to the blacks. Andries Treurnicht, the leader of the Conservative Party, which is supported by about one-third of the white electorate, called Mr. de Klerk's speech "revolutionary," and Eugene Terreblanche, the fiery mentor of the Afrikaner Resistance Movement, warns that if Mr. Mandela is released "all hell will break loose." The propaganda of the past has penetrated white society from top to bottom, from railway workers to civil servants to university students. At Bloemfontein University, 90% of the students questioned in a recent survey regarded the ANC as a terrorist and Communist organization, and 80% believed it to be "un-Christian."
  17. 17. Indoctrination of white South Africans began shortly after the Dutch explorers landed at the Cape of Good Hope more than three centuries ago. As the Cape Colony became a bustling port, the white traders erected a thorny hedge of bitter almonds around the settlement to keep out the native blacks. Since then, racial separation has woven its way through South African history, culminating in the rise to power of the National Party in 1948. Dedicated to the survival of the Afrikaner, the National Party propagated "Christian Nationalism," a religiously ordained doctrine of national isolation and racial division. The world, according to this creed, is a hostile place where one finds refuge "in one's own," which was interpreted as "in one's own race." Anything that contradicts this ideology is an enemy to be fiercely opposed. In 1955, the ANC articulated its vision for a future South Africa in the Freedom Charter, a socialist-oriented document advocating national unity, a sharing of the country's resources and racial integration. It was the precise opposite of Christian Nationalism, and, therefore, heresy. Several years later, with many of its leaders in prison, in exile or operating underground, the ANC was banned and expelled beyond the hedge of bitter almonds. It was then that it launched its guerrilla campaign. Few whites ever questioned the government's actions on the ANC; most believed what they were told. And even recently, those who have questioned, who have ventured beyond the hedge, have done so at their peril. Pearlie Joubert, one of several Stellenbosch University students who traveled to Lusaka to meet with the ANC only last year, returned to find her room had been ransacked: Bleach was poured over her clothes, her books were soaked in liquid detergent and sherry, her face was scratched out of some family pictures. She also received obscene phone calls and death threats. The government similarly ridiculed the liberal "traitors," branding them as "useful idiots" in the hands of the ANC. Now, these interlopers have become important allies in the government's de-demonizing campaign. And Pretoria can learn a lot from their frustrating travails in trying to pry open the country's closed minds. "You're battling so many years of propaganda, it's like fighting with one hand tied behind your back," says one Cape Town businessman who has met with the ANC. "We're in the same position as the people who first found out the Earth is round."
  18. 18. FREEDOM: FROM PRISONER TO POLITICIAN
  19. 19. Agence France-Presse/Getty Images Nelson Mandela and his wife Winnie raise fists upon Mr. Mandela's release from prison on February 11, 1990.
  20. 20. Time of Trial: As Mandela Goes Free, South Africa Enters Era of Great Moment By Roger Thurow February 12, 1990 CAPE TOWN, South Africa-Nelson Mandela didn't waste any time getting down to business. "We have waited too long for our freedom, and we can wait no longer," declared the aging leader of the African National Congress, in his first public utterance in 27 years. "Now is the time to intensify our struggle." Standing triumphantly on the steps of Cape Town's glorious old city hall, Mr. Mandela waved his fist and shouted "Amandla"-power-picking up where he left off in 1964 when sentenced to life in prison for sabotage and conspiracy to overthrow the white government. His message, shouted to some 50,000 jubilant supporters, was simple: Nelson Mandela may be free, but his people, South Africa's black majority, still aren't. Yet even as he was outlining his vision for the future of South Africa, other events of this historic day suggested the perils the people and the country face. In the hours before Mr. Mandela spoke, while a huge crowd gathered on a train-station parking lot, running battles broke out between black activists and police, the activists throwing bottles or breaking windows and the police firing tear gas and birdshot. That juxtaposition-a major symbolic step toward equality by a reform-minded white government, alongside clashes reminiscent of the old apartheid past-underscores the treacherous path lying ahead for South Africa as it lurches into an unknown future. It also suggests the dilemma facing Mr. Mandela, now 71, as he makes the transition from prisoner to politician. He has a vision of a new South Africa that he wants to negotiate with President F.W. de Klerk, the man who boldly freed him yesterday. But he also has an impatient constituency, weaned on years of racial oppression and confrontation, which he must gingerly bring along with him. Thus, in his first speech, Mr. Mandela congratulated Mr. de Klerk, who had unbanned the ANC the week before. But he also warned the president that the black struggle-including the guerrilla movement Mr. Mandela organized 30 years ago-would go on. "The factors which necessitated the armed struggle still exist today," he said. "We have no option but to continue." But he said he hoped the country would move toward a negotiated solution so that armed struggle would be no longer needed. Walking out of Victor Verster prison in Paarl, hand-in-hand with his wife, Winnie, Mr. Mandela slowly began leaving behind an image that was myth to some, monster to others. The face seemed neither that of the ogre the government had made him out to be nor the deified giant of antiapartheid lore. It was the face of an elderly man, with whitening hair and a grandfatherly smile. He appeared, as Mr. de Klerk had described him, "a friendly man, an interesting man." But he is also a legend, and on his shoulders rest expectations that have been building up for years. These expectations are not necessarily consistent. The de Klerk government sees Mr. Mandela as a facilitator, the one who will draw reluctant black compatriots to the negotiating
