Military and the Making of Modern South Africa 9780755619160, 9781850436898, 9780755631605

This book is a critical examination of the military and the police and their role in shaping the South African state dur

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INTRODUCTION

This book examines the role the military played in the development of the South African state in the twentieth century. An approach built on the relationship between the state and warriors needs no elaborate defence; states in particular, a top scholar tells us, are made by wars and make wars.1 Over the last thirty years pioneering scholars have indeed investigated the military's role in South African politics. Their work, together with earlier research about South Africa's military and political history, are invaluable sources of information and interpretation. Although the idea was for notes not to overwhelm text, any error in acknowledgement will be instantly corrected. My discussion is not intended to celebrate, deride or replace class-, race- and state- or, indeed, any other explanation of South African politics. It tries, rather, to complement these by giving proper weight and suitable expression to the role of the military and military-related factors in the affairs of state. These factors are not subsumed under other, more basic, forces. Restraint in modern wars, the military experience, and the state play a decisive role in what follows. In these matters I usually cannot - nor do I wish to - hide my respect for the scholarship of, respectively, James Turner Johnson, John Keegan, and Theda Skocpol. The words military, the state and war may refer to different things. The state, for example, is an idea, a set of institutions, a collection of elites; divides into parts, has policies or instruments on how to change the world around it, and has relations with foreign states. Wars are organized applications of force, of varying types, among countries, groups or people. When the word military is used, I am usually referring to the state's specialists in force. This specialization requires hierarchy and action on command; it is probably unwise to convene a committee meeting when you want soldiers to climb into the mouth of a cannon. Although forms of egalitarianism have recently emerged in military history and institutions, military organization is supposed to give soldiers little choice. They face possible death if they advance and probable death if they desert. Researching military and police affairs when political currents are in full flow can be a complicated affair. Since information on the domestic front was not vii

Vlll

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

available in readily accessible form, collecting it required costly methods of research. Initial support came from the University of Cape Town's Mellon Funds. The main funding came via a Fellowship of the Woodrow Wilson Center for International Scholars of Washington (DC), where I spent a year in very stimulating company. The Wilson Center also provided me with invaluable assistance. My thanks go especially to Zdenek Davis and his staff, Dr Ben Amini and Jennifer Grundlach, and the Feminist Caucus (including Aryeh Kostman). Elsewhere in the United States and in Britain, Pauline Baker, Bob Jaster, Jennifer Kibbe, Norma Kriger, Carena Perelli, Bill Moses, Charlie Moskos, my former colleagues at Loyola University, Jack Spence, Claude Welch and Tom Young indulged me with limitless hospitality and ideas. At home, my colleagues at the University of Cape Town gave unfailing encouragement and provided me with much-appreciated suggestions, as did Steve Anderson, Doreen Atkinson, Peter Batchelor, Jakkie Cilliers, Brian Collins, Peter Henshaw and Rodney Davenport. UCT and Ford Foundation resources allowed me to employ Zahur Surve and Patrick Netshandama; they worked like demons. Colleagues in the African Studies Library at UCT, especially those in the Government Documents section, provide an unusually good service. And Suki Goodman's professional skills are brilliant. Dr Lester Crook of I.B. Tauris deserves a medal for his composure. Similar reward should go to Bill Gutteridge. I will not go so far as to identify my friends and family, but they are the ones who sometimesfindmy ideas amusing. A few even think I should be paid for what I am doing. Finally, I gratefully acknowledge the assistance of many soldiers, policemen and -women, military veterans, public employees, politicians, and members of opposition organizations and their armed formations. They consented to be interviewed, helped me to find documents, and otherwise gave support at times when it could not have been easy for them. Some terms used in the following discussion may give great offence. Yet the Population Registration Act's categories of African', 'Asian/Indian', 'Coloured' and 'White' and identification of people in terms of being (for example) 'European', 'non-European', and 'non-White', have had substantial impact on South African politics. The Population Registration Act is now defunct and the terminologies of various inspiration are often challenged, rejected, replaced and/ or revised. But in the interests of accuracy and honesty about South African politics before 1994, terms such as Black, Coloured, Native, non-White and White cannot be avoided, certainly not when it comes to analysing the state.

Notes 1. Charles Tilly, Coercion, Capital and European States, AD ipoo—ippo (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1990).

CHAPTER I

SOUTH AFRICAN UNION, 1910-24

The focus of this chapter is on the period between formation of a South African Union in 1910 and 1924. Some military events preceding 1910 are critical to an understanding of the new state's design of its security agencies. Discussion begins with these events, although the idea is to arrive at the twentieth century as soon as is reasonable.

Inheritance When the Dutch East India Company's initial plans for a limited settlement at the Cape soon after 1652 gave way to forays into the interior, expeditions could not be mounted by the small Dutch garrison in Cape Town. A large garrison would have diverted Dutch attention from more important European defence.1 The Cape's own military resources had to meet local political demands. Left to its own devices, the Company supplemented its few soldiers with local settlers and Hottentots who, like the farmers, volunteered their services for or were compelled to join a kommando (commando). The commando changed with experience and expansion. Dutch colonial authority introduced local commanders, at first a veldkorporaal (field corporal) and later a veldkommandant (field commandant), and required farmers to contribute materially towards the commando. But the racially mixed character of men on commando service was to stay, in part because men of European origin responded badly to call-ups. Hottentots allied to the setders and coloured farmers participated in the commandos, and when a white farmer felt too pressed to report for duty himself, he sent a substitute selected from his (coloured) labourers.2 Cape authorities often favoured commandos on operational grounds. Bushmen and Hottentots were initially the main enemies,3 and their agility and speed meant slow-moving troops would not achieve the desired results. Mounted soldiers fared much better, especially against the Hottentots. Since farmers owned horses for private use, a collection of them were effectively a light cavalry force.4

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

With frequent clashes with Xhosa-speaking people on the eastern frontier, commando duty soon became a regular occurrence. Towards the end of their rule, in 1795, the Dutch authorities attempted to create a regular force on the eastern frontier, drawing on Hottentot, coloured and white soldiers. This racial mix of frontier soldiers alarmed the newly arrived British who, between 1795 and 1803, replaced it with a Cape Regiment. When they returned to stay in 1806, the notion of some form of regular force was again part of the British plan. In 1812 a system of regular forces (or regiments) was created and, as was the case with the Cape Regiment, consisted primarily of coloured and Hottentot soldiers. Commando units stayed. Each magisterial district contained wards headed by a military commander going by the name of veldkornet (field cornet).5 Although the commandos were subsidiary parts of the British military organization during the nineteenth century, their tactics were enormously influential. Heavier military technology was available, but impeded mobility. Regiments found it necessary to form light infantry companies; indeed, some regiments became entirely comprised of such companies.6 Regiments freed white farmers from much military service, but settlers had decidedly mixed feelings about them. The presence of a garrison stimulated local economies, and for this reason its departure was mourned.7 Yet the famed hospitality of frontier folk did not extend to soldiers, who were often refused food by British farmers. One reason for the discrimination may well have been the generally unhealthy conditions of regular military service and harsh discipline. British soldiers were treated much better by Boer (Dutch-speaking) farmers. Their communities became havens of deserters.8 In the new territories the emigrating trekboere (northward-trekking farmers) created, the commando system became the dominant mode of military service, if only because there was no practical alternative. The Orange Free State and Transvaal (South African Republic) were without overseas support. The British were hostile and attacked the two Republics when they could. The two Republics could each afford only a small regular force, including an artillery regiment, supplemented by a militarized police force. The main burden of military duty fell on civilian males liable for service on a territorial basis. In each district, an elected kommandant (commandant) was the chief military officer. Districts contained wards with elected field cornets in charge. Overall command of regular and commando forces rested with a Commandant General, similarly an elected official.9 Although the Transvaal before 1877 required three-month, full-time duty, military service was usually based on local commando duty. To ensure basic readiness, the law required of each white male citizen between the ages of 16 and 60 to own certain military equipment, to have it regularly inspected, and to participate in local military

SOUTH AFRICAN UNION

3

Line and Staff In European militaries of the nineteenth century, the Prussian development of a staff system was a critical development. Formerly soldiers fought without assurance of support; with corrupt and inept quartermasters, pillage often was a human necessity. Command could be similarly amateurish, since commissions were bought and sold. Although it had antecedents, the Prussian military's great innovation was a professional support system for soldiers of all ranks. The fighting soldier was located in an operational hierarchy (line). Soldiers and civilians providing them with support lived in another hierarchy (staff), including cooks, medical doctors, quartermasters, and strategic planners. Since the staff hierarchy contained salaried employees, amateurs and profiteers were driven out. The British military in nineteenth-century South Africa developed features of the Prussian line-staff division. Of its various colonial contingents, however, Britain's army in Africa lagged behind the Indian Army in standards of workmanship, particularly in its ability to strike quickly with a sizeable force. The First Anglo-Boer War cruelly exposed these weaknesses, including erratic command and judgement, poor fieldcraft and mobility, insufficient mounted troops, and inadequate troop resupply. The commando system of the Republics almost wholly lacked a professional support system. Food came from local supporters and uniforms were not required. Commando members were supposed to supply their own horse and saddlery, rifle and 30 rounds of ammunition. Battle plans were subject to popular vote by a council of war (krygsraad). Most administrative personnel were appointed during times of war. In clashes with indigenous people, these obvious deficiencies did not usually endanger a mission because technological advantage decided the outcome of many local conflicts. For this reason, both British and Republican authorities acted severely against arms trading with locals, but any warmaking on a larger scale and under conditions of technological parity posed serious, even fatal, problems. Armed Protest Armed protest became a significant component of Republican politics. The practice originated in the Cape settlement, most notably in armed rebellions at Graaff-Reinet and Swellendam (1795) and Slagtersnek (1815). Yet it was not only that the trekboeris political dissent was militarized. In most parts of the interior, settlers lived beyond colonial instruction and support. Dutch authorities, for example, allowed punitive expeditions provided the commandos reported after the event.11 Decisions about how and when violence should be used, therefore, were often taken by locals. English-speaking civilians of the British territories were not wholly captivated by metropolitan and/or official ideas on how to behave. At times, racial policy

4

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

was contested by missionaries. Yet slowly, civil vehicles of dissent developed. Dissent was possible through, for example, missionary organizations, newspapers, and various societies. The availability of these forums and the political confidence of the British authorities discouraged armed uprisings.12 The trekboere took the tradition of military populism with them when they migrated north. Their state had to be created from scratch without the inclination or resources to give it a central administrative component. In the Orange Free State a thoroughly republican constitution eventually emerged. Its legislative assembly, filled with two-year term legislators, was dominant. All military officers were elected. The ZAR (Zuid Afrikaansche Republiek) constitution initially allowed for no executive, creating a space for regionally-based and elected commandants-general to fight for supremacy. Deliberations of the legislature were extraordinarily open-ended; any citizen's opinion could be solicited before a law was ratified. Constitutional revision in 1856 diluted the populism by restricting legislative debates to legislators only and creating an elected executive. But, like its southern counterpart, the ZAR's military officers were still elected.13 Although avenues of civil dissent did develop in the two Republics, the constitutional embrace of popular opinion and the election of military leaders perpetuated militarized dissent. Any unpopular decision quickly brought a group of armed burgers (citizens) to the doors of the legislature. The Transvaal especially suffered from political divisions. Here the politically ambitious demonstrated their seriousness by bringing along a commando or local posse. Armed protest could achieve the ultimate in populism - forcing a new election. In 1864, for example, the presidential election led to armies occupying regional capitals, a situation ended only by another election and the triumph of the aggrieved aspirant. After this civil war of sorts in the ZAR and the Orange Free State under President Brand, the Republics would experience a period of more settled politics.14 Yet through its frequency and efficacy armed protest carved out a position for itself within Republican politics. The path to political leadership and status often led through the commandos. And armed protest was a legitimate Republican device: it rattled legislators' nerves.

Monopolizing Means of Violence Both British and Republican warmaking relied on indigenous people. One reason was the colonial authorities' refusal to send European troops. Another was the local settlers' resistance to military duty. The participation of black and coloured men was crucial to the commandos. They moved equipment, attended to horses and, in the days before breechloading rifles, were responsible for loading a second rifle. The British continued their reliance on local labour — indeed, putting it on a regular basis with the Hottentot regiments and later native levies. The extent of

SOUTH AFRICAN UNION

5

this reliance is worth noting. In the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879, f° r example, the British contingent totalled just over 5,000 men. Their Zulu allies probably numbered 9,000.15 The problem of using locals as soldiers was the threat to settlers' monopolization of the modern means of violence. The two Republics had constitutional clauses outlawing an arms trade with or possession of arms and ammunition by people other than white. Violators - from the President of the OFS (Josias Hoffman) to missionaries - were thrown out of office, ejected from the territory, and had their property looted. British officials did not interfere. Their interests were identical.16 Until the mid nineteenth century, local inhabitants' defeat in one battle or another was not politically conclusive. Conquest of the Ndzundza-Ndebele people (or the Mapoch people) in the area east and northwest of Pretoria, for example, was a protracted affair. Many of the Sotho-speaking people were unconquered. Although the battle at Blood River in 1838 would later symbolize white conquest, the period between 1652 and the nineteenth century witnessed a host of bitterly fought local and regionalized struggles, punctuated by advances and losses on all sides. During the nineteenth century settlers steadily improved their capacity to inflict losses on people armed with cutting weapons. First rifling replaced smoothbores, lengthening the range of cannon and muskets. Infantry tactics were revolutionized by breechloading with metallic cartridges and, later, repeating breechloading rifles. Machine gunnery soon followed. Artillery tactics similarly advanced in leaps and bounds to keep up with technological advances. A barrage could focus on land ahead of infantry, allowing troods to advance to territory no longer held by the enemy. The creeping barrage-w^ls actually pioneered in the Second Anglo—Boer War, but even before that local settlers had the technological capacity to create a field of fire - concentrated fire directed towards a narrow area - basic to infantry operations to this day.17 Not all the new military technology was locally applicable. Artillery, for example, inhibited the mobility so crucial to commando tactics. But some advantages were awesome. Artillery, repeating rifles and machine guns created shocking fields of fire, followed by mounted troops' mopping-up operations. Those seeking shelter in a hole in the ground could die by dynamite. The campaigns of the nineteenth century indeed make interesting reading from a tactical-technological angle. Commando tactics were used because enemies were mobile. The main problem was political: raising the commando. If the commando was not regularly available — for example, in Venda and Sotho territory (1859—67) — the settlers were driven out. Throughout the nineteenth century, however, even a regularly available commando was unable to effect lasting political consequences. The locals reacted like armies in Europe's wars of manoeuvre: they withdrew. Siege tactics were used against the Pedi (1847-52). They survived by withdrawal. Only when they were

6

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

unable to withdraw, as Makepan's Sotho were in 1845, did killing on a large scale follow.18 By the 1870s firepower made it possible to attack indigenous centres of power to force submission to settlers' authority. The Pedi who had escaped in 1852, for example, found their stronghold assaulted by British troops in 1879. Their chief was deposed. In the far northern areas of the ZAR, Queen Modjaji was forced to capitulate in 1890. A subsequent rising also was suppressed (1894-95). More importantly, because of its proximity to Pretoria, and because of the recent reverses suffered by the Cape Colony in its battles with the Sotho, the ZAR again found itself at war with the people of Mapoch. The ZAR used a devastating combination of artillery and commando operations during the Second Mapoch War (1882-83). During the First Mapoch War (1860-65), artillery had been available but inexpertly used — so badly that the cannon were captured and commando members had refused to charge the defenders' capital. But under General Joubert's leadership and Creusot artillery, the Second Mapoch War scattered people to servitude on Whites' farms.19 The British dealt with Zululand in much the same way as the Republicans dealt with the people of Mapoch. Artillery and the Maxim gun made a huge impact in 1879 an PP- 7O-74. 58. J. A. Steenkamp, 'Die Vrystaatse Vrywillige Militere Eenhede 1854-1899', Militaria 10/1 (1980), pp. 16-21.

59. So substantial was the increase that Natal sought to appoint its own commanding officers rather than those attached to the Imperial military still in the country. J Ploeger,

42

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

'Op Brandwag - Drie Eeue Militere Geskiedenis van Suid-Afrika', Militaria 1/4 (1969), p. 10. 60. Cape of Good Hope, Report of the Cape Colonial Forcesfor the Year ended $ist Decemb 1909 (Cape Town: The Cape Times, 1910), pp. 2-9. 61. By 1908, it boasted a membership of 3,575. J Ploeger, 'Op Brandwag - Drie Eeue Militere Geskiedenis van Suid-Afrika', p. 14. 62. South Africa, Report of the Select Committee on the South Africa Defence Bill, p. 16 63. Ibid., p. 24. 64. Ibid., pp. 26-8. 65. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, unpublished D.Phil, thesis (University of Pretoria, 1985), pp. 20—34.