  21. 21. table. The African National Congress expects him to be a messiah, bringing the organization to power after 78 years of frustrating struggle. South African whites pray Mr. Mandela will be a moderate, soothing their fears of black political dominance under a future system of democracy. The black community hopes he can be a unifier, healing the rifts besetting their politics. The world wants him to be a statesman, traveling the globe and finally accepting the many honors bestowed on him in absentia. Perhaps his burden isn't impossible, suggests Eric Molobi, a black educator in Soweto: "If he can shorten the period of discussions between the liberation movement and the state," says Mr. Molobi, "then his actions will have matched his name, he will have lived up to the legend." In freeing Mr. Mandela, the de Klerk government has also curiously freed itself. It was the ANC leader's continued incarceration that always made a sham, in the eyes of many, of this government's repeated attempts to proclaim apartheid's death. Now Mr. de Klerk's proclamation of a new South Africa has a more sincere ring, denying the sanctions lobby its most emotional rallying point. The release lends credibility to Mr. de Klerk's claim that his door is open; he hopes that as Mr. Mandela walks through, others will surely follow. Mr. Mandela, who had been meeting with government officials while in prison in an effort to normalize the country's troubled political situation, is likely to walk through that door soon, but that doesn't mean he will take over Mr. de Klerk's seat in Tuynhuis, the president's office in Cape Town. Both the government and the ANC say it may be years before the remaining rules of racial segregation are abolished and a new constitution is written bringing blacks into central government for the first time. The U.S. government isn't in any hurry to declare the battle won either. In Washington, President Bush and many members of Congress praised Pretoria for freeing Mr. Mandela, but made clear the action wouldn't by itself prompt the U.S. to immediately sweep away economic sanctions imposed on South Africa in 1986. The sanctions include a ban on importing South African steel, textiles, uranium, coal and agricultural produce. They also bar new U.S. investment in South Africa, forbid new bank loans and ban landing rights in the U.S. for South African Airways. Besides steps taken so far, there are other conditions South Africa must meet before the legislatively imposed U.S. sanctions can be lifted, such as legalizing all political parties and ending the state of emergency. However, Mr. Bush is showing strong support for Mr. de Klerk, including inviting him to visit Washington. The president invited Mr. Mandela as well, in a congratulatory telephone call yesterday. With a new South African constitution as the goal, both the de Klerk government and the ANC initially envision a period of "talks about talks." The ANC says it won't enter into any formal negotiations until the 44-month-old state of emergency is lifted; until all political prisoners, including those convicted of terrorism and murder, are released; and until all exiles are able to return safely. Mr. de Klerk, who last week scrapped some aspects of the emergency decree, says he wants to lift it entirely, but is waiting to see if Mr. Mandela's release touches off unrest around the country. Yesterday's battles at the Mandela rally won't encourage Pretoria. The government says it released Mr. Mandela and unbanned the ANC from a position of strength The ANC, however, believes it won the Mandela battle, as he was freed unconditionally. Pretoria had offered him his freedom several times in the past if he would renounce violence, but he always refused. This time the government says it is convinced of Mr. Mandela's intention to enter peaceful negotiations. If it was expecting a public renunciation of violence, it was disappointed yesterday, when Mr. Mandela reaffirmed his commitment to the armed struggle he helped initiate in 1960.
  22. 22. Messrs. de Klerk and Mandela are expected to meet often in coming months, trying to narrow the vast differences in their vision of a new South Africa. Mr. de Klerk sees a country where all people have the vote, but where the government is so structured that "minority rights" will be protected and neither the white minority nor the black majority will dominate. Mr. Mandela, a lawyer by profession, stands solidly behind the ANC's position of a straightforward one-person, one-vote system with majority rule. The government, which is pushing ahead with an ambitious plan of privatization, favors a free-market economy; the ANC wants a mixed economy, with the nationalization of "key sectors," like the mines, banks and monopoly industries. Finally, the ANC is pushing for creation of a constituent assembly, elected by all races voting together, to forge the new constitution; Mr. de Klerk rejects any kind of interim government and says his National Party, which has ruled the country for 42 years, is entitled to have a hand in shaping the new political dispensation. In addition to dealing with each other, South Africa's two chief protagonists will struggle to keep their own rivals in check. Mr. de Klerk, who was elected last September promising "dramatic" reform, is facing a white backlash from the pro-apartheid Conservative Party, which says he has already gone too far. For his part, Mr. Mandela faces perhaps his most difficult challenge in bringing together a disparate and feuding range of black organizations. The Pan Africanist Congress insists that blacks should just seize power and not bother with negotiations. Meanwhile, Inkatha, the more conservative base of Zulu Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi, has been involved in a bloody threeyear turf fight with ANC-allied groups in Natal Province. Internationally, Mr. Mandela will continue to press for economic sanctions against the South African government, arguing that it was such pressure that forced Pretoria to act. "To relax our efforts now would be a mistake which generations from now won't be able to forgive," he said yesterday. Although the South Africa of several generations ago is different in many respects from the one he rejoined yesterday, it is the same in others. Mr. Mandela no longer needs to carry a pass when he travels, and he can swim with whites on the same beaches. But he still can't vote, and he still must live in a black township. At Mr. Mandela's home in Soweto, the huge township outside Johannesburg, Selina Mkhabela is waiting anxiously for her neighbor to return. She moved into her house eight years ago and has never seen the man who owns the bungalow across Vilakazi Street. On Saturday night, hours after his intended release was announced, she is sitting on her porch, watching the Mandela yard fill with revelers, and, of course, expectations. "His release is like a victory to us," she says. "Even if he's old, he can teach the young kids, he can still fight with his brains. He'll know how to end our problems." Scelo, her 13-year-old son, is anxious to cross the street and shake his neighbor's hand. "Our teachers say he started to get people to fight for what they believe in," says the boy. "Now he's coming back to finish what he started." Robert 5. Greenberger and Gerald F. Seib in Washington contributed to this article.
  23. 23. The Peacemaker: F.W. de Klerk Holds, With Nelson Mandela, South Africa's Future By Roger Thurow February 28, 1990 CAPE TOWN, South Africa-When Frederik Willem de Klerk was elected president of South Africa six months ago, an amazing political metamorphosis began. With the world looking on, Mr. de Klerk, or F.W. as most everyone calls him, has wriggled out of the privileged white cocoon of apartheid and embraced the responsibility to serve all his countrymen as no white leader has before. The man who once deported a white woman for throwing a tomato at his predecessor has become the man who freed Nelson Mandela. "The responsibility of state president has {given} F.W. a national vision," says Carools Reinecke, a friend and the rector of Potchefstroom University, Mr. de Klerk's alma mater. "He believes he has a calling to lead the country as a whole, not just the whites." As he leads South Africa out of the long years of racial segregation and oppression, Mr. de Klerk is bound to lose the support of many fellow Afrikaners-indeed, some right-wingers have already taken to the streets with signs reading "Hang F.W." And some of his oppponents to the left wonder how far he truly is prepared to go in sharing white power; so far, his vision of his "new South Africa" remains fuzzy, cluttered with old attachments of his to "group protection" and ethnic rights. But even the white government's bitterest black foes concede that Mr. de Klerk may be the man they have been waiting for for so many years: a strong yet compromising Afrikaner leader capable of making the great leap to a postrevolutionary, postapartheid society. Mr. Mandela himselfhails his former jailer as a "man of integrity" who deserves the support of the whites and a suspension of disbelief from the blacks. These two men, both of them lawyers and sportsmen, are gingerly cradling the fate of the country in their hands. The nation always knew Mr. Mandela was there biding his time in prison for 27 years, his leadership status among the oppressed black majority growing every day. But Mr. de Klerk was an enigma, hidden behind the 10-year autocratic rule of P.W. Botha. As chairman of the Ministers' Council in the white House of Assembly, he looked after the cornerstones of apartheid and white privilege. At the same time, he was leader of the ruling National Party in Transvaal Province, staunchly defending the government's right flank and heading off defections to the Conservative Party. Elected leader of the National Party by its parliamentary caucus last February and the nation's president in a general election Sept. 6, Mr. de Klerk, like Mr. Mandela, has been set free, gradually throwing off his own shackles of apartheid. "F.W. was in a very awkward position before becoming president: He didn't have real power, or the real job. But he had plenty of time to think, to plan," says Tjaart van der Walt, a close friend of Mr. de Klerk since they went to school together. Still, not even those who know him best expected him to act as quickly and boldly as he has. Mr. van der Walt attempts an explanation. "Cometh the moment," he says, "cometh the man. "
  24. 24. Mr. de Klerk, who is 53 years old, was born into a family of politicians and raised in the art of give and take. He is a lawyer with an obvious sense of justice. He is a religious man, a "Dapper," or member of the Reformed Church, which rejected the biblical justifications for apartheid propagated by his denomination's cousin, the Dutch Reformed Church. He is a pragmatist who realizes that South Africa can no longer suffer the world's wrath. He is also a gregarious lefthanded golfer with an 18 handicap. Friendly and open to new ideas, he is the antithesis of his stern and arrogant predecessors. Mr. de Klerk, who tries to avoid the spotlight, declined to be interviewed for this article. But longtime friends and associates of his portray him as a self-confident man trying to capture and hold the moral high ground while keeping a step ahead of cataclysmic change. They also speak of a man acutely sensitive about his image. In college, they say, he avoided sports requiring short pants because he was embarrassed by his spindly legs. Now, embarrassed by South Africa's ugly image abroad, he craves the international embrace that can only come through political reform. The election results were still coming in last September, when the new president allowed the first legal opposition marches in three decades. He promised the Separate Amenities Act would be scrapped in 1990 and ordered municipalities to open up previously whites-only beaches to all races. The shadowy National Security Management System, with collaborators and informers monitoring the black townships, was dismantled. He released from prison seven aging leaders of the banned African National Congress and other political groups, then shocked the country by unbanning the ANC and freeing Mr. Mandela. On the afternoon Mr. Mandela walked to freedom, Mr. de Klerk relaxed before his television set with old college pals, as if watching a rugby match rather than a turning point in his country's history. As the 3 p.m. release time ticked by, delayed because Winnie Mandela arrived late at the prison to greet her husband, the men joked that the bride is always late for the wedding. As another hour passed, his friends rather anxiously asked Mr. de Klerk about contingency plans: What if something has gone wrong, what if black jubilation turns violent, what if the white right wing makes good on its threat to "raise hell"? Mr. de Klerk serenely studied the TV screen and wondered why there weren't more people at the prison gate to welcome Mr. Mandela. "F.W. was less nervous than any other South African watching TV that day," says Mr. van der Walt, the president of the Human Sciences Research Council in Pretoria. "He was convinced he had taken the right decision. He has often said, 'The moment I decide what to do, the hard part is over. The rest is easy. Then it's just a matter of how to do it.'" So far, Mr. de Klerk's liberalization of the country's politics hasn't touched the power structure, nor has it affected the basic shape of society. His ultimate test and the really tough decisions will come as he turns to the process of democratization and confronts the ANC's demand for one-man, one-vote, in essence black majority rule. At the moment, he rejects that prospect, hoping instead to somehow strike a balance between the political emancipation of blacks and the protection of existing rights and freedoms of the whites. Intellectually, say his friends, Mr. de Klerk has come to grips with the prospective end of racial discrimination and white domination. But deep down, they say, he clings to the National Party's concept of"group rights," which would retain the effects of apartheid without its formal structures. Thus, he agrees that every South African should have an equal vote, but only in a system rigged with so many checks and balances that the majority can't dictate to minorities on certain vital issues-education, local government and community life among them. Mr. de Klerk and his lieutenants insist that in Africa, where majority rule often means simply that the biggest tribe dominates the smaller ones, a constitution based on group, rather than individual, protection is the only just solution-not only for the whites but for other races and
  25. 25. tribes as well. He believes that it is only the evil of apartheid, the institutionalized subjugation of blacks by whites, that has made "group rights" seem unjust. "In Africa," says a National Party politician, "one-man, one-vote equals Idi Amin." Mr. de Klerk has often been compared with Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev, as both men share the difficult task of overhauling failed social systems. Mr. de Klerk, a fervent antiCommunist, laughs off the comparisons, pointing to his bald pate as the only similarity with his Soviet counterpart. Still, he knows that he and Mr. Gorbachev face similar risks: They may be able to win the world with their charm and daring, but both perestroika and Pretoriastroika, and the men behind them, will surely fail if the average citizen doesn't soon see the fruits of reform. Pressure is coming particularly from Andries Treurnicht, the leader of the proapartheid Conservative Party, which captured nearly one-third of the white vote in the last election and a majority of Afrikaner support. A few days after the release of Mr. Mandela, Mr. Treurnicht called Mr. de Klerk a traitor at a rally in Pretoria that drew more than 20,000 people and foreshadowed a white backlash. Mr. de Klerk certainly hears these voices, particularly since they are being raised in Afrikaans, but those close to him say he is more embarrassed than intimidated by the racist rumblings-as he would be about "a drunken relative who keeps falling out of the closet," says an aide. "The president is anchored by his faith, his belief in God. And he believes that what he is doing is right," says the Rev. Pieter Bingle, Mr. de Klerk's pastor in Cape Town. "So Treurnicht can criticize him all he wants, but it won't deter him." Mr. de Klerk's election as president broke the link between the government and the Dutch Reformed Church. It was the church that turned the National Party's apartheid policies into theology and became known as the "National Party at prayer." The smaller and more austere Dapper Church, where only the Psalms are sung during worship, consistently rejected the connection between church and state, which freed the politicians in its pews from any theological obligation to apartheid. Thus, as he sits in the balcony of Mr. Bingle's church, Mr. de Klerk has a clearer view of Scripture, his beacon: Particularly a verse from Philippians that Mr. de Klerk chose as the text for his presidential Christmas card: "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things." For several Sundays before Mr. de Klerk made his speech unbanning the African National Congress and committing the government to negotiations with its nemesis, Mr. Bingle preached about a "God of dialogue." Not coincidentally, even Anglican Archbishop Desmond Tutu, a consistent critic of past National Party leaders, says Mr. de Klerk "certainly appears to be a man prepared to listen and talk." As he stands on the front lawn of his Soweto home, one hour after Mr. de Klerk announced Mr. Mandela's release, the archbishop details his first meeting with the president last October. Mr. Tutu and two other antiapartheid church leaders, the Rev. Allan Boesak and the Rev. Frank Chikane, had gone to the Union Buildings in Pretoria to test Mr. de Klerk's open-door policy. The trio had been among the main antagonists of P.W. Botha, and this looked like Round One for the de Klerk presidency. "The purpose of government," Mr. de Klerk insisted at one point in the conversation, "is the establishment of law and order." Mr. Boesak, a minister in the "colored" (or mixed race) branch of the Dutch Reformed Church, disagreed. "In our religious tradition," he argued, "the purpose of government is the establishment of justice."