66. Ibid., pp. 34-40. 67. Phyllis Lewsen, John X. Merriman: Paradoxical South African Statesman (Johannesbur Ad Donker Publishers, 1982), p. 291. 68. Chris tiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spes Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 43-59. 69. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 59-73. 70. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1912), Col. 621. 71. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 103-23. 72. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1912), Col. 620. 73. J. E. Kendle, The Colonial and Imperial Conferences, 1887—1914: A Study in Imperial Organisation, pp. 172-84. See also W K. Hancock, Smuts: The Sanguine Years, 18/0-1919 (Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press, 1962) p. 353. 74. Consistent in its insistence that colonies should be militarily self-supporting, Britain promised Southern Rhodesian authorities a grand total of 200 men for defence. J. Ploeger, 'Op Brandwag - Drie Eeue Militere Geskiedenis van Suid-Afrika', p. 14. 75. Deneys Reitz, Trekking On (London: Faber & Faber, 1933), p. 64. 76. On Beyers's career, see G. D. Scholtz, Generaal Christiaan Frederick Beyers 1869—1 (Johannesburg: Voortrekkerpers, 1941). 77. See W. K. Hancock and Jean van der Poel (eds), Selections from the Smuts Papers, vol. Ill, June 1910 - November 1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1966), p. 47. 78. E. M. Meyers, "Drie Eeue van Militere Diensplig in Suid-Afrika", Militaria 16/2 (1986), pp. 4-7. 79. W. A. Doming, 'A Concise History of the South African Defence Force (19121987)', Militaria 17/2 (1987), pp. 2-3. 80. South Africa, Report of the Select Committee on the South Africa Defence Bill (Cape Tow Government Printer, 1912), p. 31. 81. Ibid., p. 22. 82. South Africa, Report of the Select Committee on the Police Bill (Cape Town: Governmen Printer, 1911), pp. 1-12, 17. 83. The growth of municipal administration in the Cape, following on the Frontier War of 1834, stimulated police development. Eric Walker, A History of South Africa, pp. 245-6. 84. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988 (Silverton:

Promedia Publications, 1988), pp. 2-3. 85. Ibid., pp. 2-7; T. J. van Heerden, Inleiding tot die Polisiekunde (Pretoria: UNISA,

SOUTH AFRICAN UNION

43

1986), pp. 28-53. 86. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, p. 5. 87. Of these, 105 were commissioned officers. The Detective Branch was small, with 205 men (excluding commissioned officers), while 4,022 (excluding commissioned officers) belonged to the Uniform Branch. An additional 1,470 policemen were black, coloured and Asian. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 11-27. 88. South Africa, Verslag van die Witwatersrandse Kommissie oor die Nywerheidstaking van Junie 191 3 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1913). 89. David Ticktin, The Origins of the South African Labour Party 1888-1910, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Cape Town, 1973, pp. 248-56. 90. Ibid., pp. 254-58. 91. In 1905, 85.4 per cent of white miners were British-born. By 1910, this figure had dropped to 62.8 per cent. By 1922, Afrikaans-speakers amounted to 80 per cent of white miners. Ibid., pp. 258—9. 92. Deneys Reitz, Trekking On, pp. 63-5. 93. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 16-18. 94. Martin Chanock, Writing South African Legal History: a prospectus' Journal of African History vol. 30, no 2 (1989), pp. 268-9. 9 5. Kenneth Ingham, Jan Christiaan Smuts: The Conscience of a South African (Johannesburg: Jonathan Ball, 1986), pp. 73-4. 96. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1914), Cols 100-24. 97. Hugh Corder, Judges at Work: The Role and Attitudes of the South African Appellate Judiciary, 1910-19jo (Cape Town: Juta, 1984), especially pp. 1-48, 216-41. 98. Act No. 27 of 1914. South Africa, Statutes of the Union of South Africa (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1914), pp. 240-58. For commentary, see A. S. Mathews, Law, Order and Liberty in South Africa (Cape Town: Juta, 1971), pp. 191-6 and 221-31. 99. It was John X. Merriman who noted that Republicans were not the Act's main authors. He warned about the dangers of their in future possessing the legal licence the Act created: 'We are not legislating for a passing phase ... We are not always going to have a Government in which we place the implicit reliance we do in the present Ministry/ Phyllis Lews en, John X Merriman: Paradoxical South African Statesman, p. 365. 100. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1914), Cols 1781-90, 3121-52, 3345~543> 3659~83> 577l-lH, 4078. 101. See Frank Pakenham (Lord Longford), Peace by Ordeal (London: Jonathan Cape, 1962). 102. The words are those of J. A. Innes in Krohn vs The Minister of Defence, 1915, cited in Martin Chanock, Writing South African Legal History: a prospectus', p. 283. The above interpretation is indebted to a more recent work by Martin Chanock, South Africa: Legal Formalism and Legal Culture in a New State, paper presented at a Conference on Reconstruction in South Africa, University of Melbourne, 27—29 June 1994. As instructed, I have not quoted from it. 103. Johannes Meintjies, General Louis Botha (London: Cassell, 1970), p. 183. 104. South Africa, Report of the Judicial Commission of Inquiry into the Causes of and Circumstances relating to the Recent Rebellion in South Africa (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1916), Annexure C. 105. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 191-2. 106. South Africa, Report of the Judicial Commission of Inquiry into the Causes of and Circumstances relating to the Recent Rebellion in South Africa, Annexure C.

44

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

107. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 196—7. 108. Phyllis Lewsen, John X Merriman: Paradoxical South African Statesman , p. 366. 109. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 197-9; W. K. Hancock and Jean van der Poel (eds), Selections from the Smuts Papers, vol. Ill, June 1910-November 1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1966), p. 269. 110. By early 1917 Smuts had departed for service in the British War Cabinet. He was succeeded as Minister of Defence by Colonel Mentz. i n . See Albert Grundlingh, Fighting Their Own War: South African Blacks and the First World War (Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1987). 112. Eric A. Walker, A History of South Africa, p. 565; Richard Dale, Defense Legislation and Communal Politics: the Evolution of a White South African Nation as Reflected in the Controversy Over the Assignment of Armed Forces Abroad, 1912-1976 (Ohio University: Center for International Studies, Africa Series No. 33, 1978), p. 20. The percentages are Dale's, working with the data supplied by Walker. 113. General Life Assurance Company versus Moyle, 1919. Judgement in South Africa, Cases Decided in the Supreme Court of South Africa (Appellate Division), January-March 1919, pp. 1—12.

114. Martin Chanock, Britain, Rhodesia and South Africa 1900-194? (Totowa, NJ: Frank Cass, 1977), pp. 10-164. 115. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1921), Cols 621-2. 116. Ibid. 117. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1940), Cols 979, 991. 118. For the first time the SAP used 700 special constables to protect private mine property. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 52-4. 119. Ivan L. Walker and Ben Weinbren, 2000 Casualties (Johannesburg: The South African Trade Union Council, 1961), pp. 128-31. 120. S. P. Bunting, Red Revolt (Johannesburg: The South African Communist Party, 1923), pp. 16-33; Ernest Gitsham and James F. Trembath, Labour Organisation in South Africa (Durban: E.P. and Commercial Printing, 1926), pp. 47-52; Ivan L. Walker and Ben Weinbren, 2000 Casualties, pp. 128-31. 121. Thomas Boydell, My Luck Was In (Cape Town: Stewart Printers, 1947), pp. 197-8. 122. Captain William Urquhart, The Outbreak on the Witwatersrand March 1922 (Johannesburg: Hortors Limited, 1922). Urquhart is perhaps the most emphatic about the commando/ Republican rather than the trade-unionist nature of the strike. 123. Defence Headquarters Official Information, 12 March 1922. 124. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, p. 272. 125. South Africa, Report of the Martial Law Inquiry Judicial Commission (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1922) paragraph 71. 126. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, p. 60. 127. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 273—7. 128. D. W. Kruger, The Age of Generals (Johannesburg: Dagbreek Book Store, 1958), no—15. 129. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, p. 64.

SOUTH AFRICAN UNION

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130. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, p. 279. 131. Andre Odendaal, Vukani Bantu!, passim. 132. It did so until 1966, when it began to function as the SADFs Comptroller section. 133. See the listing of Secretaries in Militaria 9/2 (1979), no page. 134. Thus (Colonel and later Brigadier-General) J. J. Collyer only nominally occupied different positions between 1912 and 1920, when he was succeeded by Major-General A. J. E. Brink. After 1919, the post was known as the Chief of the General Staff, reverting in 1956 to the title Commandant-General of the UDF/SADF. Since 1973, the post has been known as Chief of the SADF. 135. Militaria 9/2 (1979), no page. 136. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 21—2.

137. Ibid., p. 33. 138. South Africa, Report of the Select Committee on the Police Strike and Recruiting (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1918), pp. v—xxvi. Discontent over promotion and salary returned the following year with the SAMR's incorporation. Four of the five regiments of the SAMR provided the SAP with 26 officers and 3,505 men (black and white). Rank in the SAMR followed the UDF pattern, which allowed easier access to commission. Shifting to the SAP would entail a loss of rank. The issue was resolved, though the period is still officially described as a 'trying* one. 139. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 26—9.

CHAPTER

2

THE STATE OF UNION, 1918-48

This chapter covers the period between the end of World War I and the end of World War II. The main purpose is to identify the kind of state (security agencies included) National Party rulers of 1948 inherited. World War I produced great battles in the state. A drought and global depression, starting from the late 1920s, affected South African state and society. The Second World War was won and had given way to a Cold War. The state's new rulers could not fail to be affected by these events. The Native Uprising, 1912-39 The first twenty years of the twentieth century enhanced the state's technological capacities for dealing with a Native Uprising. In country districts, the SA Mounted Riflemen still had batteries of field artillery. Although they were not freely available, motorized vehicles brought greater mobility to rural policing. Besides machine guns, rapid-firing rifles were available, and aircraft attacks were possible. In 1927 people living near Qumbu and Tsolo (in the Transkei), for example, attracted the attention of the state. A mobile police unit did some work, but the arrival of three aeroplanes, distributing leaflets but otherwise flown in a threatening manner, contained the situation. Between 1912 and 1926, policemen on ordinary duty were not issued with arms, not even side arms. An increase in serious crime over the previous five years (by almost 67 per cent) forced reconsideration of this policy in 1926. If necessary, side arms could be issued. The new policy was not popular with all members of the public, but it held.1 The establishment strength of the SAP increased between 1912 and 1930; yet police per 1,000 of the population declined markedly (see Table 2.1). According to the SAP, the 1920s were indeed a relatively peaceful period. The decade had not started in this vein. In Port Elizabeth in October 1920, a strike developed into a confrontation at the Central Police Station. Policemen opened fire, killing 25 and wounding 66. Later in 1920, an SAP force of 100 arriving in 46

CHAPTER

2

THE STATE OF UNION, 1918-48

This chapter covers the period between the end of World War I and the end of World War II. The main purpose is to identify the kind of state (security agencies included) National Party rulers of 1948 inherited. World War I produced great battles in the state. A drought and global depression, starting from the late 1920s, affected South African state and society. The Second World War was won and had given way to a Cold War. The state's new rulers could not fail to be affected by these events. The Native Uprising, 1912-39 The first twenty years of the twentieth century enhanced the state's technological capacities for dealing with a Native Uprising. In country districts, the SA Mounted Riflemen still had batteries of field artillery. Although they were not freely available, motorized vehicles brought greater mobility to rural policing. Besides machine guns, rapid-firing rifles were available, and aircraft attacks were possible. In 1927 people living near Qumbu and Tsolo (in the Transkei), for example, attracted the attention of the state. A mobile police unit did some work, but the arrival of three aeroplanes, distributing leaflets but otherwise flown in a threatening manner, contained the situation. Between 1912 and 1926, policemen on ordinary duty were not issued with arms, not even side arms. An increase in serious crime over the previous five years (by almost 67 per cent) forced reconsideration of this policy in 1926. If necessary, side arms could be issued. The new policy was not popular with all members of the public, but it held.1 The establishment strength of the SAP increased between 1912 and 1930; yet police per 1,000 of the population declined markedly (see Table 2.1). According to the SAP, the 1920s were indeed a relatively peaceful period. The decade had not started in this vein. In Port Elizabeth in October 1920, a strike developed into a confrontation at the Central Police Station. Policemen opened fire, killing 25 and wounding 66. Later in 1920, an SAP force of 100 arriving in 46

T H E STATE OF UNION

Table 2.1

The SAP, 1913-40

Year

Population

1913 1915 1920 1925 1930

6,211,962 6,432,182 6,835,444 7,466,494 8,075,000 8,688,500 10,341,200

1935

1940

47

Establishment

Police*

Prosecutions* 45 44 47 57 71

5,884"

o.94

7>912

[.23

I O,5I 2*

'•53

IO,I94 10,593 10,429 H,I85

[.36 [.31 [.20 [.08

80 80

Noter. * per 1,000 people. ** excluding SAMR. t including SAMR. Source. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year (Pretoria:

Government Printer, 1951), Annexure C.

reaction to a gathering of 'Israelites' at Bulhoek (near Queenstown) were confronted with a hostile assembly. The crowd forced a retreat. The SAP reacted by increasing their number to 800, armed with machine guns and automatic rifles. In the next encounter, the crowd met a volley of fire that killed 200. In terms of numbers involved, the only other major SAP operation occurred towards the end of the decade, during boycotts and strikes in Durban, when a large number of detainees managed to escape from custody after township raids. The SAP put together a force of 500 and increased the scope of their reaction, arresting illegal liquor brewers and people who refused to pay taxes. Over 2,200 people were arrested. Home-made cutting weapons were confiscated.2 By all accounts, the SAP was not always a disciplined servant of the state. A commission of inquiry after the Port Elizabeth incident, for example, found that no order to fire had been given. Because this sort of transgression was embarrassing, the SAP thought an extra dose of military discipline was required, so the new commander of the Training Depot in 1928 was a professional soldier. His successor was sent to a military school in Britain, Aldershot, for training. The reemphasis on military discipline was wildly unpopular in all ranks. Policemen complained about inhuman standards of discipline, as well as the stress on cavalry skills and tactics. Nevertheless, this type of training persisted. Only in 1938 were some legal subjects introduced into the training syllabus.3 During the 1920s, few national organizations attempted to organize the disenfranchised on a mass basis. One reason was the implosion of the Communist Party and internal splits within the Industrial and Commercial Workers' Union (ICU), two organizations capable of articulating popular demands.4 For many Whites in the countryside, however, a Native Uprising was always imminent.

48

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Magistrates regularly received reports of agitation and subversive activities. In 1921 the Department of Justice (including the SAP) noted that waves of this kind of unrest affected 'a portion of the Free State, a large portion of the Eastern Districts of the Cape Province and a portion of Natal'.5 Rumours had enough seriousness for Whites to rush into town, demanding more guns and official protection. Farmers certainly acted as though they were entitled to use violence. In the OFS, for example, capricious and indiscriminate violence against black people was a fairly consistent feature of country life between 1917 and 1924. It never disappeared.6 Rumours of uprisings rarely, if ever, received official support from any of the security agencies. The SAP's official history mentions few noteworthy incidents in the countryside during the 1920s, except for the 1929 events in Natal; and, besides the ICU, even during the 1930s.7 Ulterior motives often stimulated rumourmongering. The chances of getting more policemen for use in labour disputes, for example, were better if threats were exaggerated. District officers, in fact, thought rumours 'the work of irresponsible persons'. Through them, one officer noted, 'the native realises how easily we are frightened'.8 Concentrating Hearts and Minds As shown above, the SAP was acutely aware of the psychological dimensions involved in a Native Uprising. Security agencies were not supposed, even apparently, to lose their nerve. In these terms, the SAP's military prowess held the biggest payoff. The confrontation with the ICU, in particular, consolidated this approach. The ICU was unusual in drawing support from both town and country. Membership at its highest point was about 200,000. In late 1930, the ICU in the East London area decided on a strike but, before it commenced in January 1931, some violence occurred. Although the SAP decided that shooting should be a last resort, it bought insurance by placing machine guns at critical points. The following main operation consisted of encircling areas in military fashion. Mounted patrols worked the Duncan Village township and main arterial routes. The SAP's mounted units practised on the border of the township. Despite vigorous protest, Clemens Kadalie and other leading figures in the strike were arrested. Eventually the strike was called off.9 The cavalry had literally arrived in East London. So impressed was the SAP with its usefulness that it postponed the introduction of mechanical transport. Especially in dispersing urban crowds, a motorbicycle or an automobile was not nearly as effective as cavalry. The Landsdown Commission of 1937 noted some divergence of opinion about mounted operations. Although mechanical transport had increased policemen's ability to join forces across vast distances, overcoming distance was less important than dispersing a concentration of people. Mine managers had found this, too. The horses would stay.10

THE STATE OF UNION

49

The Law Because of Union, the state was able to nationalize legislation aimed at the disenfranchised. Between 1910 and 1939 Parliament produced a collection of anchoring laws, specifically the Native Labour Regulation Act (1911), Natives Land Act (1913), Urban Areas Act (1923), and Native Administration Act (1927). The intentions of the legislation make for a story of epic proportions that cannot be told here, except for the following outline. First, the state became a racial state, in the sense of altering its behaviour depending on whom it faced. Albeit for different reasons, members of the ruling elite believed in racial segregation. Its justification rarely strayed far from the path of white supremacy, here defined as merit residing in the possession of Caucasian racial traits. The white minority did not consider it necessary to demonstrate, through state action, that it deserved to rule over the minority. It was naturally entitled to do so. The ruling elite was culturally mixed. Although the Appellate Division was Anglicized, the Cabinet and Parliament included Afrikaans and English speakers. Cultural crossbreeding, financial considerations, available administrative resources, and deference to the British Empire's political culture were powerful influences. For one thing, it was difficult both to devise and to implement far-reaching schemes for the state. The Appellate Division thought a civilized state developed incrementally. Security goals and methods thus have to be understood against a broader context of relatively modest state ambitions grounded in the natural entitlement to rule. The main goal was to prevent emergence of an alternative to the status quo. Second, land and labour were vital motivations of minority rule. Maximizing Whites' access to both on a consistent basis required legislation affecting many dimensions of life. Totalitarian ambitions for the disenfranchised were evident in legislation empowering officials to inspect, for example, a pot brewing on a stove. Yet the state's administrative resources could not match these ambitions. Therefore, policemen were used as immigration officials, prison warders, state prosecutors, and in a host of other state roles. In 1920, for example, official calculation of extra-departmental duties amounted to the loss of 458 full-time policemen's labour. Policemen of all ranks strongly resented these roles.11 Table 2.2 shows what kind of work they actually did in their narrower policing roles. Third, the figures reveal what falling foul of the law meant. Legislation reflected the interests of a minority, not the majority's distinctions between right and wrong. Without popular representation in its making, the law could not fail to be experienced as the weapon of others. Indeed, the Landsdown Commission noted that policemen enforced the law by 'excessive readiness to arrest' and 'unnecessary harshness, lack of sympathy and even violence'. Significantly, this indictment included many black policemen. In arrests, for example, they too were prone to 'unnecessary force'.12 Of course,

50

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 2.2

SAP Duties, 1937

Type of offence Drunkenness Possession of liquor Black township regulations Master's and Servant's Act Native Labour Act Pass Laws City Districts Act Tax laws Total

Number of prosecutions 38,271 69,077 21,584 I 9>712 19,459 71,052 9,839 95,716 344,710

Source: S o u t h Africa, Interim and Final Reports of the Commission of Inquiry appointed by His Excellency the GovernorGeneral to Inquire into certain matters concerning the South African Police and the South African Railways and Harbours Police, p. 69.

the punitive character of policing is influenced in part by class, race and other considerations. But since policemen of all colours and classes were prone to unnecessary force, it could well have been because they understood only too well their office: they were instruments of minority power rather than majoritarian authority. Black and white policemen knew the law was a weapon. Did the SAP reflect critically on the impact of the methods they were using? The fact that the SAP had not suffered from a shortage of black recruits was taken as some measure of legitimacy. Yet neither the state nor the SAP was blind to problems regarding respect from within disenfranchised communities. The largest stocktaking exercise towards the end of the 1910-39 era, the Landsdown Commission, concluded: relations between natives and police are marked by a suppressed hostility ... This is due partly to the odium incurred by the police in enforcing unpopular legislation, but is contributed to by the manner in which enforcement is carried out and the general attitude of some individual policemen to the native population ... [For policemen restrictive laws can very easily become] an opportunity for practising harshness and oppression."13 The long-term consequences of the Union's legislation was to trivialize the law, debase the office of policemen and undermine habits of lawfulness. The Commission could not see any way out. It counselled enforcement of restrictive laws 'with the maximum amount of consideration and regard for ordinary rights and liberties of the citizen.'14 Temptations to abuse should be cauterized by organizational discipline.