  26. 26. Mr. de Klerk nodded. "Yes," he said, "you are right." The three clerics were speechless. "The president didn't take {the exchange} as a personal affront," recalls the archbishop. "At the time, Rev. Chikane thought the man seemed to have the capacity to change things in our country." Four months later, Archbishop Tutu shakes his head in wonder. "He was right," he says. "Everything has been turned upside down."
  27. 27. Troubled Township: South Africa Blacks Speak Freely Now, and Pressure Pretoria By Joe Davidson April 4, 1990 PORT ELIZABETH, South Africa-The flames from two paraffin lamps cast more shadows than light across nearly 100 residents of a black township packed into a one-room shack. The community meeting in a shantytown closes with a chant of defiance. "Amandla! {Power!} An injury to one is an injury to all. Amandla!" As the people do the toyitoyi dance, they sing, "De Klerk's government is going to fall." Like most blacks in South Africa, the residents of this so-called Soweto by the Sea, a township of makeshift housing within Port Elizabeth, are jubilant over President F.W. de Klerk's stunning "unbanning" of the revolutionary African National Congress and release of ANC leader Nelson Mandela after 27 years in prison. "Everything is going to be changed," exults Ndzimeici Stefaans Pangiso, a 72-year-old man with a gray goatee who joined the ANC 40 years ago. Many of South Africa's poorest of the poor here are organizing for what they believe will be a hard struggle for democracy. Sowetans don't credit the white government for the historic changes. They see the changes as victories in a continuing struggle by blacks victimized by apartheid. The highly politicized shack-dwellers still regard Pretoria as the enemy. "I am waiting for the last kick of the government," says Bob Gaga, a laborer here. Recent events, however, demonstrate that the government still has plenty of kick left. Mr. Mandela has postponed talks with the Pretoria regime that were scheduled to begin next Wednesday, after police in the black township of Sebokeng near Johannesburg last month killed about a dozen demonstrators and injured more than 400 people protesting high rents. President de Klerk this week sent more police and military personnel to Natal Province to quell violence there. This Soweto isn't the one outside Johannesburg that Mr. Mandela returned to after his release. Urban planners call this place an "informal settlement," even though it has as many as 100,000 residents. It is characteristic of the black townships across South Africa. To a reporter who was here for a month in 1986, just before the government declared a state of emergency that further restricted the rights of blacks, the change is striking. In 1986, anyone who spoke against the government was subject to arrest. Residents were continually harassed by soldiers, many in menacing vehicles called hippos that roamed the dirt streets, sometimes knocking down dwellings. There was violence by blacks against blacks, as well. People suspected as informers for the government were "necklaced"-a tire drenched in gasoline was hung around their necks and set afire. Today, the people of this Soweto can call for toppling the government with little fear of persecution, though detention without trial still is permitted under the continuing state of emergency. They chant "Viva Mandela! Viva ANC!" and they are not arrested. The brave few who once defied authorities by wearing the black, green and gold colors of the ANC now have
  28. 28. been joined by the many. T -shirts with Mr. Mandela's picture on them are everywhere. Nearly everyone who spoke to this reporter in 1986 requested anonymity; this time, no one did. Local violence has receded. And the hippos have disappeared. Gladys Dumani says she no longer worries that her shanty will be crushed in the middle of the night. ''I'm feeling much better," she says. "I stayed in fear before because, when I hear a hippo, I feared it would knock my house down whilst I am sleeping." A few residents have even improved economically. Isaac "Spider" Gojela, a political organizer who was released from jail a year ago, has moved with his wife to nearby Motherwell, a new community designed in part to relieve dangerous overcrowding here. But upward mobility in these parts is measured in tiny steps. In Motherwell, Mr. Gojela, 35, lives in a cinder-block house instead of a Soweto shanty. He moved up, he says, from "a shack to a shed." Soweto is horrendously poor, neglected and not even on the Port Elizabeth street map. Shoeless children in ragged clothes practice soccer with a tennis ball. Weary, beaten-down old men limp along the road, making way for groups of youths with fire in their eyes. Hogs pick garbage from the muck near the open market. Dwellings have no plumbing. Streets aren't paved; there are no sewers and no telephones. Life expectancy is low. Whites outlive blacks on the average by 15 years. And unemployment is high, about 60%. Looking down the street at 9:30 at night, one sees no porch lights, no lights inside the shacks, no faint blue glow from a TV set. Indeed, there is no electricity. Tall polls stand perhaps 200 yards apart from which lights once illuminated broad areas. But they were put out years ago by youths seeking to make night patrols by the police and army more difficult. The patrols for the most part are gone now, but the atmosphere is still tense; black goals remain unachieved. Sowetans have been encouraged by Mr. de Klerk's talk of liberalization, but they are painfully aware that apartheid remains in place. The people of Soweto, an ANC stronghold, are organizing to press for majority rule: a oneperson, one-vote democracy in a unified state with unified cities and towns. "We are in a hurry of seeing the new election of the people which would not have the discrimination of the people," says Bernston Mdyogolo, a 54-year-old fruit vendor in Soweto's square. "We would like to see things change very fast." To keep pressure on the South African government, many Sowetans favor continuing economic sanctions by the U.S. and other countries. Sowetans believe the sanctions have played an important role in bringing about the positive changes that have taken place so far. "We are appealing to the Western countries to take the key of sanctions and throw it to the sea as long as apartheid is still existing in this country," says Wellington May, the nearly toothless chairman of Soweto's Area C community group. Mr. May, who once sold imported diesel parts, favors sanctions even if their effect has been to keep him unemployed for two years. "It is not the point that it makes us to be unemployed. We want freedom. After that, sanctions can be lifted." Nobody expects white Afrikaners to give up power easily, however. Apartheid sought to eliminate black citizenship in South Africa by assigning blacks arbitrarily to citizenship in tribalbased homelands, or Bantustans, without regard to whether they had ever lived there. Other blacks are forced to live in certain "townships" or "locations," which in essence are labor camps for blacks with jobs in the nearby white sections. Ibhayi is the government's name for Soweto and other townships around Port Elizabeth. Each township, as town clerk Flip Alberts concedes, is "not a self-contained city. It's a dormitory town." These sections have separate township councils that, like the Bantustans, are integral parts of apartheid. The council members, whose elections are boycotted by the the mass of blacks, say