THE STATE OF UNION

51

Detectives and Informers In each of the major conflicts involving the state, the SAP said, Detective Branch and its informers played a critical role.15 The use of informers was not new. Perhaps their best-known use before Union was in the Kimberley area against illicit diamond trade, but it was also central to investigations of stock theft. With British imports in senior ranks, the SAP naturally looked to the British police for inspiration after 1913. The Botha and Smuts governments defined their troubles as Republic uprisings, but attention to Bolshevik elements was sufficient to draw the SAP to surveillance of trade unions. In any case, between 1910 and 1920 the British police's work was also drawn to the activities of the British Communist Party and left sections of the Labour movement. Infiltration was essential. London and Pretoria naturally shared information supplied by informers. Indeed, most of the SAP's information about labour in South Africa originated abroad in the British Communist Party's international links. The information was stored in the Department of Justice. At home, Detective Branch generated information. The Branch quickly developed a reliance on black detectives, informers, and trackers in stock theft cases, who were praised for their zeal. Information was not always reliable, being mixed with all sorts of items on private agendas, in part because of no uniform training. Another problem was remuneration, of considerable importance to the informers themselves. Since they were not tenured, pay was at the discretion of local commanders who, in each case, had to make special application to SAP headquarters. Thus pay could not fail to be dependent on the informers' proof of their value.16 Between the central and local parts of the state a channel of information existed in the post of a Deputy Commissioner, effectively the chief of Detective Branch. The problem was that information did not flow laterally between districts and divisions. Despite a widely used fingerprint system - enabling identification — the Divisional Criminal Investigation Officer of one area did not have to share his goods with another Division's officer. This situation continued until the Second World War.17

Military, Police and State, 1918-39 In the ten years after Union, the two major banks (Barclays and Standard) and the mining industry were owned by overseas - mainly British - interests. South Africa did not have a refinery or mint of its own. Gold producers exported raw bullion to the London Gold Market for sale, with surplus bought by the Bank of England at a fixed price. South Africa followed British sterling in the gold standard, even during World War I. Since most of its revenue derived from mining, the Union state was caught in the Imperial financial web. Mining to this day remains the major foreign exchange earner. Yet in 1917 the formation of the locally based Anglo-American Corporation signalled domestic

52

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OFSOUTH AFRICA

resistance to foreign ownership not only of mining but of manufacturing as well. When Hertzog's National Party and Labour formed the Pact Government in 1924, it encouraged domestic manufacture as a source of white employment other than the mines. In 1921 South Africa created its own Reserve Bank, which replaced the Bank of England, to control the local money market. And in 1925 the state made the critical decision to accept an independent gold standard despite strenuous opposition from Britain. As a result, the revenue base of the state diversified. From being narrowly based on mining, it had acquired some financial breathing space.18 After World War I, money shaped the military relationship between Britain and South Africa. At the Imperial Conference of 1921, for example, Britain released South Africa from its annual payments to the British Admiralty for the latter's presence in the Cape peninsula. Britain also gave gifts. A British donation of 100 planes created a local air force. Local buildings owned by the War Office were taken over by South Africa in 1922. But it hardly made a dent. The South West African campaign cost well over 12 million (sterling), a figure considered so shocking that it prompted a commission of inquiry. In 1916 another commission, following a trail suggested by the first, investigated the quartermaster stores. Despite assurances by Secretary of Defence Bourne that faults were eliminated, he could not avoid the arrival of the inquisitive Public Service Commission in The greatest potential for savings lay in two simple options: (i) reducing the size of the UDF establishment; and (ii) simplifying command and security functions. Bourne's successor, Brigadier-General A. J. E. Brink, thus proposed amendments to the 1912 Defence Act, which was promulgated on 12 July 1922. Anyone considering the first option could see that the ACF and Cadets were juicy targets. It was not only that training costs had to be carried by the state. By giving their time, males had to suspend ordinary productive activities in an economy in postwar downturn. In addition, political controversies - for example, liquor available in camps, wearing khaki uniforms, and separating young men from parental influence — bedevilled the ACF and Cadets. The 1922 Act thus revised ACF regulations. Although their period of service was lengthened, active members were placed on reserve, relieving the state of paying salaries and training costs. District Staff Officers' duty of registering eligible men was taken over by the Adjutant-General in Defence HQ. The Public Service Commission was convinced that the UDF personnel list was too long. In 1922 alone, 15 tenured officers and 24 troops were retrenched, along with 129 temporary employees. A further 119 employees shifted to other state departments. Three senior officers took early retirement.20 Departure from the UDF did not necessarily spell doom for the men concerned. Because the Commission held that the SAP's personnel list was too short, they could be steered to an employer not much different to the UDF. The dual character of the SA Mounted Riflemen (SAMR) was central to the

THE STATE OF UNION

53

latter option. One question was whether the entire force, with its assets, should go to the SAP. Eventually the UDF acquired the field artillery of the SAMR and it was decided that one regiment of the SAMR would stay in the UDF. The others were absorbed by the SAP. Men who did not want to accept police command had the option of early retirement. Not much more could be done. UDF HQ still housed an impressive array of officers.21 Although he was not a disinterested observer, the Chief of the General Staff's annual reports lamented the shortage of funds. By 1928, for example, only 4,000 of 30,000 potential ACF men had received training. Implementation of both options nevertheless had the desired impact on the defence budget. Between 1922 and 1923, for example, it shrank by almost 1 million (sterling).22 The military, indeed, were to experience the 1920s as a decade of ever-increasing financial pressure. The shots were being fired by the Public Service Commission with ammunition supplied by the Department of Finance. An unending rivalry started over salaries. Although postwar economic conditions had made military service attractive, Secretary Bourne feared that the UDF's luck would soon run out. Getting suitable applicants depended on adequate pay, either in cash or in kind (fuel, housing, and rations). Bourne's proposals were rejected by the Department of Finance. They lowered salaries in real terms, but took up the suggestions of augmenting salaries by inkind support. The resignations and retirements of the early 1920s must be seen against this reduction in cash salaries. Although the number of applicants for the UDF did not shrink - the recession made sure of that - reduction of cash remuneration by one-third created disputes about appointments and promotions.23 By 1924 these disputes had led to a Commission of Inquiry about professionalism. The Commission concluded that appointments during the preceding twelve years indeed had not always been consistent and fair. It recommended an obvious cure: delete political considerations from appointments and promotions. Part of the cure was painless. Political activity was outlawed, and a watchdog Military Council started to function in 1925. But in other respects, interpretation of the Commission's apolitical remedy created powerful lines of thinking. First, in determining rank (and thus leadership), military experience could overrule other qualifications, including educational ones. Entry into the officer corps, for example, did not depend on matriculation. One reason for this ruling was the number of mainly Republican veterans whose formal educational qualifications were limited. They had to be accommodated. Second, civilians did not understand military affairs. This view emanated from the relationship between the UDF and the Department (or Secretariat) of Defence. Bourne was a civilian and when he did not jump at UDF requests, he was criticized for lacking relevant expertise. While he conceded the necessity of having one senior military figure based in his Department, he insisted that an equally senior civilian employee should be retained to right the balance. Otherwise there would be no independent oversight of military expenditure.24

54

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

While they were intended to eliminate partisan political activity in the UDF, the Commission's recommendations thus had to negotiate a financial battlefield within the UDF. Its warlords read with the eye of self-interest. Policemen were not innocent bystanders in this battle: the SAP recruited ex-soldiers. And although they were commanded by the UDF, the SA Mounted Riflemen's salaries came out of the police budget. By the mid 1920s, the composition of the SAP was changing. Senior Britishinfluenced ranks were approaching retirement. The majority of new recruits were South African, Afrikaans-speaking (more than 90 per cent of every post-1927 intake), and came from a rural background. The barrier to their entry was Standard 6. Most of those who applied had less to offer: in 1923 (for example) less than half of all applicants could be accepted. The changing composition was soon noticeable in young policemen's conduct which the Landsdown Commission described as at times 'overbearing and tactless', unfamiliar with urban ways and means, and carrying an outlook 'towards natives as they find them in the rural areas'. Members of middle-class white society registered its opinion of young policemen by refusing them front-door entry.25 In part because of better pay (until the mid 1930s), Detective Branch was the SAP's elite. Pay had little to do with specialized training. A component entitled 'Service Hints for Detectives' became part of the SAP Training Depot's curriculum, but skills were acquired haphazardly. As the logic of the UDF determined, one climbed the ranks of the SAP on the basis of experience. At the bottom of the SAP hierarchy were the non-white constables, working under white policemen's supervision. Because of colour, they could not attend the Training Depot. During the 1930s, their training was formalized and salaries were increased, albeit not to a par with those of white policemen.26 The State of the Union, 1939 Within the state as an administrative entity, dynamics between the two world wars is therefore best understood as money, money, and money. Cost reversed several 1910 ideals, in particular the degree of popular participation in the military. The Swiss model was imitated but, without money for training, often in perfunctory fashion. The Union simply could not afford a big military budget. Scarce resources naturally bred disputes and rivalries. The UDF fought the Department of Finance and Public Service Commission over money. The soldiers lost. Their battle with the SAP was more successful, resigning the police to a junior role in the security family. The SAP was in many respects the state's cheapest institution. Because of a multiplicity of roles, policemen found themselves doing a great deal of work outside of their department. Yet while they were formally split and battling with each other, the military and police before the Second World War were not substantially different in function and spirit. The SAP thought military-style policing necessary and desirable in

THE STATE OF UNION Table 2.3 Year

State Employment, 1913-40

Total employment

Central state employment*

Military (PF only)

1913

Police

No. of central state departments**

5,884

1920

150,718

1930

227,408

1940

55

521,405

1,507

10,512

22 (106)

140,042

2,255

10,707

25 (226)

177,592

5,522

11,655

26 (582)

Notes: * The central state's share is difficult to calculate because entities were not always under the authority of the Public Service Commission. A large number of central state-employees were also temporary employees. Semi-state bodies in brackets. Sources: Christiaan L. Grimbeelc, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 269—71; Ben Roux, 'The Central Administration, Provincial and Local Authorities, and the Judiciary' in Denis Worrall (ed.), South Africa: Government and Politics (Pretoria: Van Schaiks, 1971), p. 82; South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year 19jo (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1951), Annexure C; Joseph Barry Standish, State Employment in South Africa^ unpublished MA thesis (University of Cape Town, 1984), pp.129—206; a n d C. Thornhill, 'Administrative Arrangements for Change' in D. J. Van Vuuren et al. (eds), Change in South Africa (Durban/Pretoria: Butterworths, 1983), pp. 78-9.

town and country. For this reason SAP organization and training mimicked those of the UDF. The resistance to militarism, interestingly, came in the 1930s, when the military discipline was stepped up, and for reasons that had more to do with internal dynamics than with the impact of methods. Within the military, money governed professional issues. A civilian was head of the Department of Defence, and did not always promote corporate financial interests as the UDF would have liked. The consequence was a view that the military man knows best. In a narrow sense, this was apoliticism. In the long run it stimulated the development of an inward-looking and traditionalist officer corps for whom educational or occupational qualifications were unnecessary. Civilians were not particularly welcome. They knew nothing of military matters — one could tell this from their reluctance to accede to financial requests. Initially trapped in the Imperial financial web, within a decade the Union started to gain national control over assets, principally its mineral assets. Although the state continued its reliance on one exportable asset - gold - domestic production became diversified, with some modest manufacturing development. Because of economic growth, the state could expand its administrative capacities. Indeed, state employment in real terms grew at an average of 4 per cent per annum after 1920. Policemen and soldiers just did not share the proceeds (see Table 2.3).

56

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

For various reasons, the state used force infrequently against disenfranchised members of society. The majority of policemen do not carry arms during ordinary duty. Per 1,000 of the population, police strength actually declined between 1920 and 1940. Furthermore, since multiple roles were the rule rather than the exception, the police force did very little orthodox policing. These facts should be seen in context. The state, although displaying totalitarian ambitions with regard to the disenfranchised, did not require more than overt non-resistance to minority rule. When the state used force, however, it was supposed to make a lasting impression and was understood by professionals in this sense. Asymmetry in the means of violence cleared a space for less coercive methods. But legal methods could not create legitimacy. On the contrary, professionals best positioned to understand the nature of the state-disenfranchised relationship, black policemen, often indicated that they knew the law was a weapon. On at least one major occasion the state critically reflected on this situation. It recommended a more tactful implementation of restrictive laws. But the state was heading towards World War II. Six years after 1939 the state of Union would come to an end. Its successor was the state of Apartheid (or, more accurately, Racial Utopia). This post-1948 state, of course, continued its former habits by being a racial state, varying behaviour depending on the racial classification of those who faced it. Yet massive changes were afoot that do not make sense without consideration of eight legacies created by World War II. Each of these legacies involved military and police. Inheritance 1: The 1943 Election When World War II broke out, South African voters still used the electoral system devised in 1910. It had two prominent features: a first-past-the-post determination of winners in single-seat constituencies, and delimitation of seats to favour rural areas. The standing of parties in Parliament did not therefore necessarily bear a close resemblance to popular support. The only major change in the system had come with the enfranchisement of women, which doubled the size of the electorate. In the 1933 election, the two main contestants had been Smuts's South African Party (61 seats) and Hertzog's National Party (75 seats). Mainly on account of the gold standard crisis, the parties subsequently decided on fusion (or collaboration) into a United South African National Party. In the process Hertzog lost 19 MPs who, although still part of the NP, became loosely known as the 'Purified' National Party (PNP). By September 1939, their number had grown to 29. Hertzog counted on their support in the motion of 4 September on whether South Africa should be an active British ally in World War II. Together, the NP and PNP would have a small but workable majority. Hertzog was so confident of victory that he did not even convene a caucus meeting.

THE STATE OF UNION

57

Although his speech to the House was an impressive piece of oratory, Hertzog made the political mistake of arguing for Hitler instead of for neutrality. Unlike 1914, South Africa could choose neutrality: the Balfour Declaration of 1926 allowed South African foreign policy to diverge from Britain's. Although it continued its close association with Britain, symbolized by the Crown acting as local head of state, South Africa was an independent country.27 The majority rejected Hertzog's motion. Smuts then introduced a counter-motion, declaring war on Germany, accepted by 80 MPs with 67 opposed. The entire PNP voted with Hertzog, but only 38 of his NP MPs went along.28 Smuts was the new political leader of the state. Smuts's victory left his popular base untouched. In the 1920s the United Party's share of the urban vote expanded but chiefly as a consequence of absorbing Labour supporters. 29 Country districts were Nationalist territory. Its limited popular base was a major reason why the United Party entered a parliamentary coalition (Fusion) with the Nationalists. Fusion connections helped to gain seats, but the United Party's popular base remained problematic.30 In the 1936 Provincial Council elections, for example, the party had won an overall majority, but the Purified Nationalists had done well in two-way contests with them. Besides Hertzog, the main political casualty of 4 September was the unpurified Nationalists. The 1930s had not been kind to this moderate collection of Republicans who lost supporters to its left and right. In the 4 September vote, divisions along linguistic, party, and rural/urban lines were ambiguous. To some extent this was typical of Fusion, but given 1930s electoral history, a United Party disconnected from the National Party probably could not win a general election. When the Hertzog motion was defeated on 4 September, parliamentarians expected the Governor-General to dissolve Parliament and set a date for a general election. Not only had the Hertzog government fallen, but a declaration of war followed. Surely the popular basis for the Smuts government had to be established? Smuts advised the Governor-General otherwise: the next election would be held on schedule, in 1943. The Governor-General's decision reinforced Republicanism. The 1938 symbolic re-enactment of the Great Trek had already done a lot for it but now, it was argued, Britain, through its Governor-General, had impugned Parliament's constitutional integrity by masterminding a civilian coup d'etat. This particularly embittered the purified Nationalists.31 They had been cheated out of a victory they thought entirely possible, Hertzog's NP having been hammered in the 4 September vote. Between 1939 and 1943, 15 by-elections were held for the House. Divisions in Afrikanerdom did not spoil the Nationalists' chances; in six byelections featuring NP-UP contests, each party won three seats. 1943 could not arrive too soon. Obviously the United Party shrank from any electoral encounter with the Nationalists. A round of Provincial Council elections was supposed to be held in 1939 but did not materialize, on the request of the Smuts government. In