  29. 29. they use the system to work for the aspirations of fellow blacks. "It is a fact we are in the apartheid grid," says council member S.A. Mpondo. "But we feel we have to fight {from} within to get what we want." Officials are still considered system stooges. But their homes no longer are burned, their lives no longer are threatened by militants. Mr. Alberts, a hired city administrator, proudly says, "Politically inspired destructive activity is virtually nonexistent." The annual population growth rate in Soweto, said to be in the range of 6.9% to 8%, makes the place ever more crowded. Overcrowding extends from the shacks to the schools. At a primary school called Mzisiswano, 77% of the children are from Soweto. Each class has at least 60 pupils. Attendance is very good among children enrolled, but about 40% of Soweto's children don't ever go to school. Classrooms are ill-equipped and in need of repairs. The most urgent local concern for shack-dwellers is decent housing. Residents go to great lengths to maintain their pride, while living in places unfit for human habitation: Some shanties have china cabinets with glasses, cups and saucers neatly arrayed. People sweep the dry earth outside their homes. No matter how hard they work to make a shack a home, it is still a shack. "Enough is enough," says Thoko Nomkonwana, who calls Soweto Shackville. "We want houses. We want employment. Sooner not later." A few hope to regain property they once owned. Gertrude Majola, a 61-year-old nurse, lives in one of the few substantial buildings in Soweto. Her late husband, a teacher, bought the property in the late 1950s. But nearly 20 years later, the Bantu administration board made them relinquish title to their house, a store and sufficient land to accommodate a hundred shacks. "They said, 'No, no, Africans cannot own land,"' she recalls. "So they made us sell it." Since then, she has been a tenant on what had been her family's land. Mrs. Majola says the Ibhayi city council might now sell it back to her. A new openness exists among South African blacks. Brian Sokutu, the Port Elizabeth correspondent for the New Nation, was among many black journalists jailed without trial, even without charges filed against them. His newspaper was shut down temporarily. He recalls having to conceal liberation literature, which he dared not keep at home. "I would have to go at night and fetch it ... ," he says. "But after the unbanning, now people can just put their literature on top of their desk and read it anywhere," he says. "It's quite exciting."
  30. 30. Mandela Legend Grows to Superhuman Proportions By Roger Thurow June 19, 1990 JOHANNESBURG, South Africa-Nelson Mandela has been trying to climb down from the pedestal of his legend since the moment he stepped out of prison in February. "I am no prophet," he told reporters a few days after his release, "and it is not at all correct to elevate a human being to the position of a god." But, as he begins his first visit to the U.S. tomorrow, Mr. Mandela's pedestal is, if anything, a bit higher. Wherever the 71-year-old African National Congress leader goes, barnstorming around the world in his campaign to keep the pressure on the South African government, curious multitudes strain to see, touch and hear him. He may not be a god, but Nelson Mandela, blessed with a double-helping of charisma, is certainly an extraordinary idol. "Traveling with Mandela," marvels Joe Slovo, an ANC colleague, "is like traveling with Elvis." Since his release from 27 years in prison, Mr. Mandela has covered more ground than the pope, sweeping through Africa, Europe and now North America. His travels have shown that he is a human being after all. He gets tired often, suffers from jet-lag and, during a recent pit-stop in Johannesburg, was hospitalized for a week of rest and a minor bladder operation. And, like all human beings, he has ruffled some feathers. His embrace of Yasser Arafat, the Palestine Liberation Organization chief, irked the world's Jewish community; his tribute to Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi's "commitment to human rights" raised eyebrows in the West; his early talk of nationalization dismayed the business community. Still, in the crucial battle for international acclaim being waged by all sides in South Africa, the Mandela legend-the unbowed prisoner refusing to compromise his principles-prevails. While Mr. Mandela's presence is desperately needed at home to calm the storms of changing South Africa, the ANC also needs him abroad to counter Pretoria's recent diplomatic offensive. Last month, South African President F.W. de Klerk traveled through Europe and won high praise for his reforms, which include releasing Mr. Mandela, unbanning the ANC and other opposition groups, lifting much of the state of emergency and moving toward negotiations on a new constitution based on black-white power sharing. It was a triumphant tour for a government so long shunned by the rest of the world, and Mr. de Klerk returned home confident the Europeans were ready to review their economic sanctions against South Africa. But Mr. de Klerk is no Elvis. Last week, Mr. Mandela campaigned through Europe-a mass rally here, tea with royalty there-and with his refrain, "I still have no vote," effectively recaptured the ground Mr. de Klerk had won. (Mr. de Klerk has decided not to challenge Mr. Mandela in the U.S., postponing a visit once scheduled for this month.) Mr. Mandela argues that to lift sanctions now, while the essence of apartheid remains, would be like "a stab in the back." And who, say his colleagues at the ANC, would do such a thing to a man who has sacrificed three decades of his life fighting for racial equality? "Mr. Mandela is a type of man one doesn't get very often," says Ahmed Kathrada, who was sentenced to life imprisonment along with Mr. Mandela in 1964 and now is the ANC's publicity director. "He's an exceptional leader, with ability, charisma, courage and sacrifice."