58

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

1942 a new delimitation increased the number of urban constituencies and, by implication, the United Party's chances of winning. In the following year, Council elections were finally held. Instead of the allocated three years, Councils were frozen with their 1936 composition for seven years.32 A general election could not similarly be put off: 1943 did arrive. The National Party lost. Although their share of the vote had declined (48.69 per cent against 53.57 per cent in 1938), the United Party increased its seats in the 150-member Parliament from 71 to 89. The NP gained only three, bringing their total to 43. All members of Smuts's Cabinet were returned. Support from minor pro-war parties actually gave the United Party (and Smuts) a working parliamentary majority of 107 seats to the National Party's 43.33 Politicians' arithmetic said one explanation of the Nationalists' defeat lay in six electoral acts the Smuts government had implemented between 1940 and 1943. Three of these are important. The first was the Electoral Laws Amendment Act of 1940, providing for compulsory registration of voters in a country then known for non-registering citizens. Second, two Acts (No. 37 of 1941 and No. 34 of 1943) allowed for special arrangements to record soldiers' votes. Third, in 1941 an Act (No. 23) stipulated that soldiers and their dependants would be counted in districts where they normally resided. Thus the soldiers' vote was not going to be delivered in a few separate constituencies. In comparison to civilians they were likely to be registered and to vote.34 The Nationalists' chief electoral spokesman, F. C. Erasmus, opposed the new legislation. Soldiers would not be able to keep their choice a secret, and could be commanded to vote.35 For its part, the UP was not all that confident that soldiers would vote for them. Soldiers were airing many grievances about allowances, leave, pay (lower than that of other Allied soldiers) and a host of other issues. Support organizations at home, mainly the Springbok Legion, were sympathetic to their demands. After years of doing very little, the Smuts government raised rates of pay in April 1943, two months before the election. Technical arrangements for the election were negotiated between the Departments of Defence and Interior. The UDF's arrangements were directed by the Deputy Adjutant-General (Organization), Colonel R. D. Pilkington Jordan. Before volunteering, Pilkington Jordan had been active in United Party politics. Erasmus thought soldiers' voting suspiciously efficient, and applied for an interdict to stop the counting, due to start on 21 July. He wanted ballots inspected for possible rejection. The Supreme Court granted him a temporary interdict. After the Minister of the Interior had given certain guarantees, Erasmus withdrew his application on 24 July but issued another on 27 July. This time it was rejected. Erasmus was not acting alone. Die Burger, the NP's official newspaper, strongly criticized the final rejection of his motion.36 The results of the election became known early on 29 July. In other words, even before the Nationalists knew of their defeat, they thought soldiers were going to vote against them and sought to reject as many of their ballots as

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possible. A detailed analysis of the 1943 results would become available only in 1948. Until that time it was widely believed that soldiers had voted for Smuts en masse. The 1948 report reached the same conclusion: in 1943 the United Party owed eleven seats to the soldiers. Their vote had directly contributed to Nationalist losses in ten constituencies, nine of which were in its heartland, the country districts. In other constituencies, the soldiers tipped the balance for the United Party.37 Certainly the election was fought over war issues. But the mountain of soldiers' grievances before the election, despite the raising of pay, did not suggest the level of support they eventually gave the United Party. During the war, the UDF's Army Information Service did survey soldiers and produced a document, What the Soldier Thinks?, later described by an unidentified sociologist as 'the finest sociological survey I have ever seen'. At the time, however, many thought the document led to allegations that it reflected the wishes of Army Information Service rather than the soldiers.38 As voters, soldiers generally prefer incumbents above challengers. Some say soldiers get caught up in the patriotic mood that wars create and incumbents exploit. The Canadian election of 1940 is often cited as an example of this kind of khaki election. Incumbents manipulated emotions to neutralize anti-conscription opposition.39 Others treat the soldiers' choice in more respectful terms. Lincoln in 1864, for example, had Gettysburg, Vicksburg and Chattanooga - all Union victories - behind him, but had to fight an election without general support from Republican Party followers. The Democrats had General McClellan and a peace platform. Whom would the soldiers support? The Army of the Potomac saved Lincoln (and the American Union) from defeat. It was not that their experience had turned soldiers into mindless partisans. They simply defended their decision - personal honour and integrity - to volunteer for the fight. How could they not vote for Lincoln's cause if they had been prepared to die for it?40 South African volunteers may well have thought and voted like the Army of the Potomac. The Nationalists and F. C. Erasmus in particular thought otherwise. The soldiers were disciples of Smuts. Inheritance 2: Conspiracies and Betrayals Although those joining up until April 1940 used the 1912 (1922) Defence Act, it did not provide for service outside South Africa (plus the Mandate). Subsequent recruitment fell under a resolution of Parliament authorizing voluntary service in Africa for the duration of the war. Those taking the Africa Service or Red Oath became subject to the Military Disciplinary Code. In January 1943 Parliament adopted another resolution for service outside of Africa. It became known as the Blue Oath.41 From clashes between Afrikaans-speaking students and soldiers, the Smuts government knew some Republicans wanted to fight the volunteers. The

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Springbok Legion attracted members of all races and, developing a form of antiracism, attacked the Johannesburg National Party Congress in September 1945. The Congress resumed its proceedings under SAP protection. The Nationalists had been reminded of what it undoubtedly already knew: the soldiers who had volunteered were not Republicans. But would Republicans after 4 September 1939 produce yet another Boer War? At the SAP the Commissioner, Colonel I. P. De Villiers, had been in office since 1928. De Villiers was a decorated veteran of World War I who presided over a force shaped by its recruitment pattern: the majority of noncommissioned officers were rural, Afrikaans-speaking males. Many, perhaps the majority, of policemen belonged to the Ossewa-Brandwag (OB), a paramilitary Republican organization.42 In September 1939 the UDF's Chief of General Staff, General Pierre van Ryneveld, requested De Villiers to provide the UDF with a volunteer Police Brigade. De Villiers instructed lieutenant-Colonel F. W. Cooper, SAP Quartermaster-General to assemble a list of suitable policemen for three battalions. The announcement that a Police Brigade was required for service in North Africa was made on 12 June 1940. It caused havoc in the force. During the first year of the war, the SAP split almost evenly on taking the Red Oath: 4,331 took it and 3,348 refused.43 Those who did wore a red tab, while non-volunteers wore an orange tab. A publicly visible political divide complicated the policemen's conduct during disturbances. It was discontinued after a Commission of Inquiry into the Johannesburg Riots of 31 January and 1 February 1941. A meeting with OB Commandant-General Van Rensburg as featured speaker boiled over after a sailor tried to enter the hall. The Commission found that policemen and OB members had acted as allies during the fight.44 But earlier, in October 1940, the Police Brigade had been used successfully to suppress disturbances at internment camps. With so many dissenters, the goal of more than two battalions (for a Brigade) seemed remote. Indeed, a third could be raised only by grafting the Second Transvaal Scottish Regiment into the volunteering policemen. The Police Brigade finally left for North Africa in July 1941. It formed part of the Second South African Infantry Division under the command of Commissioner De Villiers, now Major-General in the UDF and wearing a military uniform. After some sensational victories, the Brigade was captured almost entirely at the fall of Tobruk in June 1942.45 Closer to home, the SAP was the first security agency to respond to the information-gathering needs generated by the impending war. The critical link was South West Africa. The territory had its own police force, but in 1936 it seemed powerless in the face of Nazi sympathizers - people were swearing allegiance to Hitler in public. In response the SAP's Detective Branch was instructed to report on Nazis in the Mandate, as well as in South Africa. Nazi Germany later heightened its appeal to Detective Branch by marrying one of the Branch's oldest enemies, Communism, in the Stalin-Ribbentrop Pact. By April

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6l

1939 a comprehensive report on South West Africa was presented to the SAP Commissioner and Prime Minister Smuts. A military response was deemed necessary. Since the SWA Police had only 423 men, the SAP in April 1939 sent a force of 11 officers and 315 men to aid them. With one armoured car, they took Windhoek without opposition. Subsequently the SWA Police force was incorporated into the SAP which, by an act of Parliament, assumed responsibility for the Mandate on 1 June 1939. Since many German nationals lived in South Africa, the SAP in July 1939 appointed an Aliens Registration Officer, assisted by a Special Staff, for the investigation of political crimes. Soon it grew to over 180 men, dispersed around the country. In operations Special Staff fell back on an old standby: informers.46 The OB and an allied organization known as the Stormjaers (Stormtroopers) regarded the SAP as good hunting ground. They would be watched. The Republican militarists made a vast contribution to their own demise. In a strange symbiosis with informers, Republicans happily chattered away no matter how tough they had talked seconds ago, or who might be listening. The case symbolizing this symbiosis involved Robey Leibbrandt, a German/OB sympathizer who had entered the country unbeknown to the SAP. OB leadership then informed the SAP. In another tip, the SAP discovered documents suggesting that a coup was planned for 20 January 1942. The papers listed policemen who were Stormjaers. A total of 16 'Police Battalions' of the Stormjaers was mentioned, totalling about 8,000 men in the Transvaal alone.47 From the documents it was impossible to tell whether the policemen on the list had nominated themselves. Many may not even have been aware of the list. Most suspects, after interrogation in internment camps, were released; the others were not allowed to rejoin the force. The 52 policemen identified as Stormjaers were charged with High Treason. They confessed to planning that rarest of events, a police coup d'etat.^ By those inside and on the outside, the SAP was obviously regarded as capable of a state takeover. Had not the SAP mounted a military invasion against Nazis in South West Africa in 1939? Surely it could repeat the exercise for Republicanism in South Africa in 1942? Although Hertzog retired from active politics in 1940 many of the Republican principals critical to the 1922 decision to put all Republicanism's energies into Parliament were still politically active in 1939. The National Party that had directed state affairs for nearly twenty decades was reunited in 1941 under the leadership of Dr D. F. Malan, described as the overall leader of Afrikanerdom (yolksleier). In Opposition the Nationalists were powerful and skilful after 4 September 1939, selecting parliamentary candidates with unusual care, and with several newspapers in tow. Now the OB engaged the Nationalists for the control of Republicanism. In their respective political principles the two organizations were very similar, sharing, among other beliefs, an admiration for National Socialism and various other practices of Nazi Germany. The dispute was over leadership positions and methods.

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For the Republicans Parliament's adoption of the Smuts Amendment was a big betrayal. Young men wanted to fight it out. But beyond street-fighting, what were they to do? Armed protest was considered by some, but the National Party insisted that the 'trek van kruisies* (marking of ballot papers) was the way forward, not militaristic methods. This was contested by the OB, which preferred armed protest pursued underground, albeit with unimpressive results. These Republicans were not very good at conspiracy. Their organizations leaked like sieves.49 The National Party and OB watched each other like hawks. When the National Party reunited in 1941, its new organizational format featured small cell units as basic units of mobilization, lest the OB (with a similar format) hijack grassroots support.50 Joint membership was outlawed in October 1941. Republicans had to go one way or another. The struggle did not last long. Although it lost to the United Party, the National Party increased its share of the popular vote in the 1943 election. Not being a political party or contesting the election, the OB was unable to siphon support from Nationalist ranks. By mid 1943, too, the German Army's fortunes on the Eastern front had plummeted. Thus the OB could no longer hope for salvation from abroad. The intended Republic Uprising was over. Republicans' views notwithstanding, a large number of men quickly volunteered to join the Allies. By October 1940, 102,000 were signed up for active service.51 In the first nine months of mostly Sitzkrieg, the Allies were hard-pressed to find them a place of useful African deployment. Italy's entry into the war (after Dunkirk in June 1940) and the German support upon Italian reverses in North Africa led to the departure of two South African divisions.

Inheritance 3: Persecution Political parties continued their activity mostly unhindered between 1939 and 1945 and the press largely escaped a formal system of censorship. The Post Office, however, developed a powerful surveillance censoring machinery under Postmaster-General H. J. Lenton. Politicians were aware that their telephones were being tapped. Within hours, their conversations were appearing on the front pages of newspapers. Who was listening? Military intelligence52

The UDF trained intelligence officers in a hurry for service on a full- and parttime basis. The haste showed. One assessor of their reports concludes that they were unable to distinguish fact from fiction in domestic political controversies, particularly Republican politics. Some officers promoted their own views. Others phoned journalists to take up one cause or another.53 For most of the war, DMI was headed by Dr E. G. Malherbe, formerly head of the Bureau of Census and Statistics. Before the war, the Directorship of Intelligence was a part-time position. Its last prewar Director, Colonel B. W.

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63

Thwaites, a World War I veteran and journalist at The Star (Johannesburg), was appointed by Minister of Defence O Pirow. DMI was restructured in late 1940, and Thwaites left to command the Military College. Thereafter Malherbe held the position on a permanent basis, running DMI in conjunction with an Army Information Service and a propaganda unit. Although it was concerned with the morale and ideological rectitude of soldiers, the Service functioned under the authority of the Department of the Interior.54 During the war, a book was prepared under the auspices of DMI, intended for publication before the July 1943 election. For some reason it was not ready in time, and was finally published in 1947. Although it was not acknowledged as such, the book was obviously based on DMI reports.55 Aside from this book, the Army Information Service provides a glimpse into the minds of the men who ran DMI. The 1943 Army Education Handbook, for example, was written at the Service's Headquarters to replace previous handbooks for Information Officers. The discussion of racial policy is revealing. Segregation is accepted as a national value, but in comparison with the National Party, policies of the United Party claim justice. The material was actually obtained from the Institute of Race Relations, not a favourite organization of the Nationalists.56 Until mid 1941, DMI took the view that an armed rising was imminent. The OB was 'in complete control' and 'guided and directed' the National Party. The OB 'may in effect succeed at the next general elections unless they are dealt with in the most drastic manner possible'. Moreover, through infiltration the OB was threatening to disrupt banking and industry; indeed, 'every sphere of South Africa's life is gradually being affected by this movement'. The OB claim of a membership of 320,000 was accepted without analysis. To the Republicans' other mobilizing efforts DMI was unrelievedly hostile. The Reddingsdaadbond (a proRepublican business organization), for example, was yet 'another bloody pestiferous organisation that is growing fast'.57 After August 1941, DMI started coming to different conclusions. The malcontents were unable to form a united front. The National Party's Malan did 'not stand for violence', but in the OB 'hotheads are in the ascendancy'. The OB itself was developing a 'landslide' split that would take it to 'extinction' and Van Rensburg, the leader of the OB, to 'oblivion'. The OB was losing popular support on a massive scale. Despite a membership now calculated at 150,000 men of military age serving in commandos, a big and overt state offensive against the OB now was unnecessary.58 The switch in DMI's assessments is consistent with Smuts's political path. Prior to mid 1941, he had said the OB had swallowed the National Party; he wanted to confront the Republicans, and needed proof of their collaboration. Subsequently Smuts switched to a more manipulative strategy, and when the Republicans remained divided in 1942, DMI reversed its attitude, praising Smuts for far-sighted leadership in creating those divisions. But they still warned him before the 1943 election: 'various Opposition groups hate Smuts and the British

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even more than they hate each other, and it is not unlikely that in the final analysis this antipathy will override all other considerations'59 Although they wrote their reports as though serving Smuts and his party, DMFs figleaf was the OB's German support. Here DMI was consistent. At its founding in 1938, the OB's ideas and funds came from Germany. It was cleverly designed by German agents in cahoots with another Republican organization, the Broederbond, and promoted German interests.60 Even after Smuts's 1943 victory, or however much Republicans fought among themselves, DMI could not relax. The warring parties might still come together: Smuts needed a steady stream of information. At first, DMI produced a weekly review. From January 1941 it was issued fortnightly, with occasional annexes. The OB was not the only covert organization associated with Republicanism. DMI's reports devoted considerable attention to the Broederbond, a sociocultural organization created in 1918 as an overt body but later moving underground. Malherbe thought the Broederbond a menace because its members were employed in many state departments. The Broeders imitated Nazi nomenclature (for example, gauleiter) and leaked official information to the Axis. Malherbe was also motivated by a visit by the head of the Broederbond, the Reverend William Nicol (also Moderator of the Dutch Reformed Church in the Transvaal) to North Africa. Nicol said he wanted to inspect soldiers' spiritual nourishment. Malherbe thought he was going to spy, and alerted DMFs headquarters in Cairo, headed by General Theron. Later a list of names and a diagram of the organization were presented to Smuts for action, which Malherbe favoured. To Malherbe's everlasting regret, Smuts balked.61 In all probability Smuts was not the chief director of the information-gathering. It was Louis Esselen. Over the preceding twenty years of Smuts's career, Esselen served as General Secretary of the United Party, and became a close friend of Smuts. In 1941 he became Chairman of the Railways and Harbours Board, but his wartime record shows that he played a central role in intelligence-gathering and its political uses.62 Esselen received all the security reports (up to 50 daily), as well as the Postmaster-General's transcripts of telephone conversations. The transcripts should have gone to the Department of Justice and its Minister, Dr Colin Steyn, but Esselen jealously guarded what he had in his hands. Indeed, American intelligence, with which Esselen closely co-operated, described him as South Africa's J. Edgar Hoover. It was through Esselen, rather than Smuts himself, that an alliance between the United Party, DMI, the Postmaster-General, and the SAP's informers was forged. When Esselen left the United Party, his successor continued to receive reports.63 Internment

Under the State of Emergency proclaimed on 14 September 1939, the Smuts government created within the Department of Justice an officer for internment

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by the title of Chief Control Officer. The first occupant of the position was Sir Theodore Truter, first SAP Commissioner, active participant in the court-martial of Jopie Fourie and recently a member of the United Party's Transvaal Executive. After a year serving the Department of Justice Truter was relocated to the Department of the Interior, but he shifted back to Justice after the 1943 election. Because of his prior involvement in controversial issues, Truter's appointment and his office were naturally seen in partisan terms.64 At first the internment affected mainly enemy aliens, but gradually the number of locals started to rise, especially after Harry Lawrence became Minister of Justice. By the end of the war, Lawrence said that of a total of 6,636 people interned, 833 had been South African by birth or naturalization.65 Of the 833, the biggest intake (344) was after the discovery of the Stormjaer plot in 1942. Most internees did not stand trial, and many were not even informed of the charges against them.66 The National Party regarded the internments as a partisan device: the Smuts government was using it against 'the great majority of Afrikaners who are opposed to the war policy of the Government'.67 Although no Member of Parliament was interned, some of the internees later entered politics. The most prominent of them, no doubt, was B. J. Vorster, who was an OB general.68 Vorster's friend in the Koffiefontein camp was a policeman, 'Lang' Hendrik J. J. van den Berg. It is difficult to take the measure of the Smuts government's actions. A war did exist. Most of the internees were German nationals, not OB or Republican supporters or South Africans. According to some Allied intelligence reports, the internal security arrangements in South Africa actually were lax. More and better things should have been done, especially since sabotage occurred in the first half of the war.69 Rifles and ammunition, available to those contemplating armed protest, were called in under the War Measures Amendment Act (1940). Newspapers said what they wanted. Perhaps the very laxity of the general measures is what led Republicans to think partisanship was the animating force of surveillance and internment. They thought the methods were a knife sharpened specially for them by Smuts. Soldiers and the SAP stabbed them in the back with it. Inheritance 4: World War II In September 1939 Britain was calling in the promises made by the colonies/ dominions about manpower supply. The Canadians were supposed to raise four divisions and a tank brigade. At first, men volunteered at a great rate. But the fall of the Anglo-French front in May 1940 placed Canada in peril, and its government started conscription. Its unpopularity and the rate of Canadian casualties — especially the Second Division at Dieppe in 1942 — caused a warlong political crisis.70 In Australia, the first contingent of its Imperial Force (AIF) also soon sailed for Europe, confident that the British presence in Singapore would protect

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Table 2.4

Distribution of South African combatants in the Second World War Whites

Black, Coloured and Indian

Total

North and South Africa Part-time and Home Guard

217,122

125,670

34*,79 2

Total

280,463*

125,670

406,133

63,341

63,341

Note: * Including 24,975 women. Source: Deon F. S. Fourie, Volunteers From South Africa Who Have Served In Two World Wars And Korea (Pretoria: University of South Africa, 1984)

Australia from Japanese invasion. Appalling British military leadership led to the collapse of Singapore in February 1942. The Australian government then begged the British to return their men against an imminent Japanese invasion. They did eventually return, but British reluctance in the matter made a huge contribution to the rise of Australian nationalism and the switching of strategic plans to the USA. The American battle group assembled for Midway — the critical battle of the Pacific theatre - sailed from the Whitsunday Islands off Australia's east coast, not Singapore.71 The Allied inability to open a European front after Dunkirk needs no extensive discussion. For most of the war, the Soviet Union actually supplied the men, women and children - with 20 million casualties the accepted figure - to stand against Britain's enemies. After the Anglo-French front in Europe collapsed in May 1940, the Allied problem was not to increase the manpower supply as much as to find a place to put them. Italy's presence in North Africa was an option. Hitler's decision to support his newest ally, Italy, was obviously politicallymotivated. Nevertheless, the outcome of the contest in 1943 was a German humiliation all the more valued for being militarily unprecedented. South African sappers played a key role in the campaign, as did the SAAF. In North Africa the South African Second Division was captured at Tobruk (June 1942). After the Axis defeat in May 1943, South Africa's First Division was actually granted home leave. The Allies asked South Africa to reconstitute two Divisions, but Smuts refused. Subsequently the remnants of the two divisions were reassembled as the Sixth Armoured Division for the Italian invasion. They left for tank warfare training in Egypt (May 1943), later to join the multinational force Alexander was organizing for an invasion of Italy. It was another disputed military necessity, especially when the narrow peninsula produced ferocious casualty rates. The German forces in Italy surrendered in April 1944. The South Africans' distribution in various theatres in the war against Germany

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and Italy are shown in Table 2.4. Between May 1940 and June 1944 Britain faced few land confrontations. Its critical battle was to be supplied by others. For this it needed to win naval battles to keep open the route to the USA. Initially South African gold was important in providing Britain with the foreign exchange to buy American goods. South Africa scored handsomely in the pre-Pearl Harbor arrangements. Parliament's Select Committee on Public Accounts reported by 1943 that it had wiped out a considerable amount of its debt to British sterling and nearly all its other external debt.72 After 11 December 1941 - four days after Pearl Harbor - Hitler declared war on the USA. Britain's transactions with the USA were now on a lend-lease basis: no money had to change hands. The ships laden with goods had to make it across the Atlantic. But U-boats ravaged convoys; the British Royal Navy needed all the help it could get. South Africa's naval contribution can be assessed in three areas: (i) in the 280,463 total of combatant manpower, naval forces amounted to 9,45 5 and 2,937 in the Royal Navy. The rest were in the SAAF (44,569) and the Army, (ii) In terms of naval vessels, a total of 96 ships served with the Allies.73 (iii) South African ports were available for naval repairs. The USA indicated that it regarded these ship-repairing facilities as the most useful contribution.74 Although South African ships did it, patrolling the route around the Cape was not a strategically significant aspect of the Allied war effort. More action was seen by South African vessels in the Mediterranean. German submarines did appear, but precious few naval engagements were fought in South African waters, despite submarines being the most effective striking vessels of the war for both general attacking purposes and defence against aircraft.75 The Battles of the Atlantic and Pacific showed that, besides submarines, aircraft carriers would dominate naval warfare in the postwar era. Aircraft launched from naval carriers would be used against ships. The important disputes of the post-1945 years would be over the qualities of aircraft carriers (big or small?) and submarines.76 To be useful in such a naval world, one had either to acquire aircraft carriers and submarines or be able to repair them.

Inheritance 5: The Security Agencies Military professionalism

Britain emerged from the Second World War admiring the South African tradition of volunteerism. Equally important was the perception that the officers had been impressively professional. Dominant figures were career military officers, but others conducted themselves in similar fashion. Command of the Second Division had been entrusted to a policeman. This Division had done very well before being trapped at Tobruk. Later command of a brigade in the Sixth Division was given to another policemen, Brigadier R. J. Palmer.

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Military professionalism is a complicated term. Usually it refers to standards devised and patrolled by practitioners themselves. Military professionalism is often said to derive from training and specialized skills given to individuals who choose the military as a career. As practitioners of specialized work, they resist intrusions from outsiders, particularly political meddlers. Hence a professional soldier is apolitical. Obviously there are degrees of professionalism. Where work is more specialized, as in operating high technology equipment, professionalism acquires an occupational slant. An opposite slant is institutional, where the soldier, often an infantryman, operates equipment of lesser technological sophistication.77 Professionalism in the UDF did not start with World War II: a nucleus of career officers had existed since its formation in 1912. British models of professionalism were available for imitation, but financial pressures limited the size of the officer corps before World War II. World War II did expand the nucleus of career officers and - albeit to limited extent - provided specialized training. But the soldiers were overwhelmingly infantrymen and part-timers. How could they contribute to professionalism? By being volunteers rather than specialists, the South African soldiers established their world apart. Under pressure South African ranks stuck together, especially lower ranks of infantry. In Italy the South Africans initially operated without the support of armour, and did exceptionally well under heavy bombardment.78 At Tobruk the siege lasted only a week. The South African commanders were not so keen on their own glory that they would sacrifice men to German guns. They did not behave like chateaux generals. Noncombatant soldiers, although mostly disenfranchised, joined in the solidarity the volunteers created. Veterans, as shown above, challenged the National Party on the grounds of its racism. It serves no purpose, however, to catalogue the military virtues of the volunteers. What counts is that their behaviour was respected, in the first instance, by other soldiers. South African troops also learnt a great deal from operational experiences.79 At the Battle of Alamein (October 1942), perhaps the best-known battle during their time in North Africa, the South Africans may well have recalled settlers' offensive combination of artillery and infantry in the nineteenth century. Alamein, too, was dominated by artillery-infantry assaults. For the Germans armour was central but they could not flank Montgomery's line.80 Not all the learning was technical. Compared to other theatres, soldiers in East and North Africa kept to high standards. German generalship - by Kesselring, Arnim and Rommel — was genuinely admired by opponents. On the Allied side, Auchinleck, Alexander, Eisenhower, Montgomery and Wavell (to name but four) displayed few qualities that undermined soldiers' pride in the nature of their work. The one dismissal of this theatre - Auchinleck after Tobruk (August 1942) - was indeed prompted by the view that he was too much of a gentlemen.81 Smuts was present at the conference that purged Auchinleck. The Tobruk surrender was a political embarrassment. That volunteers had become POWs

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strengthened the hand of the Republicans. Because of Smuts, most senior South African officers did not take part in strategic (or grand) decision-making. Smuts did most of the talking, seconded by the Chief of General Staff (SAAF) General Pierre van Ryneveld. Senior officers usually operated on a more tactical level, where linkage between political goals and military effort is less pronounced. Their leadership was marked by shrewd and tactically ingenious operations that earned them the admiration of subordinates.82 A sizeable portion of the South African volunteers spent most of their wartime service in POW camps.83 In general, recall of this experience should be approached with caution. Since regulations forbade the keeping of diaries, recollection usually takes place long after the events. Diaries are often written under intense personal duress. POWs do not - nor do they want to — record events accurately.84 South Africans' POW experiences were coloured by the fact that the men had volunteered. The fact that they had to live in camps, mostly under Italian and then German Army supervision, did not harm professionalism.85 South Africans' experience, of course, reflected the physical conditions of fighting. In the desert one did not have to struggle against nature, as the men in German East Africa had to do in World War I. At times the worst personal discomfort in North Africa was the disgustingly ubiquitous flies. Their sole virtue was not carrying malaria. Yet the desert did not provide limitless tactical opportunities. In RommePs tactics with the Panzer Mark IV, infantrymen could see the merits of striking quickly with armour. British tanks could not match their firepower. The Americans had to supply them with new Shermans, which arrived in North Africa via the route round the Cape. But armour could not do everything. In the Italian campaign, where mobility was impeded, its limitations were apparent. The biggest challenge to the UDF's professionalism during the war was at home. The Smuts government never provoked dissent by calling up ACF units for local duty (in order to replace the volunteers). South Africa's Third Division, commanded by Major-General Manie Maritz, was stationed at home. In this matter DMI's contribution was substantial. Reports spoke of pulsating Republican hostility in the ACF and Rifle Associations. Most rural units were affected. DMI thought the threat so serious it recommended the disbanding of the ACF and Rifle Associations.86 But this alone would not have saved the UDF from disobedience to command. Career officers refused to take the Red and Blue Oaths. Tabs and markings on uniforms transmitted political information. The choice of many non-volunteers was resignation from the force. Here the composition of the UDF may well have saved it from disintegrative pressures. The UDF's wartime composition, according to one reliable calculation, was almost 70 per cent Afrikaans-speaking.87 Men in uniform encountered social hostility from Republicans and many Afrikaansspeakers too, emanating from factors discussed above.88 Non-volunteers remaining in the UDF suffered too. Many thought it best to make a clean break with the organization. Their leaving saved the UDF from cliques and plotters.

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The South African Police The demand for policemen to serve as soldiers drained the SAP. Annual intakes and training courses were reduced to a minimum. Policing duties were allocated to part-timers, including special constables and the police reserve (known as the National Voluntary Brigade). The only branch not affected by the war was Detective Branch. Its members were not allowed to volunteer for service outside South Africa (including the Mandate).89 They had enough to do at home. After Germany's surrender (May 1945) 23,391 men volunteered for the fight against Japan, but the pressure on policemen lifted. Since the actual strength of the SAP was well below establishment figures, the Commissioner announced a three-year development programme in mid 1945. In 1946 and 1947 Parliament authorised increases of 868 and 2,682, respectively. The latter figure included 901 men in the category 'other than white'. This numerical expansion was accompanied by salary increases, promotional reforms, lowering of the recruitment age from 19 to 17, and construction of almost 400 police stations.90 In July 1945 Commissioner De Villiers retired after 17 years as head of the SAP. He was succeeded by Major-General R. J. Palmer, fresh from active military service. The war stimulated modernization of equipment. Because mobile stations were temporarily used, radio links were necessary, and when mobile stations were discontinued, they were replaced by patrolling vehicles. Fingerprinting capacities expanded under the auspices of the Criminal Bureau. The SAP also helped the state to advance its monopolization of the means of force. In June 1940 the state called in all rifles and ammunition. Firearms under licence during that year numbered 93,798 By 6 September 88,086 had been handed in.91

Inheritance 6: Money The war produced an unprecedented economic boom, directed by the state through a series of regulations under the Declaration of a State of Emergency on 14 September 1940. Rationing was one such method, but it started to affect critical items - petrol, paper and tyres - only in 1942. The Director of the Office of War Supplies, Dr H. J. van der Bijl, was granted ministerial powers to coordinate and organize industrial production. Van Der Bijl was head of the electricity corporation ESCOM and, before that, head of the Iron and Steel Industrial Corporation (ISCOR). As the country's leading industrialist, Van der Bijl knew that although agriculture and developing manufacturing took an increasing share of national production, the strength of the economy lay in mining. Gold was still the mainstay of the state's revenue, but South Africa had left the gold standard in 1933. It led to the devaluation of various currencies and a 100 per cent rise in the price of gold fixed after 1935 at US$ 36 per ounce. South Africa took advantage of the new price by increasing production, and used the capital that became

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available for mining investments (nearly n o million sterling up to 1942).92 The fixing of the gold standard also allowed for considerable stability in economic planning. Yet mineral proceeds only partly explain the performance of the economy in the 1930s when, by general consensus, it reached conditions of selfsustaining growth. Economic growth in the 1930s emanated mainly from the state's policy of economic diversification in the 1920s, coupled with the need to provide employment for as many Whites as possible (the Civilized Labour Policy) and the view that Afrikaans businesses needed stimulation. The Fusion Government of 1933 maintained economic diversification against new pressures such as the Great Depression (starting in 1929) and drought.93 By 1939 the sustained interventionist and protectionist character of economic policies produced significant changes in production. Capital investments in manufacturing, for example, grew from R 48 million in 1920 to R 80 million in 1930. During the first year of the war it stood at R 152 million. Between 1940 and 1950 investment in manufacturing skyrocketed to R 823 million. Mining investments amounted to R 138 million in 1920. They grew, too, but at a much slower pace to R 293 million in 1950.94 The war had clearly accelerated the development of manufacturing. One of the main beneficiaries here was the textile industry, boosted by military demand for blankets, boots, clothing and tents. South Africa's mineral production during the war is a curious affair. Platinum became a high-priority item, but its production, after an initial upswing, slowed down towards the end of the war. Diamonds also increased their industrial value but here the Allies found themselves in a struggle with the Anglo-American network, which haggled over prices and refused to open new mines. A range of base minerals thus joined the list of valuable items. Coal was of particular importance. South African mines increased their production from 14.6 million tons in 1935 to 25 million tons in 1945. Although it was essential to the Allied war effort, and often shipped directly to the USA, the Allies thought South Africa was fixated on gold. The war required minerals other than gold, and in 1942 the Americans sent a special mission to Johannesburg to convince the Smuts Government of this strategic fact.95 Production of gold and other minerals was not maximized during the war. It peaked in 1941, and thereafter levelled off. One reason was that mines' supporting industries were diverted to munitions production. Machine shops, for example, were producing spare parts. Indeed, mine facilities' attentions were split between producing minerals and producing armour plate and gun and tool steel products (munitions casings and structural projects like aircraft hangars and floating bridges). Indeed, the rapid build-up of the steel industry was mainly a product of World War II.96 Engineering facilities did exist before the war, but the demand — or creation of a market — made a switch to mass production possible. The Allies' military needs were taken up by mines and supported by industry.

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Howitzers and anti-tank guns (2-, 6- and 25-pounders) were produced locally, as were bombs up to an explosive level of 1,000 pounds, small arms and ammunition, and spare parts for aircraft. AE&CI (African Explosives and Chemicals Industries), ISCOR (Iron and Steel Corporation) and the workshops of the SAR&H (South African Railways and Harbours) were mainly responsible for armoured car production.97 For our purposes, military production can be summarized as follows.98 In the first instance, much of the production concentrated on explosives. This is not surprising. The deep level of gold mining in South Africa requires appropriate explosive technology and the skills that go with it. Not for nothing had the old Transvaal Republic controlled the biggest dynamite concession in the world. Now factories simply turned their production to war. South African chemists had kept pace with technological development around the world. Second, skills and equipment for production in other areas often started with imported machinery. Machines to make casings for shells came from Britain and the USA. One of the major advances for the South Africans was the first locally made rifling machine. It suggested that local military technology would be able to produce artillery equipment in the future. The Office of War Supplies, through a Central Organization for Technical Training, provided a training programme for machinists. The most skilled artisans were diverted to precision instruments. Third, the most serious weakness in the process was the absence of a local automobile industry. An array of vehicles left factories: ambulances, laboratories, staff cars and water trailers. Factories could assemble them quickly by modern techniques. By 1943, 4,500 armoured cars had been produced. They could even make the tyres to fit on these vehicles, but they could never produce vehicles from scratch - that is, produce chassis. These had to be imported from Canada and the USA. Fourth, the South Africans' ability to repair broken or damaged goods was outstanding. In the first four years of the war, more than 6,500 ships came to port for repairs. Dockyards could repair and refit more than 260 ships per month, with equipment brought from inland factories and foundries. The heavier the equipment, it seemed, the better the chance of repairing it. Aircraft were not so lucky. Since South Africa, along with other colonies/dominions, participated in the Imperial Air Training Scheme, aircraft were used. Their repair was problematic. Eventually air screws, for example, were constructed from timber. The war stimulated urbanization and peasants' entry into wage labour (proletarianization). The process of proletarianization, of course, extended back into the nineteenth century, when the expansion of the peasantry was halted by gold mining's labour needs.99 During the 1920s, the growth and national control of non-mining industry and manufacturing accelerated the entry of rural people into wage labour in cities. Miners, for example, were no longer Afrikaans speakers from rural areas. Because of the increasing depth at which gold was mined, a core contingent of miners had always come from Mozambique on contract and for the most dangerous work. But the workers beside them were black.