  31. 31. Despite the tremendous pressure on his tours-in the U.S., he will go from a ticker-tape parade to a meeting with President Bush to a joint session of Congress to mass rallies across the country-Mr. Mandela is relaxed, as if he has been shaking hands and kissing babies for the past 27 years instead of sitting in jail. When he walks into a room, his face lights up, offering winks and smiles to all those present. In his speeches, one minute he may quote nursery rhymes, the next Shakespeare. He has kind words for his adversary, Mr. de Klerk, and even offers encouragement. He shows no trace of bitterness. His trademark is a right fist raised over his head, symbolizing the victories thus far of the antiapartheid forces. But on this trip, behind the scenes, his hand is often open and outstretched, soliciting contributions for the ANC's work in South Africa. At home, Mr. Mandela's colleagues are just as busy as he is. "In jail at least we could get some sleep," says Walter Sisulu, Mr. Mandela's 77 -year-old colleague who was also sentenced in 1964. Mr. Sisulu is heading the efforts to re-establish the ANC as a legal political party inside South Africa, where it had been banned for the past 30 years. To compete with the ruling National Party, the ANC is scurrying to set up branch offices across the country, establish a communications and publicity network and begin grass-roots canvassing. It isn't easy, says Mr. Sisulu. ''I'm dissatisfied with our progress," he admits. "We're not getting down to the masses." As a result, the ANC leadership finds itself reacting to events more often than shaping them. There are repeated calls to stop the violence in black townships, yet it goes on. The students are told to go back to school to end the black education crisis, but then the teachers go on strike over a lack of books and overcrowded classrooms. The government is pressing the ANC to come to consensus more quickly, so the negotiation process can proceed. In addition, the released prisoners face the problem of adjusting to the 1990s. The telephone in his office buzzes and Mr. Sisulu fumbles to hit the right button. Mr. Kathrada, who is 60, says he tried to use a cordless telephone at his home and then in frustration unplugged it and put it in a closet. He is still battling with his newfangled Gillette razor, and still trying to solve the mysteries of his pager and the office fax. He's leaving the computers to the younger generation of ANC activitists. "When we went to prison, computers were the size of a room," says Mr. Kathrada. In an odd way, though, both men say prison helped them and Mr. Mandela prepare for their present hectic lives. For one thing, they were able to exercise often; Mr. Mandela exercised for two hours every day. For another, the prison diet of porridge and meat kept them trim. "No junk food," says Mr. Kathrada. Then, too, in the last several years of prison there was regular access to newspapers, and plenty of time to read them. But nothing was able to prepare them for the sustained reception following their release. "I thought that within two or three weeks the euphoria would be over and we'd be able to establish ourselves into some sort of normal routine," says Mr. Kathrada. The others worry about Mr. Mandela's stamina and health, and he worries about them. But after nearly three decades in prison, none of them is going to slow down now. Mr. Kathrada laughs as he recalls flying to Cape Town with Mr. Mandela on a jam-packed South African Airways plane. Both of them were looking forward to two hours of quiet work in preparation for a meeting later that day with Mr. de Klerk. Shortly after takeoff, though, several children approached Mr. Mandela for his autograph. He happily obliged, only to find a line of children backing up through the plane. "Nelson had a chat with each child," says Mr. Kathrada. "I was trying to tell him, 'Just sign your name,' but he wasn't satisfied with that. He had to write a little message, including the
  32. 32. name of the child." It went on like this until 20 minutes before landing when the pilot invited Mr. Mandela into the cockpit. Mr. Kathrada rolls his eyes. They never did get to their work.
  33. 33. Deepening Despair: Rising Black Violence in South Africa Puts Mandela on the Spot By Roger Thurow September 14, 1990 SEBOKENG, South Africa-One by one, the men from the cinder-block hostels step forward under the towering blue gum tree to bear witness to the slaughter of the night before. It was 2:30 in the morning, they all say, when gunshots and explosions shattered their sleep in the wretched dormitories that house South Africa's migrant workers. A large man called Oupa says a bullet ricocheted off his metal door. When he opened it, he saw black men with red headbands, allegedly members of Inkatha, a Zulu-based political organization, rampaging with spears, machetes, guns and grenades. An old man with a limp tells of peeking through a window and seeing a white man on horseback firing a rifle in all directions. A younger resident describes how the sun rose to reveal two dozen corpses. Some were horribly disfigured by machete blows to the face, he says. Others were both hacked and shot. As the men regrouped to confront their attackers, government soldiers opened fire on them. Eleven more hostel residents fell dead. Anger surrounds the blue gum tree. Where, the men ask, was their organization, the African National Congress? Where was the ANC's armed wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe, or MK? As ANC leader Nelson Mandela stood before them later that horrible day, they begged for weapons. They wanted revenge. Instead, Mr. Mandela, himself boiling with anger after seeing a man's brain spilling out of a crushed skull at the morgue, appealed for calm. The savage fighting, which has left over 700 blacks dead in the past month-including more than 20 killed yesterday in an attack on a train in Johannesburg-has bloodied his own prestige and that of the other major peace brokers, the government and Inkatha. And it has staggered the negotiations he has delicately nurtured with President F.W. de Klerk. The ANC, Mr. Mandela explained to the vengeful men, had suspended its armed struggle. He had no arms to give them. Trust him, he pleaded. Trust the ANC. But trust is a fleeting thing in South Africa these days. For the third time this year, the mortuary and hospital of Sebokeng are full. March 26, July 22, Sept. 4-three "massacres," as the residents here say, when the main road of this blighted black township south of Johannesburg became slick with blood. For the third time, Mr. Mandela came to visit and reassure. For the third time, the people, weary of battle, listened to their beloved leader and wanted to believe. "Yes, we will trust Nelson-for now," says Petrus Dzanebe. But he now sleeps in his clothes, he confesses, and with one eye open. "We live in fear," he says, "that this will happen again, at anytime." Should it, local ANC officials fear that Mr. Mandela couldn't dare return to Sebokeng without weapons. Earlier this week, even Mr. Mandela himself said the grass-roots call for armed protection is growing too strong to resist for much longer.
  34. 34. Mr. Mandela, who has been a free man for seven months after 27 years in prison, faces a dilemma of Gorbachevian proportion: Wildly popular abroad, he is desperately struggling to control the tumultuous course of change at home. Where optimism for a "new" South Africa once flourished following his release in February, dark despair now reigns. "We don't know where we are going," says Phineas Mthimkhulu, a Methodist minister who dodged several bullets while assisting the injured during the hostel massacre. "Are we going up or down, left or right?" He shrugs. "Who knows anymore?" Even the ANC, in an internal paper analyzing the violence, expresses doubt. "We need to ask if South Africans are ready to move in the direction of a new society. Are we ready to think in a new way? Is it possible for us to talk of a new South Africa or is it yet too early?" Few have remained unscathed by the violence. Inkatha, the conservative, capitalist antithesis of the socialist-oriented ANC, can no longer profess its peaceful innocence after more than 100 supporters, including its regional leader, were arrested during the Sept. 4 hostel fight. And the claims of propriety and impartiality by the security forces-who deny ANC charges that they aid Inkatha-are sounding ever more hollow after a judicial inquiry ruled that police were "unjustified" in opening fire with live ammunition on a crowd 30 yards away during the first Sebokeng massacre on March 26. Less than a week after that report was made public, the army opened fire in Sebokeng on Sept. 4. Also, eyewitness reports of the presence of masked whites in the hostel battle has fueled suspicions that certain elements of the white right wing are stirring up black animosities to derail the government-ANC negotiations over a new constitution and black-white power sharing. The ugly appearance of black factional fighting, which has crippled much of the rest of Africa, is also undermining the efforts of the government to interest foreign investors in a postapartheid South Africa. Mr. de Klerk will be promoting his reforms when he visits Washington later this month, but, as he recently told South African businessmen, "There can be no real reform before stability." The greatest damage, though, has fallen on the ANC and on the slender shoulders of the 72year-old Mr. Mandela. The unceasing violence, which spreads like an infectious plague from one township to another in the Johannesburg area, has exposed the ANC's leadership weaknesses as it emerges from 30 years of exile and makes the transition from liberation movement to political party. And Mr. Mandela's inability so far to defuse the factional fighting has disappointed those who expected him to act more like a statesman than an ANC cadre. Commentators here note that his refusal to meet with Zulu Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi as long as Inkatha "perpetuates violence" is precisely the argument the government used in refusing to negotiate with the ANC for three decades. While the ANC's hierarchy has become a partner with the government in shaping the country's future, grass-roots supporters are still pursuing the ANC's revolutionary strategy of making the country ungovernable through strikes, boycotts and mass protest. In Sebokeng, for instance, youth leaders still refer to different sectors of the township by their revolutionary nicknames: Beirut, Nicaragua, Cuba, Angola, Palestine, Libya, Moscow. Although relative calm returned to the hostel area-dubbed Vietnam-after Mr. Mandela's visit, youths spent the next few days roaming the Beirut section, blocking the streets with boulders, hijacking cars and inviting several clashes with police, who were quick to unleash tear gas. The youths pointedly ignored Mr. Mandela's instruction to return to school.
  35. 35. The wave of violence began after the ANC suspended its armed struggle on Aug. 6 in return for an agreement with the government on the return of exiles and the release of political prisoners. But as the killings mounted, so did dissatisfaction and misunderstanding over the suspension. "A desperate call for arms became deafening," says the ANC's discussion paper. Some ANC officials, it notes, have been reluctant to speak in the areas of unrest because they had no answer to this demand. "Generally speaking, the vision of unbreakable strength {the ANC} had nurtured and earned over the years was dented," says the paper. "Instead, people felt the ANC was displaying political paralysis and had fallen prey to de Klerk' s sweet talk." Also dented is the ANC's decadeslong struggle to overcome the country's ethnic differences exacerbated by the government's policies of racial segregation. Although the ANC's membership includes blacks from all the main tribes, as well as whites, Indians and coloreds (people of mixed race), the top leadership is predominantly Xhosaspeaking. The Xhosa image became more accentuated during the 30 years of banning as the ANC became personified by the jailed Mr. Mandela, who is a Xhosa. Thus, when Inkatha, which is overwhelmingly Zulu, clashes with the ANC, political differences are reduced, in many minds, to a Zulu-Xhosa tribal war. Inkatha pamphlets urge Zulus to resist Xhosa domination in any new government; ANC supporters vow to "kill the Zulus." Sebokeng and the surrounding black townships of what is known as the Vaal Triangle have contributed two generations of antiapartheid martyrs. It was in neighboring Sharpeville, in 1960, that police opened fire on a large group of demonstrators. Later that year the ANC was banned and Umkhonto we Sizwe was formed. In 1984, a protest against township living conditions and black local government was met by police fire, triggering a nationwide wave of unrest and repression that led to the state of emergency and the intensification of international economic sanctions against Pretoria. This year, on March 26, a few weeks before the first-ever talks between the government and the ANC, Sebokeng residents were again marching in protest against township conditions when police again opened fire. More than a dozen people were killed and 281 injured, many of them shot in the back. Mr. Mandela rushed to Sebokeng and the ANC postponed the start of negotiations, demanding an independent commission to investigate police actions. It was that commission which labeled the police shooting "unjustified." On July 22, following an Inkatha rally to whip up support in a solidly ANC area, Inkatha supporters armed with traditional Zulu weapons such as spears and machetes clashed with hostel residents, who are mostly Xhosa, Sotho and Tswana. Dozens were killed and injured, and the small number of Zulus who were living in the hostels were forced out. Until then, residents of the hostels say, the various tribes had gotten along fine. After the clash, the crowded 16-to-a-room hostels were filled with mistrust and tension. This set the stage for the Sept. 4 predawn attack. The night before, the police patrol that had been on duty around the hostel since the earlier fighting was removed. This, the ANC alleges, allowed Inkatha supporters to enter the hostel. Mr. Mandela says that these circumstances, together with witness accounts of white men fighting alongside the Zulus that night, arouse the suspicion "of connivance between the police and Inkatha." Both Inkatha and the police vehemently deny this and reject claims they work in concert. In order to defuse the tribal aspects of the fighting, which the ANC says only helps those who want to see apartheid entrenched, Mr. Mandela told the residents of Sebokeng that they mustn't blame Inkatha alone. Revenge against Zulus, he said, would play into the hands of "right-wing"
  36. 36. elements who want to see blacks fighting blacks. He told the people to silence their calls for weapons, because arms would only give the police and army more reason to shoot. Still, tension blanketed the township. Despite Mr. Mandela's assurances that he would hold the government responsible for the killings, the fear of a fourth massacre loomed. "Most of our people accept what comrade Mandela says, but they are very angry and afraid," says Maurice More, the 25-year-old president of the local South African Youth Congress branch, which is allied with the ANC. The telephone in his township office rings. A colleague says police and army vans have been seen making their way to Sebokeng. "Those of us who are activists are forced to be vigilant, alert," says Mr. More, turning to look out the window. "You never know what will happen." Over in "Beirut," the township's militant teenagers are manning their roadblocks, making sure nobody who doesn't belong here gets through. Police and army vehicles occasionally roll over the boulders, lobbing tear gas cannisters along the way. The youths scatter. Five minutes later, they are back, checking the traffic. Tear gas lingers over the Central Methodist Church, located in the middle of Beirut. "One morning we'll wake up and some of them will be dead," Joel January, the church secretary, says of the youths. "I tell you, this is no life. It isn't what we expected a couple of months ago."