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World War II further accelerated the urbanization and proletarianization of rural people. The number of Africans (by the state's classification meaning noncoloured and non-white) employed in manufacturing rose from 151,889 before the war to 369,055 in 1949/50. Employment in private industry during roughly the same period increased by 111 per cent in the Southern Transvaal, 190 per cent around Durban, and more than 240 per cent in the Cape. The Eastern Cape, site of the country's rudimentary automobile industry, witnessed the highest increase (of 287 per cent). Recording of Africans' urbanization increased from 18.9 per cent in 1936 to 27.1 per cent in 1951. It was a mass migration.100 Growth and the relative comfort of South African living conditions during the war were thus made possible only in part by technological facilities and state ingenuity. It was based squarely on low wages. But the big winner was the state, particularly regarding its balance of payments. In the sterling zone South African gold reserves increased to 150 million by 1946. The overseas debt was reduced by 70 million (sterling).101 The wartime boom was accompanied by a loss of economic power by South Africa's main trading partner, Britain. About 50 per cent of Britain's overseas assets - 1,500 million sterling - was gone. Gold and dollar reserves stood at a measly 500 million sterling. South Africa was slipping away from its financial patron.102 The postwar spin-off effects of technological modernization, imported equipment and skills were coupled with broader changes in patterns of production. Industries could produce on a mass basis. New manufacturing had been stimulated - indeed, manufacturing grew at a much faster pace than minerals. The size of the wage-labour workforce increased, as did urbanization. And the state, taking financial advantage of it all, was able to face competitors in a much stronger position. None of this would surprise those who study the impact of wars on state and society.103 The economists' consensus, however, is that this development hinged on prewar development. Prewar state intervention and policies of white socioeconomic improvement had created a degree of economic diversification before 1939. The war simply accelerated or deepened these processes. With more money, none the less, the state could do much, much more than Hertzog and Smuts had ever thought possible: employ more people, spend more money, be more than a Whites-only welfare state. It could make politicians' dreams come true. Inheritance 7: The Cold War Before June 1941 Western powers treated the Soviet Union as a pariah. This behaviour was a major cause of World War II, primarily by producing the Stalin— Ribbentrop Pact of August 1939. By pledging mutual non-aggression, the Pact relieved Germany of its old fear of a two-front war. The Soviet Union indeed entered the war on the German side. Germany's invasion in June 1941 forced the Soviet Union on to the Allied side. The Soviet Union then paid a fearsome

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cost for its initial collaboration with Hitler, being the only European military front between Dunkirk (May 1940) and the Normandy invasion (June 1944). During the last year of the war in Europe, Allied principals thought it fitting to reward the Soviet Union for its contribution by recognizing zones of interest. The immediate aftermath of the war prompted civil disputes and - in Greece for example - civil wars. Many of these derived from resistance politics between 1939 and 1945, in which Communist parties had played a prominent role. In these conflicts and its newly acquired zones of interest, the Soviet Union acted in a proprietorial manner. Obviously, the truce in Europe did not herald a time of general peacefulness. It was an armed truce.104 But the war was not over with the German surrender in May 1945. In the Pacific, Japan was not on the point of surrender; the battle for Okinawa, started in March 1945, was far from its conclusion. To invade Japan and the Malay peninsula, the Allies calculated, would take the same number of divisions (six) as Normandy, and would most probably result in a million casualties.105 The Soviet Union had entered the Pacific theatre in 1945. Its Army invaded the Korean peninsula and installed Kim II Sung in power. Yet the Soviet Union would not declare war on Japan. Finally, two days after Hiroshima, Stalin did so, and invaded Manchuria on 9 August, repeating the Japanese invasion many said was the real start of World War II. Japan surrendered on 14 August. Interpretation of Soviet behaviour was up to the Americans. Among the Allies, the USA was the dominant military power. Since President Truman had little experience in foreign affairs, he naturally turned to advisers. Enormously influential among them was a group of six men, including George Kennan. Educated by professors who specialized in Tsarist politics, Kennan entered the State Department as a career officer. From the early 1930s, his reports from Riga later known as the Riga Principles - stressed traditional aristocratic interests as the root of Soviet politics. The Tsars were geopolitically aggressive. In addition to providing a new rationalization for these interests, Communist ideology was fundamentally incompatible with Americans' ways. If a cordon were not placed around the Soviet Union, Americans would eventually surrender to Communism. This, Kennan wrote in 1931, was his 'one firm and complete conviction'.106 In 1945 the Soviet Union did not have the naval capacity to act out Kennan's vision of its ambitions. Global capacities were militarily limited by what could be carried across the high seas. More than a decade later, during the Cuban missile crisis of 1962, it was still unable to match American naval power. The Soviet Union's nuclear capacities were developing but here, too, fear of mutual destruction inhibited attempts to internationalize Communist goals. The most useful global capacity was a Leninist creature, the Communist political party. Such parties either freely associated themselves with the Soviet Union, or the latter could inspire and support Communists in various countries. But Kennan was not the world's authority on the Soviet Union. This position belonged to Churchill, courtesy of Chamberlain and Hitler.

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The dominant strategic lesson adopted by the Allies after the war was that appeasement was counterproductive in encounters with aggressive countries. Containment was the opposite of appeasement. Churchill was soon rejected by British voters; in 1946 he was again in the political wilderness. It was not Churchill's first experience of this. He had been held responsible for the failed Dardanelles invasion in World War I. Churchill promoted the campaign to save a Russian aristocracy threatened by the failures of its army against the Germans. The arrival of Allies (mainly Australian troops) from the Mediterranean would buttress the Tsar. It failed and Churchill entered active service. Before 1914, he had risen in British politics largely on the tide of publicity surrounding his experiences in the Second Boer War. His self-dramatizing tendencies saturated this war - and, indeed, colonial military life generally - with glory and magnificence.107 Truman said that Churchill did not speak for America when he made his Iron Curtain Address in Missouri in early 1946. But Kennan, American charge d'affaires in Moscow, and the State Department thought Truman a novice in foreign policy. Churchill's ideas were right on target.108 A veteran of the Second Anglo-Boer War was the hallowed fount of strategic wisdom. Not only Churchill but Britain itself, having defied Hitler alone in 1940, had acquired moral authority in world affairs. The Cold War had been defined in political terms. One of its most salient consequences was immediately evident: the idea of political Opposition could not be what it used to be. Before 1945, Soviet and/or Communist influence abroad was thought to express itself mainly via labour organizations and relations, often through voluntary association. Intellectuals took the opium as well but, as is well known, they mount the barricades only once. Should the Soviet Union's capacities and geopolitical ambitions be made available to opposition groups and parties, however, opponents would be both more powerful and less loyal. Opponents, of course, would not confess to Communist patronage; one had to wring concealed but real goals out of them. In other words, the Cold War directly attacked liberals' ideas about political Opposition. Previously it was accepted as loyal and not seditious - for this reason opponents openly plied their trade - and valued because it was good for the state to be divided against itself. With the Soviet Union around after the war, the Opposition could not be trusted so easily. In South Africa, the idea of a political Opposition had to be fought over more than once. In 1945 the Republicans had just finished another fight with the OB about the very legitimacy of the idea. Almost within weeks of the fight's conclusion, the idea of Opposition was changed by the most powerful liberal countries of the time. Americans later experienced the impact of these changed ideas in illiberal practices broadly described as McCarthyism. Less liberal countries also felt it. The Cold War was internationalist by definition, and any country could fall to Communism. Every non-Communist had to keep a close eye on all Communists - indeed, everybody hiding under the blanket of Opposition.

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It did not matter that South Africa had diplomatic relations with and accepted the diplomats of the Soviet Union. It also made no difference that a member of the Communist Party stood for Parliament and was elected. The suspicion of subversion and impending treason was too strong. The Cold War was combining with older indigenous suspicions about the South African Communist Party (SACP) dating back to the early days of Union. Inheritance 8: The Native Uprising In 1941 the SAP reacted to nine fights in rural Natal. In 1942 miners on the East Rand were involved in several riots. As a result, the Smuts Government prohibited strikes by black workers under War Measure 145 of 1942. In December 1942 municipal workers and the City Council of Pretoria, who had reneged on certain promises, were engaged in violent confrontation. In the Pretoria encounter the SAP, armed only with batons but with three UDF armoured cars, found to their surprise that a contingent of the UDF had arrived. The soldiers shot into the crowd, killing 16 and wounding 54. During 1943 and 1944 the number of confrontations increased. The SAP describes these years as 'chaotic and marked by virtually incessant unrest, tribal fights and riots throughout the length and breadth of the Union'109 Given their contribution to the war, one could argue that the SAP's problems resulted from depleted manpower, but the ending of the war did not improve matters. In August 1946, a general strike was declared, affecting about 61,000 mineworkers on the Witwatersrand. It was not the strike itself that mattered, however, but the fact that miners left compounds on the East Rand for a march to central Johannesburg. Police were issued with firearms to stop them. Reinforcements from rural areas arrived, forming a force of 26 officers and 1,600 men. The ensuing violence was limited and the strike, while it stopped or disrupted operation at 18 mines, did not spread to other workplaces. In his 1946 report the SAP's Commissioner concluded that the strike had been inspired by Communist propaganda.110 During the war, and because of the Soviet Union's switch to the Allies in 1941, the South African Communist Party (SACP) was allowed to organize and recruit members just like other political parties. The SACP supported the August 1946 strike through a resolution of its Johannesburg branch, and distributed pamphlets backing the miners. A post-strike investigation led to the arrest of 46 people, among them eleven members of the Johannesburg branch of the SACP. Later a general investigation of SACP premises led to the arrest of eleven of the SACP's executive, this time on a charge of sedition. Although it did not create them, the war deepened most conflicts within organizations of the disenfranchised. The African National Congress (ANC), for example, contained members, particularly in the Orlando section, who grew tired of the leadership's ways and means. Most of the influential Orlando members

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went into the ANC's Youth League, founded in the penultimate year of the war.111 New ideas and impatience with ANC leaders, however, could not fail to be influenced by the SACP during its brief wartime respectability,112 but in 1946 the state's brief tolerance of the SACP expired. The SACP did not revert to being a seditious organization only; now it was acting in cahoots with the Soviet Union's global intrigues. The SACP explanation could be stretched a long way. In May 1947 violence initially connected with grievances about a beer hall erupted in Langa (near Cape Town). During one public meeting, Sam Kahn delivered the address. Kahn was the first SACP Member of Parliament, taking one of the seats reserved for the disenfranchised in 1948. As Kahn moved about, the state tracked him so that magistrates could prevent him from addressing further meetings under the Riotous Assemblies Act. The pursuit exhausted them. In the end they simply banned Kahn from attending any meetings on the Witwatersrand for a year.113 The state's struggle to come to grips with Sam Kahn had a major impact on the SAP. Detective Branch faithfully attended SACP's meetings after the Party's creation in 1921. But Kahn outwitted detectives more than once. In 1947 the Commissioner decided to upgrade the practice of spying on individuals. He had available the Special Staff, created in 1939 to hunt Nazis in South West Africa, directed by an Aliens Registration Officer. Special Staff was changed into Special Branch. It would operate on par with the two other Branches of the SAP Detective and Uniform - and focus on political crimes. The Commissioner's actions was not eagerly received by senior policemen. Their reasons remain obscure; none the less, Major H. J. du Plooy, the appointed head of Special Branch, reported at the end of 1947 that the operation was up and running. In the following year, under the pretext of a general tour, the Branch's officers received training in how to counter political subversion in Britain.114 But surveillance was useless if it did not lead to punishment. Against Kahn and others the state used its legal weaponry, yet with poor results. In 1947, after a nine-month trial on charges of sedition, the state withdrew its case against the SACP's executive, arrested after the miners' strike. Another legal problem was being produced by passive resistance. This kind of action fell outside the Riotous Assemblies Act's ambit. In Natal during 1948, Indians in a march fortunately crossed a provincial border. They were prosecuted under the Immigration Regulation Act of 1913. Worst of all, the disenfranchised were taking their case abroad. In 1946, representatives from the ANC, Natal Indian Congress and SACP went to the United Nations to present the disenfranchised's case. Smuts had written the lofty egalitarian preamble to its Charter. The three representatives returned with nothing except greater state suspicion. In the 1948 election Sam Kahn was returned to Parliament: the majority of seats was won by the National Party. In the Republicans' victory the state's oldest and most serious security fear — of a Republican Uprising — left the scene for good. The Native Uprising was number one.

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Eight Inheritances: A Summary The NP that assumed command of the state in 1948 viewed the security agencies in very negative light. Republicanism had been betrayed in a particularly insulting manner by soldiers' volunteering to pay the highest sacrifice for Empire. Republicans had been persecuted by them on the pretext of Allied security. And the NP, having opposed (and, at cost, bested) rival organizations on the grounds that it was a political party, thought soldiers had cheated them out of a probable electoral victory. Whatever the NP had in mind for the future, it was unlikely to assign a prominent role to the security agencies. Among the security agencies, the SAP had lived through a torrid time. Its numbers were depleted and their obedience to political command was questioned by discovery of a plot for a Republican coup d'etat. As World War I tested the UDF, World War II took the SAP through the eye of a political needle. SAP successes were in foreign territory, in South West Africa and with the Police Brigade. At home they were saved by Republicans' in-fighting and inability to keep their mouths shut. The Third Boer War went underground, but leaders and followers could not agree on where to go and what to do. Except for the Broederbond, the Republican underground was marginalized and then destroyed. The UDF came through the war intact and, indeed, with its professional reputation elevated. Internal disputes did occur, but the disaffected left the organization, primarily on account of their uniform's unpopularity in Republican social circles. Under pressure volunteer soldiers did very well, probably because they were volunteers. Even experience as POWs made a contribution. They were led by men with tactical shrewdness and acting in solidarity with subordinates. As a whole, their task was to make things work. Fortunately the South Africans served in theatres marked by professional behaviour on all sides. About their work on land, on sea and in the air, the soldiers also learnt a considerable amount. The face of battle was being revolutionized. Airpower, for example, was linking up with naval vehicles, to decisive effect. Around the Cape few naval engagements were fought. The ships that arrived from far and wide sought repair there precisely because the Cape was out of harm's way, and good engineering facilities were offered. As a general supplier, South Africa made a substantial contribution to the Allied war effort. Its production reflected both strengths and weaknesses in the economy and prevailing technology. Mining and its allied industries were centrepieces of production and profit. Yet the use of state power for the socioeconomic benefit of whites had sufficiently diversified the economy by 1939 for producers and the state to take full advantage of the markets and technology transfers the war created. Even so, the war exposed holes in local production. Aerodynamic work was nearly impossible, and the automobile industry could not produce a chassis for heavy military vehicles. With their mining background, South Africans did much better with explosives, and developed a local ability to manufacture

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rifle barrels. If they wanted to build a military industry of their own, their talents, it seemed, lay with artillery. Because of economic growth, a mass migration of disenfranchised people was under way. By the end of the war open confrontations were, from the state's point of view, difficult to contain. Militaristic ways of dealing with the disenfranchised were strained to the limit. The disenfranchised had also acquired leaders who were difficult to silence. Covert methods - informing, spying and manipulation - seemed the best option. These capacities had expanded during the war, starting with a hunt for Nazis. Both the SAP and UDF used it extensively. Nothing could save a person from surveillance and its consequences, not even being elected to Parliament. Help would not come from abroad. Liberal countries themselves persecuted political opponents at home. The state that emerged after World War II was in the most financially secure position in its history. Its monopolization of force was near-complete, with newly expanded surveillance capacities. Republicans acquiring control of this state had dreams - and many scores to settle. Notes 1. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-19$$ (Silverton: Promedia Publications, 1988), pp. 76-7. 2. Ibid., pp. 47-50, 65, 96-8. 3. South Africa, Interim and Final Reports of the Commission of Inquiry appointed by His Excellency the Governer-General to Inquire into certain matters concerning the South African Police and the South African Railways and Harbours Police (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1937), pp.

16-19, 22-32, 79-84. Training curricula and examination papers can be found on pp. 113-174. Saul Dubow, Racial Segregation and the Origins of Apartheid in South Africa, 1919-36 (Oxford: Macmillan, 1989), p. 17. 5. The Secretary of Justice as quoted in Martin J. Murray, "'The Natives Are Always Stealing": White Vigilantes and the "Reign of Terror" in the Orange Free State, 19181924', Journal of African Historyr, vol. 30, no. 1 (1989), p. 120. 6. Ibid., pp. 108—15. 7. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913—1988, pp.

87-141. • 8. The District Commandant of Boshoff in 1921 and communication from the Iindley District to the Minister for Justice, as quoted in Martin J. Murray, "The Natives Are Always Stealing": White Vigilantes and the "Reign of Terror" in the Orange Free State, 19181924', pp. 118, 120. 9. For a comprehensive discussion of the ICU, see Helen Bradford, A Taste of Freedom: The ICU in Rural South Africa, 1924-1930 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987). 1 o. South Africa, Interim and Final Reports of the Commission of Inquiry appointed by His Excellency the Governer-General to Inquire into certain matters concerning the South African Police and the South African Railways and Harbours Police, p. 79. 11. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 43-412. South Africa, Interim and Final Reports of the Commission of Inquiry appointed by His

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Excellency the Governor-General to Inquire into certain matters concerning the South African Police an the South African Railways and Harbours Police, pp. 69—70, 76—7. 13. South Africa, Interim and Final Reports of the Commission of Inquiry appointed by His Excellency the Governor-General to Inquire into certain matters concerning the South African Police an the South African Railways and Harbours Police, p. 74. 14. Ibid., p. 75. 15. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913—1988, pp. 11-141. 16. South Africa, Interim and Final Reports of the Commission of Inquiry appointed by His Excellency the Governer-General to Inquire into certain matters concerning the South African Police an the South African Railways and Harbours Police, pp. 19-22, 49, 51, 62-3. 17. Ibid., pp. 21-2, 86. 18. See Russel Ally, Gold and Empire: The Bank of England and South Africa's Gold, 18861926 (Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1994). 19. As well as reorganization of the Department (or Ministry) of Defence into five sections (Secretariat, General Staff, Adjutant-General's Office, Quartermaster-General, and Medical Services). See South Africa, Third Report of the Public Service Commission of Inquiry to Inquire into Matters Concerning the Union Public Service (Cape Town: Government Printer,

20. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, unpublished D.Phil, thesis (University of Pretoria, 1985), pp. 222-42. 21. The Chief of General Staff, an Adjutant-General, a Quartermaster-General, Director of Medical Service, Director of Air Service, an Inspector-General, and a Director of Veterinary Service. 22. Christiaan L. Grimbeek, Die Totstandkoming van die Unieverdedigingsmag, met Spesifieke Verwysing na die Verdedigingswette van 1912 en 1922, pp. 242-64, 324. 23. South Africa, Report of the Defence Commission of Inquiry (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1925), p. 1. 24. South Africa, Report of the Defence Commission of Inquiry (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1925), pp. 2-17. 25. South Africa, Interim and Final Reports of the Commission of Inquiry appointed by His Excellency the Governor-General to Inquire into certain matters concerning the South African Police and the South African Railways and Harbours Police (Cape Town: Government Printer, 1937), pp. 13-H, 75-7, n o . 26. Ibid. 27. See Dian Joubert, Oorlogsverklaring 1939 (Cape Town: Tafelberg, 1972). 28. General Kemp compiled a list of Afrikaans speakers who voted with Smuts, describing them as *aan Engelandgeestelik-verslaafde, ontstamde Afrikaners' (detribalized Afrikaners spiritually enslaved to England). General J. C. Kemp, Die Pad van die Veroweraar Second Edition (Cape Town: Nasionale Pers, 1946), pp. 452—3. 29. Harry Saker, The South African Flag Controversy 192j-1928 (Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 1980), especially pp. 246-61. 30. Dan O'Meara, Volkskapitalisme: Class, Capital and Ideology in the Development of Afrikaner Nationalism 1934-1948 (Johannesburg: Ravan, 1983), p. 124; Newell Stultz, Afrikaner Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), pp. 58-9. 31. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1940), Col. 1507. 32. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1942), Cols 751-5. 33. E D . Tothill, The 1943 General Election, unpublished MA thesis, (University of South Africa, 1987), pp. 335-47-

THE STATE OF U N I O N

8l

34. Ibid., pp. 225-6, 275. 3 5. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1941), Cols 705 5-6; South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1943), Cols 5724-5; 5773-436. F. D. To thill, The 1943 General Election', pp. 319—31. 37. Ibid., pp. 376-95. 38. The survey and percentages are in E. G. Malherbe, Never A Dull Moment (Cape Town: Timmins Publishers, 1981), pp. 249-53. 39. J. L. Granatstein and J. M. Hitsman, Broken Promises: A History of Conscription in Canada (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1977), pp. 133-40. 40. See James M. McPherson, Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988); Ordeal by Fire: The Civil War and Reconstruction (New York: Knopf, 1982); and War and Politics* in Geoffrey C. Ward (ed.), The Civil War (New York: Knopf, 1990), pp. 350-3. See also Shelby Foote, The Civil War: A Narrative (New York: Random House, 1958, 1963 and 1974); Allan Nevins, The War for Union (New York: Scribner), vol. 3 (1959), vol. 4 (1971). 41. The oaths are in Harry Klein (ed.), Springbok Record (Johannesburg: The South African Legion of the British Empire Service League, 1946), p. 2. See also South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1943), Col. 505. 42. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913—1988, pp. 144—5. 43. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1940), Col. 203. 44. South Africa, Report of the Commission Appointed to Enquire into the Riots which Took Place in Johannesburg on the 31st January, 1941 and 1st February, 1941 (Cape Town: Cape Times Ltd, 1941). 45. Brigadier F. W. Cooper, The Police Brigade (Cape Town: Constantia Publishers, 1972), pp. 12-117. 46. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, p. 172. 47. Ibid., p. 175. 48. The official view of the attempted coup is that it represents an all-time low in the history of the SAP. Ibid., p. 178. 49. L. M. Fourie, Die Ossewa-Brandwag en die SuidAfrikaanse Politiek (Potchefstroom: The University of Potchefstroom, 1987), vol. 6, p. 34. 50. P. W. Botha wrote the plan. Ibid., pp. 16-18, 34-42. 51. F. D. To thill, The 1943 General Election, p. 85. 52. For Military Intelligence, the acronym DMI will be used. 53. F. D. To thill, The 1943 General Election, pp. 101-2. 54. Because the Service was supposed to counter pro-Nazi broadcasts by Radio Zeesen. E. G. Malherbe, Never A Dull Moment, pp. 238-9. 5 5. Michael Roberts and A. E. G. Trollip, The South African Opposition, 1939-194J (Cape Town: Longmans, 1947). 56. Union of South Africa, Army Education Handbook, issued by the General Staff, Defence Headquarters, Pretoria, 1943 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1944), Preface and pp. 137-51. 57. DMI reports of 31 May and 15 June 1941; 18 February 1942; 24 April 1940. F. D. Tothill, The 1943 General Election, pp. 93, 102, 152-3. 58. DMI reports of 15 September, 10 October, 1 November and 15 December 1941; and 18 February, 11 March, 24 April and 15 September 1942. Ibid., pp. 143-4, 154, 178-80. 59. DMI report of 9 September 1942. Ibid., pp. 200-1. 60. DMI reports of 18 February, 1 October and 11 December 1942. Ibid., p. 175.

82

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

61. E. G. Malherbe, Never A Dull Moment, pp. 240—41. The Cairo office (and Theron) later moved to Italy with the 6th Armoured. 62. Ibid., pp. 238-9. 63. The reports can be found in the United Party Archives. Esselen's reasons for leaving the United Party remain ambiguous. He died before the end of the war, in March 1945. F. D. To thill, The 1943 General Election, pp. 12-14. 64. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1940), Cols 1127, 2907. 65. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1946), Col. 1982. 66. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1942), Cols 278-9. 67. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1940), Col. 1122. 68. H. O. Terblanche, fohn Vbrster- OB Generaal en Afrikanervegter (Roodepoort: CumBoeke, 1983), p. 75. 69. F. D. To thill, The 1943 General Election, p. 104. 70. See J. L. Granatstein and J. M. Hitsman, Broken Promises: A History of Conscription

in Canada, pp. 13 3-244; John Keegan, Six Armies in Normandy (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1982), pp. 115-42. 71. See David Day, The Great Betrayal (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1992). 72. F. D. Tothill, The 1943 General Election, p. 86. 73. Deon F. S. Fourie, Volunteers From South Africa Who Have Served In Two World Wars and Korea (Pretoria: University of South Africa, 1984). 74. Indicated in a report submitted to President Roosevelt. F. D. Tothill, The 1943 General Election, p. 86. 75. John Keegan, The Price of Admiralty (London: Hutchinson, 1988), pp. 157-275. 76. For a review, see John Allen Williams, 'The US and Soviet Navies: Missions and Forces*, Armed Forces and Society, vol. 10, no. 4 (Summer 1984), pp. 507-28. 77. See Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State (New York: Vintage, 1964), pp. 7-97; Morris Janowitz, The Professional Soldier (New York: Random House, i960), pp. 3-37; Charles C. Moskos, 'Institutional and Occupational Trends in Armed Forces' in Charles C. Moskos and Frank R. Wood (eds), The Military: More Than fust A fob? (Washington, DC: Pergamon-Brassey's, 1988), pp. 15-26. 78. Eventually commanded by General Evered Poole, the 6th Armoured Division arrived in Italy in mid 1944 as part of the Allied 5 th Army of General Mark Clark. 79. The East African campaign lasted from July 1940 to July 1941, and focused mainly on Ethiopia. Madagascar was occupied in 1942 to deny the Japanese a possible base in the Indian Ocean. The Syrian war is often regarded as part of the African theatre, but because it involved no South African troops, it is excluded from consideration here. 80. C. J. Jacobs and G. Pool, 'Die Rol van die Eerste Suid-Afrikaanse Infanterie-Divisie tydens die Eerste Slag van El Alamein, 1-30 Julie*, Historia, vol. 36, no. 2 (1991), pp. 3I~5481. John Keegan, The Second World War (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1989), p. 335. 82. See Neil Orpen, East African and Abyssinian Campaigns (Cape Town: Purnell, 1968) and War in the Desert (Cape Town: Purnell, 1971). Major-General Dan Pienaar (1893-1942), commanding the 1st South African Brigade in East and North Africa, had a particularly high standing among his men. Pienaar started his career as a mounted policeman. See A. M. Pollock, Pienaar of Alamein (Cape Town: The Cape Times Limited, 1943); Eric Rosenthal, General Dan Pienaar, His Life and His Battles (Johannesburg: Afrikaanse Pers, 1943). His successor, General George Brink, was also popular among subordinates. See Care! Birkby,

T H E STATE OF U N I O N

83

Uncle George (Johannesburg: Jonathan Ball, 1987). 83. The total number of POWs was 14,583, including 615 men from the Cape Corps, 1,65 5 from the Native Military Corps, and about 1,000 policemen. See J. E. Loraine-Grews, 'Union Defence Forces: Statistics of the Wounded and Prisoners of War during the Second World War', Militaria 15/1 (1985), p. 62. 84. See Joe Dunn, T h e POW Chronicles: A Bibliographical Review', Armed Forces and Society^ vol. 9, no. 3 (Spring 1983), pp. 495—514. 85. See, for example, C. F. Aquadro, 'A POW Story', Militaria 19/3 (1989), pp. 1—10; Laurie Du Preez, Inside the Cage (Cape Town: Struik, 1973). 86. Patrick J. Furlong, Between Crown and Swastika (Johannesburg: University of the Witwatersrand Press, 1991), pp. 149-50. 87. The source is Colonel G. Duxbury of the SA War Museum, as cited in Richard Dale, Defense Legislation and Communal Politics: the Evolution of a White South African Nation as Reflected in the Controversy Over the Assignment of Armed Forces Abroad, 1912-1976 (Ohio University: Center for International Studies, Africa Series No. 33, 1978), pp. 31-2. 88. One of these, R. C. Hiemstra, later rejoined and became Chief of the Army. Richard Dale, Defense Legislation and Communal Politics: the Evolution of a White South African Nation as Reflected in the Controversy Over the Assignment of Armed Forces Abroad, 1912-1976, pp. 89. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913—1988, pp. 178-9. 90. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1945). 91. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1940), Cols 927, 1246. 92. Raymond Dumett, 'Africa's Strategic Minerals During the Second World War', The Journal of African History, vol. 26, no. 4 (1985), p. 383. 93. Jill Nattrass, The South African Economy, Its Growth and Change (Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 1981), p. 26; R. Horwitz, The Political Economy of South Africa (New York: Praeger, 1967), p. 94; Hobart Houghton, The South African Economy (Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 1972), p. 16. 94. Alf Stadler, The Political Economy of Modern South Africa (Cape Town: David Philip, X 8

9 7)» p. 599 5. Raymond Dumett, 'Africa's Strategic Minerals During the Second World War', pp.

383-7. 96. Ibid., pp. 388-9. 97. See R. J. Bouch, 'The Railways and the War Effort, 1939-1945', Militaria (February 1975), pp. 66-75; Richard Cornwell, 'South African Armoured Car Production in World War IF, Militaria (March 1977), pp. 30-41. 98. The following is based on J vd B Breedt, 'Die Suid-Afrikaanse Oorlogsekonomie gedurende die Tweede Wereldoorlog', Militaria 13/1 (1983), pp. 46-66; and Militaria 13/2 (1983), pp. 1-18; H. J. Martin and Neil D. Orpen, South Africa at War: Military and Industrial Organisation and Operations in connection with the conduct of the War, 1939—194] (Cape Town: Purnell, 1979), pp. 134-338; South Africa (Director-General of War Supplies), Report on Organisation, Production and Principles of Purchase (Johannesburg: ESCOM/Government Printer, 1940); and South Africa, A Record of the Organisation of the Director-General of War Supplies (1939-1943) and the Director-General of Supplies (1943-194;) (Johannesburg: ESCOM/Government Printer, 1948); South Africa, Official Yearbook of the Union of South Africa (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1946), chapter 29; and South Africa, South Africa on Service (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1943). 99. See Colin Bundy, The Rise and Fall of the South African Peasantry (London: Heinemann, 1979), especially pp. 197-251.

84

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

i oo. Gail M. Gerhart, Black Power in South Africa: The Evolution of an Ideology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), pp. 45-7. 101. N. Franklin, 'South Africa's Balance of Payments and the Sterling Area, 1939— 1950', Economic Journal 1951, p. 291. 102. Ibid., p. 291. 103. Arthur A. Stein and Bruce M. Russett, 'Evaluating War: Outcomes and Consequences' in Ted Robert Gurr (ed.), Handbook of Political Conflict (New York: The Free Press, 1980), pp. 399-422. 104. See Hugh Thomas, Armed Truce: The Beginnings of the Cold War, 194J—1946 (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1986). 105. Paul Fussel, Thank God for the Atom Bomb (New York: Ballantine Books, 1988), pp. 1-22. 106. Walter Isaacson and Evan Thomas, The Wise Men: Six Friends and the World They Made (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1986), pp. 146-50. See also George F. Kennan, Memoirs (192j—19jo) (New York: Bantam Books, 1967). 107. See his My Early Life (London: Thornton Butterworth, 1930), Ian Hamilton's March (1900) and London to Ladysmith via Pretoria (London: Longmans, Green, 1900). 108. Martin Gilbert, Never Despair: Winston Churchill 1941-196; (London: Minerva, 1988), pp. 3-291. 109. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 184-7. 110. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1946). i n . The Youth League included Oliver Tambo, Nelson Mandela and Walter Sisulu. The leading and most controversial figure was Anton Lembede. 112. See Gail M. Gerhart, Black Power in South Africa: The Evolution of an Ideology, pp. 4 5 84; Edward Roux, Time Longer Than Rope (Madison: University of Milwaukee Press, 1966), pp. 402-14. 113. Ibid., pp. 378—9. 114. SAP Archival Document 1-4/1(22) as quoted in Marius De Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913—1988, p . 2 1 1 .

CHAPTER 3

THE STATE OF APARTHEID, 1948-61

This chapter is concerned with the security agencies' position in the state, beginning with the electoral victory of the National Party in 1948 and ending with South Africa's withdrawal from the Commonwealth in May 1961. The state's campaigns and methods are considered in the next chapter. The Republicans of 1948 had not forgotten World War II. They were also keen on changing racial policy. Our discussion begins with the latter. From White Supremacy to Racial Utopia For the majority of South Africans, Republicanism was not the main feature of Republican thought. It was their interpretation of racial inequality, rather than anti-(British) imperialism, that poked people in the eye. It could be conceded that Republicans did not create segregationist ideas and practices - some argued that it was the British Imperialists who did that.1 But in the early twentieth century, and although both believed in racial inequality, the Republicans' and Imperialists' beliefs bifurcated in emphasis and implication. Imperialists inclined towards a more benign, assimilationist paternalism, while the Republicans insisted on a strictly segregationist paternalism. Once, the big question for scholars was what caused the belief in segregation, especially the Republican view of it. Since Republicanism was dominated by Afrikaners,2 the trail naturally led to their history, beliefs and interests. One of the first explanations was that their religious faith was the culprit. Afrikanerdom's dominant faith was a fundamentalist Calvinism preaching a preordained distinction between elect and damned. The God who emerges is an Old Testament God, reluctant to believe in the human ability to show devotion through charity and free will. Afrikaners march through history seeing their Calvinist beliefs confirmed by the world around them. That they are the elect is revealed in their sheer survival against massive odds, as at the Battle of Blood River. Perhaps not quite damned, black people are preordained to be ruled by the elect. White Supremacy is God-given.3 85

86

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Afrikanerdom's beliefs came under further scrutiny in the 1970s. Some saw Calvinist beliefs as manipulated. The political elite and various cultural—ideological entrepreneurs manufactured abstractions for the supposed political benefit of Afrikanerdom. Discussion of race relations partly reflected divisions within Afrikanerdom. The Cape and Transvaal, for example, were rivals, the former following a more liberal line. Overall insistence on racial inequality was useful in keeping the group together and justifying political dominance over others.4 Ambitious people in the Cape, however, had to show extraordinary puritanism to win the support of politically dominant Northerners. Despite its piety and traditions, Afrikanerdom's ideas could not be intelligible unless they were acknowledged as rationalizations of power. But what kind of power? Many argued for a class interpretation, noting that Afrikanerdom did not incidentally gain so much material benefit from their ideas. After gaining from the discovery of gold, Afrikanerdom's economic power was pulverized during the Second Anglo-Boer War. In the aftermath they recovered by both naive and cynical pursuit of material interests. Here they were joined by the local English speakers, British capital, mining and mineral interests, and assorted liberals. Ideas of racial inequality were used to establish and perpetuate a dominant class. Cultural factors were irrelevant. Class was the cause, race the method of the dominant class.5 To the three explanations just mentioned, others can be added, but the simple point is that in recent years, explanations of white politics have been thoroughly materialist. Abstractions - non-materialist forces like culture and religion - are embellishments of baser, essentially rapacious dynamics. Therefore abstractions advance power rather constraining it. Scholars of the 1970s were undoubtedly influenced by the utilitarian behaviour of the state. Indeed, the state later became an explicit focus. Explanations of it followed former logic: the state was governed by interests in money and political allegiance.6 Although its potential autonomy was accepted, underlying class forces were the determinants. Ideological outpourings on behalf of its own legitimation were a cover for materialist interests.7 More recently, a study by A. Ashforth has shown that it was not only in the 1970s that the state sated its lust for power through abstractions. Those most closely involved in racial management, the Native Commissioners, amorally used discourse to gain power throughout the twentieth century.8 One problem with Ashforth's analysis is that he uses an analyst of modernity, Foucault, to address the discourse of feudalism that especially the Native Commissioners practised. Foucault is concerned with the state's manipulation and undermining of modernity's egalitarian claims. To my knowledge he is not known for his analysis of feudalism. For our purposes, however, the issue is the view of state power as free from restraint. Abstract notions about right and wrong in public life — that is, political morality — disappear. A method will not be rejected because it offends moral

THE STATE OF APARTHEID

87

sensibilities, as abstractions are more vehicles of powerful interests. What the state does — or rather, what the state's elite will accept as a method — is calculated by utility. In the 1970s, as South Africans heard the most extraordinary contortions, the state's actions indeed seemed to say that God was dead. God did not draw the boundaries of use. Utility was God. But two recent answers argue that the state did not live by Utility alone. The first, by Saul Dubow, concerns the pre-World War II experiences of the Native Affairs Department.9 The second is a study of post-World War II local government in East London by Doreen Atkinson.10 Both argue that officials were not wholly captivated by power. The legitimacy of methods as understood by the people who use them had an important impact on the use of force and security agencies. Dubow notes a mix of crude and benign methods in the operations of the Native Affairs Department (NAD). NAD indeed developed 'an internal ideology which was expressed in terms of a protective relationship towards its African "wards'". This protective paternalism became 'increasingly difficult to sustain as the realities of segregation became apparent'.11 By World War II a colonial relationship between state and the racially inferior, here seen as straightforward White Supremacy, was a spent force. Whites' fitness to rule had to be proved anew, on the basis of earthly demonstration. The ruled had to be shown why they had to be ruled by Whites. Atkinson addresses the post-1939 racial rethink. First, officials were not implementing White Supremacy. Paternalism and status-quo-orientated practices live on, but new ideas are in evidence. It is early Verwoerdianism, offering an imagined version of social progress; sees humans in a communal context; and divides life into sovereign (or naturally segregated) spheres. Verwoerd and the supporting Republican elite got these ideas from various places, including Afrikanerdom's myths. Mature Verwoerdianism includes homelands, territorial spheres carved from the Union for people naturally orientated to seeking their own.12 People who had left their original land for cities would now return to live in their homeland. Homelands' development required counter-urbanization, restoring cities to their natural white condition. It was a Utopian vision, a Racial Utopia, necessitating massive social engineering by the state.13 Second, we are wrong to think that officials, because they enforce immoral racial inequality, are amoral. Public records show an active role for virtue as a cause on its own. Human beings are Rousseauian creatures wanting to be thought good, even as they enforce racial inequality. In part officials are motivated by what they think is fitting and proper for both rulers and ruled, and their actions are partly consistent with their thoughts about the good. Utility does not consume all before it.14 What are we to make of the use of force by security agencies in the Racial Utopia? Before 1948 many members of the Republican elite believed in Godgiven White Supremacy. The state, occupied by the elect, did not have to show

88

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 3.1

State Employment

Year

Total employment

Central state employment

1950

227,408

140,042

1940

321,403

1950

481,518

i960

8

79 >545

Military (PF only)

Police

No. of central state departments

2,253

10,707

25 (226)

177,392

5,322

11,655

26 (382)

280,310

10,532

20,648

*7 (430)

454,692

i7>95!