  37. 37. Price of Victory: South Africa's ANC Finds Sanctions Are a Blessing and a Curse By Roger Thurow September 24, 1990 NEW BRIGHTON, South Africa-Mkhuseli Jack, one of the generals in the economic war against white minority rule, points through the dusk to what appears to be a junkyard of plywood and tin. A woman balancing a baby on her back and a sheet of corrugated iron on her head disappears into the mess. It is her home. "Squatters," says Mr. Jack. "Four or five weeks ago, those shacks weren't there." The battlefield inspection continues. Unemployed men, both young and old, loiter in small groups on every corner. Flimsy shanties, some merely a patchwork of cardboard billboards -"whiter whites, brighter brights," says a detergent ad now part of a living room wall-occupy every available space. Mr. Jack winces at the price of victory. "Sanctions," he admits, "have required a sacrifice." South Africa's present recession, hastened by international trade and financial sanctions against Pretoria for its policies of racial segregation, has hit the blighted black townships of Port Elizabeth particularly hard. So has corporate disinvestment. When Ford and General Motors left town four years ago, 6,500 people lost their jobs. Most of them are still unemployed today. Mr. Jack turns another corner. More jobless, more squatters, more shacks. "We must act quickly to end this sacrifice," he says. "We don't want to inherit a country in ruins." The sanctions sword is turning against its blacksmith. The African National Congress, South Africa's main black liberation group, forged its sanctions strategy as a means of pressuring the government to abandon white-minority rule. And, to this end, it has worked. Earlier this year, President F.W. de Klerk, desperate to return South Africa to international acceptability, unbanned the ANC and other political groups, released ANC leader Nelson Mandela from 27 years in prison, began repealing segregation laws and opened negotiations with the ANC designed to lead to a new constitution and black-white power sharing. Today Mr. de Klerk, carrying a report on his reforms, will be the first South African head of state to visit the White House in nearly half a century. Having thus prodded the government into action, sanctions now are prodding the ANC. Back home after 30 years in exile, the ANC is swamped with its impoverished constituency's rising expectations for improved living conditions. The ANC, now a partner with the government in shaping the country's future, is eager to restructure the economy to better meet black needs, an overhaul that will rely heavily on foreign investment. But it can't begin as long as measures designed to punish the economy and isolate South Africa are still in place. And many countries, such as the U.S., have locked in their sanctions until the ANC says it is satisfied with current negotiations between the government and the black opposition. Thus, the ANC finds itself under pressure to move as swiftly as possible in the talks; it hopes significant progress can be made by the end of the year. To boost negotiation prospects, the ANC last month took the initiative to suspend its guerrilla war. Mr. Mandela also says the
  38. 38. organization may settle for a "statement of intent" from the government on the shape of a new constitution, rather than actual progress, as a trigger for the lifting of sanctions. "The realization of the damage that sanctions would do to the economy, and to social stability, if they continue to be applied has brought both the government and the ANC to their senses," says Ronald Bethlehem, an economist at one of the country's big mining houses. "Neither are prepared to accept the long-term costs of sanctions." After more than five years of sanctions, applied in varying degrees by individual countries, and after a huge exodus of direct investment by U.S. corporations, the costs are adding up. The cutting off of financial credits from the major Western banks has triggered a net capital outflow of more than $10 billion, mainly through debt repayment. Efforts to hold down imports to finance these payments have strangled growth. Black unemployment, high even before sanctions and disinvestment, is rising by at least 200,000 a year. Without foreign aid, development programs, such as low-cost housing, are sputtering. More than seven million squatters, fully one-quarter of the black population, encircle the country's urban areas. In some ways, the First World component of the economy-driven by the white-owned gold, diamond and platinum mines-has perversely benefited from sanctions. Local companies and businessmen snapped up disinvesting companies at fire-sale prices. New trade routes, plied by sanctions-busting entrepreneurs, opened almost as soon as others closed. The country's export base actually widened, thanks to government incentives. Industries neglected in the past have blossomed; in response to the arms embargo against it, the country has become one of the world's largest weapons makers. The net result has been to widen the already huge gap between whites and blacks. The staggering black unemployment-more than 50% in some areas-has sharpened workplace tensions; more than 1.2 million man-days were lost during the first half of this year because of strikes, triple the level of last year. Moreover, the housing crisis is fueling township unrest. Squatter camps and migrant labor dormitories have been the flash points of the recent orgy of political violence, which has left nearly 800 blacks dead. "I shudder when I see the black economy," says Roger Matlock, the Port Elizabeth director of the Urban Foundation, a privately funded development agency working toward a postapartheid South Africa. "It has never been worse." That certainly is true at the S.O.S. Old Aged Soup Kitchen for the Needy Children. Long gone are the glorious days when a surprise delivery of hot food from the Ford canteen would add a veritable feast to the usualladel of soup. These days it's just soup and bread, bread and soup. The old wood-burning stove donated by General Motors in 1981 has seen better days. And when, wonder the old women of the neighborhood, was the last time they gathered for a sewing bee, turning the auto makers' scrap cloth and leather into dresses and Bible covers? The memory fades. "My Americans, they looked after me," says 87 -year-old Daisy Davids as she shows off the GM stove puffing away at the foot of her bed in her rickety two-room shack in the "colored," or mixed race, part of Port Elizabeth. "I was so sorry to see them go." Ford left town lock, stock and hubcap in 1985, first merging with a Pretoria-based auto maker, then disinvesting entirely. General Motors left a year later by selling to local managers. The departures were hailed by antiapartheid activists as the crowning glories of the disinvestment campaign. But they devastated Port Elizabeth, which at the time was known as the Detroit of South Africa. GM's successor, Delta Motors, is making a profit, something that eluded GM here for years, but it is doing so with about 1,500 fewer workers. Ford left 5,000 people unemployed. The companies' contributions to community development programs vanished. In the cruelest irony,

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