25,724

}* (5 5i)

Sources: Ben Roux, 'The Central Administration, Provincial and Local Authorities, and the Judiciary', in Denis Worrall (ed.), South Africa: Government and Politics (Pretoria: Van Schaiks, 1971), p. 82; South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year i960 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1961), p. 16; Joseph Barry Standish, State Employment in South Africa, pp. 129—206; C. Thornhill, 'Administrative Arrangements for Change', in D. J. Van Vuuren et al. (eds), Change in South Africa (Durban/Pretoria: Butterworths, 1983), pp. 78-9.

why it was fit to rule. The non-elect had rights and obligations, but God would smile on those who used methods, including blunt segregationist instruments, to perpetuate their rule. The use of force by security agencies was not inherently unjust. In Racial Utopia, ends justify means. Yet if one looks closely, one sees that Racial Utopia itself is not based on violence, nor do its implementers thirst for the gun. A general resistance to Racial Utopia is not logically possible. People are what God created, naturally communal; thus Racial Utopia will not involve a violent struggle of political wills. Some people are just incapable of understanding God's plan, are in the wrong place, and have to be removed, or are misled by strangers. Violence is necessary, to be sure, but only in particular cases of resistance to Utopia. The closer one gets to Racial Utopia, the less force is necessary. People will be politically content. A too consistent or general use of force suggests that something has gone wrong. Violence and the specialists of violence's (security agencies') involvement in racial affairs are thus a barometer of the justness of racial policies. In reviewing some of the major debates about the state, we thus see that scholars are not so divided. Recent scholarship insists that the twentieth century state uses abstraction. Then they part company. If one believes the instrumentalists, the state uses abstractions (discourse, ideas and/or political morality) because it makes things work better: it produces no moderation. If one succumbs to the scholarly charms of Atkinson, however, abstractions are a restraining influence. Certainly after World War II, Atkinson's officials did not want to have a basically violent relationship with the disenfranchised. It would offend their

T H E STATE OF A P A R T H E I D

89

Table 3.2 State Employment as Percentage of White (WEA) and Black (BEA) Economically Active Population

Year

Population

1920 1930

6,835,444 8,075,000

1940 1950 i960

10,341,200 12,789,000 16,482,000

Total state employment

% of WEA

% of BEA

150,718

n/a

n/a

227,408

n/a

n/a

321,403 481,518

22.86* 24.93**

798>545f

28.76

5-47 6.84** 10.23

Notes: * 1946 ** 1 9 51

t Racial breakdown of a slightly lower total of 780,857 is 407,012 Black and 286,922 White. Source: South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year i960 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1961), p. 16; Joseph Barry Standish, State Employment in South Africa, Part II, pp. 129, 137.

Rousseauian souls. Even for people others would describe as racist, to be thought virtuous was a simple human desire. I have avoided scare quotes in referring to abstractions on the form of virtue, the good, and so on. Surely nobody deserves yet another lesson about their disputed epistemological authenticity in modern politics. Cartesian metaphysics allow abstractions on subjective bases. Even as such, and as the South African case shows, the love of propriety is persistent and has detectable consequences, including political restraint. The instrumentalists are right, however, to note that Racial Utopia did trawl the world of political convenience, resulting in cruel practicality. Creating wage labour at the right price was critical, demographic pressure on homelands was colossal, and it was a policy of divide and rule. Best of all, the state, when dealing with political leaders, could claim that it was dealing with leaders of but one group among the disenfranchised, not the whole. The State: Interventionism, World War II, and Separate Development As far as its employment pattern is concerned, between 1930 and i960 the state more than tripled its total manpower. It grew fastest in the early 1950s. The central state, accounting for the largest share of state employment, also tripled its employment. (See Table 3.I.)'13 The biggest expansion was in the semi-state, doubling between 1930 and i960. Control and statutory boards, development agencies, and public and service corporations became the home of many Afrikaans speakers. Were it not for this kind of wage labour, not nearly as many of them would have arrived in the middle class by the 1960s.16

90

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 3.3

State Employment by Function, 1930-50

General administration Black administration Socioeconomic services* Health Education Defence Public order** SAP

1930

1940

1950

3,235 i,376 117,558

7,324 2,686

n,594 3,43l

H4,M5

229,854

5,364 42,993 5,322 16,625

60,575 9,522 26,418

(n,65 5)

(20,648)

3,273 10,380 2,253 M,i94 (10,707)

18,939

i960 16,474 5,336 276,432 39,724 87,144 i7,95i 36,080 (25,724)

Noter. * Including South African Railways and Harbours and the General Post Office. ** Including the Department of Justice, Prison Service and SAP. Source. Joseph Barry Standish, State Employment in South Africa, p. 146.

Table 3.2 shows that the largest part of the increase in state employment over many decades was due to employment of people other than Whites. Many were employed on a temporary basis, but the central state, SAR&H workers, tenured teachers and government employment in the homelands accounted for the major share of increases. Homeland governments exercised control over Agriculture and Forestry, Education, General Administration and Health, Justice, and Roads and Works. Economic development was entrusted to development corporations and trusts. In the budgets of homelands, government expenditure was by far the largest single item.17 The greatest functional expansion of the state in the 1950s was in education and homeland development. Although public order as a whole more than doubled the SAP lagged far behind the average growth in functions. It also lagged behind the defence function. (See Table 3.3.) As regards state expenditure, public order's share declined markedly between 1920 and 1945. It regained a bit after 1950, but by i960 still had less than half of the growth in 1920. After 1950 it never exceeded 3.7 per cent. This small share is important, because it occurred in the years of the state's greatest financial strength and employment increase. The SAP (which in turn is only one part of public order) did not expand. In real terms, it was thus declining relative to others. (See Table 3.4.) Except for the years between 1939 and 1945, defence expenditure also accounted for a small proportion of total state expenditure. Before World War II it was steadily declining. After 1945 it climbed by 0.4 per cent to 3.2 per cent. (See Table 3.4.) Where do these figures leave us? Do they perhaps confirm what Dubow and Atkinson have argued? They would do so by showing limited growth in the

THE STATE OF APARTHEID

91

Table 3.4 Relative Contribution (%) of Public Order, Defence, Education and Health to Growth of Total State Expenditure, 1920—50

Public

Defence

Education

Health

order*

Black admin.

1920 1925

9.0

2.2

6.1

1930

5-2

X

*-5

0.8

i-5

4-7 10.5

^•3

0.5

1.2

10.6

2

-3

0.5

935

4.4

1.6

IO.I

2.6

1940

2.9

33.8

6.4

2.0

i-5 0.9

1945 1950

2.6

35-i

3-5

7-3 10.4 11.6

3.8 7.6

0.2

2.8

5-i

1.1

3-2

11.3

6.6

1.0

1955 i960

3-7

0.5

Note: * Department of Justice, Prison Service and the SAP. Source: Barry Standish and I. Abedian, An Inquiry into the Growth of Government Expenditure in South Africa, 1920— 1982 (Cape Town: University of Cape Town, 1983).

security forces' manpower and money. Hypothetically, the rate of growth would decline along with the rise of Verwoerdianism. Increased revenue and the desire for social engineering combined to expand the state's size and its general capacities. This state-strengthening process was initiated before but accelerated by World War II. The main change is that Racial Utopia fragments the organization of bureaucratic work. On top of the three divisions (central, provincial and local authorities) come areas of jurisdiction carved out on the basis of racial classification and ethnolinguistic criteria. For example, separate education departments were created for each of the homelands and for Africans/Blacks, Coloured, Asian/Indian, and White people. The security agencies indeed did not keep pace with the expansion of other central state departments. Although the establishment figure of the SAP more than doubled between 1920 and i960, the major jump was produced by artificial means in 1920, when the SAMR were first counted as policemen. Between 1912 and 1945, the ratio of policemen per 1,000 of the population steadily declined. Between 1950 and i960, it increased by only 0.06 per cent. (See Table 3.5.) Between 1912 and 1945 the SAP's share of the growth in state expenditure also declined by more than 50 per cent. Admittedly, World War II's recruitment for military work affected the SAP, but subsequently and until i960, the public order budget grew by a minuscule 0.2 per cent of total state expenditure (see Table 3.4). It cannot be argued that the UDF was doing the SAP's work. Its size remains very stable, but between 1912 and 1939 the share in the growth of state expenditure was also declining. Education and health beat defence by a wide margin.

92

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 3.5

The SAP, 1912-47

Year

Estimated population

1912

1915 1920 1925 1950

6,101,855 6,452,182

Establishment of SAP

Police

Prosecutions

{/1,000 people)

{/1,000 people)

1.42 1.25

46

i-55 1.56

47

8,705 12

6,855,444 7,466,494

7,9 10,512* 10,194

8,075,000

io,593

44 57

1.51

71

1935

8,688,500

10,429

1.20

80

1940

10,541,200

11,185

80

1945 1950

11,248,000

1

1.08 1.14 1.50

1955 i960

12,789,000** 14,126,000 16,482,000

2,779 19,146 25,016 25,724

1.65 1.56

76 9* Il

7

IOI

Noter. * Including the South African Mounted Riflemen (SAMR). ** Including South West Africa. Source: South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year i960 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1961), p. 16.

Taken together, defence and public order are only 0.2 per cent ahead of spending on health but 4.4 per cent short of education (see Table 5.4). Afrikaans speakers were not the only beneficiaries of the state's expansion. Yet for many Afrikaans-speakers in or below the middle class, the semi-state was the place of greatest reward. The new homeland bureaucracies in the rural areas were also attractive. High wages, security of tenure in a sedentary line of work, proximity to home, the association with Republican ideals or Racial Utopia all played a role in occupational choices. The UDF tried to upgrade its attractiveness by a better pension scheme, but it could hardly compete with ISCOR.18 Republicanization: The UDF Observers were quick to notice that security agencies' tenured personnel around 1970 were predominantly Afrikaans-speaking. Albie Sachs offers one explanation. For him the state's instruments of domination could not help reflecting as well as reinforcing 'the power structure of the society at large.'19 Others accepted this version of the UDF/SADF as the National Party in uniform. In 1974, for example, the Army was 85 per cent Afrikaans-speaking, compared to 75 per cent in the SAAF and 50 per cent in the SA Navy.20 Minds naturally reverted to before the Nationalists got into power. During World War II many soldiers fought with the British; the UDF must have contained

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more English-speakers. Furthermore, combat experience is any military's most prized ticket to the fast track of promotion. Yet by the early 1970s Afrikaans speakers dominated senior positions. What happened to English-speaking veterans? The answer was that the National Party Afrikanerized the security agencies (as well as other state-institutions) during the 1950s. Perhaps the best explanation is Stanley Trapido's. The political commanders of the state — the National Party's Afrikaners - pressured certain state employees to retire and encouraged the recruitment of Afrikaans speakers into state employment.21 Nationalists' reasons for doing so are said to be varied, including the use of the state as a vehicle for socioeconomic advancement or, as Sachs suggests, to make bureaucracies' composition more consistent with that of the political elite. To the Nationalists belonged the spoils. The state had to become Afrikaners in red tape. Understood as primarily a sociocultural process dominating the state, the Afrikanerization argument can easily fall apart. As the above figures showed, the state in the 15 years after World War II employed black people at a rate much faster than Afrikaans speakers. Table 3.2 shows 22.86 per cent of the economically active white population was employed by the state. This percentage increased to 24.93 in 1951. By i960 it was 28.76 per cent. State employment as a percentage of the black economically active population was a modest 5.47 per cent in 1946. It rose to 6.84 per cent in 1951 and 10.23 P e r c e n t by T96o. By i960, the state's black employees would outnumber Whites - probably for the first time in its history. Afrikanerization was not the most conspicuous trend in overall state employment. Afrikanerisation in overall employment in security agencies also can be over-

stated and misrepresented. Before 1948, Afrikaans-speakers were in the majority in both the SAP and UDF. As discussed in Chapter 2, the SAP's intake since 1927 had been over 90 per cent Afrikaans-speaking. The South African armed forces during World War II included an estimated 68 per cent Afrikaans-speaking contingent. Yet Nationalists' memories did stretch back to the 1943 election, the betrayal of Republicanism, and the persecution of Republicans. Indeed, congresses of the National Party demanded that Afrikaners be appointed in the UDF. Nationalists were also constantly reminded of the soldiers' vote by the post-1945 careers of prominent soldiers, and veterans' political preferences. Leo Marquard, for example, was part of the Army Education Services and lectured at the Military College. Subsequently he continued his interrupted political career, describing the anchor of Racial Utopia, the Population Registration Act (of 1950), as one of the 'most sinister pieces of legislation' ever introduced.22 Liberals' criticism indeed had been sharpened by wartime opposition to Hitler and fascism. Activists would later claim that the Army Education Services brought liberal or pro-democracy lessons home to common soldiers.23 After 1945 veterans formed a War Veterans Torch Commando which, very much like the Springbok Legion, opposed racial segregation. The leader of the Torch Commando was one of the most decorated soldiers of the war, 'Sailor' Malan, who described the aim

94

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

of his organization as the defeat of a fascist South African government.24 At first the Torch Commando meant business; in 1951 their march on Parliament turned violent. But soon they closed their doors to non-white veterans.25 Yet the settling of scores could not follow the language divide. Rather than Afrikanerization, the Nationalists' mission was to make the UDF more representative of politically correct Whites. It would be Republicanized. First, security agencies would not be earmarked for real expansion. Table 3.4 shows that Nationalists increased defence's share of state expenditure by only 0.4 per cent and public order by 0.2 per cent. Table 3.5 indicated that the SAP's expansion of 1946 was announced under the Smuts government; it brought the ratio of policemen per 1,000 of the population to 1.50. In i960, after twelve years of Nationalist rule, it had increased by only 0.06 per cent. Money and manpower did not flow into the security agencies. Second, Republicanism was not so triumphant as is nowadays believed. A gaping vulnerable area was the files of Military Intelligence (DMI), kept in Defence Headquarters. By having them, Republicans could defend and attack. F. C. Erasmus, the new Minister of Defence, requested files from the Chief of General Staff, Sir Pierre van Ryneveld. His response did not satisfy Erasmus, who showed up at HQ himself and demanded the keys from the acting Director, Colonel Powell. Erasmus removed two truckloads of files with the assistance of a former employee of DMI.26 Removal of the files by a political officer of the state caused an outcry in Parliament. Erasmus explained that he had acted because the files were being burnt; for the sake of the archives of the UDF, they deserved preservation. Furthermore, he said, his quoting in public from the files — those saved from the flames, that is — was a matter of public duty. The Opposition's sarcastic remarks indicate that his archival heroism was unconvincing.27 Erasmus had his reasons: he was simply continuing the partisanship Smuts and Esselen had started. DMI did not have the power to strike back at Erasmus. By August 1948 its administrative strength consisted of six officers (three at HQ and the others stationed in Bloemfontein, Durban and Johannesburg) who were all full-time volunteers. In 1947, 16 officers had been demobilized. The intelligence office at Walvis Bay (in South West Africa), East London and Port Elizabeth had been closed.28 Third, security agencies had to pay homage to Republicanism. Several vehicles were used. Delegations visited Dutch and German militaries to hunt for new, appropriate UDF insignia and symbols. New flags were designed for service branches, and were in use by 1952. The rank of lieutenant-colonel was replaced with the Republican kommandant (commandant). Design of a South African range of medals was started in 1952. The British disciplinary code (the British Army Act) was rewritten. Even a local military magazine, Kommando, was started in 1949. All these measures came into effect within four years of the Nationalists' victory. Official correspondence described them as 'bevordering van yn eie SuidAfrikaanse gees' (promotion of an own South African spirit).29

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95

In late 1949 one important symbol was banned from uniforms: the insignia indicating World War II service. This removal of the Red Tab can be defended. Since the Tab reminded soldiers of old political divisions, it ruffled feathers in the workplace. In other words, the Red Tab discouraged professional relations. But by removing symbols of combat experience from uniforms, Erasmus excised from public view evidence of a soldier's honour. Predictably, those who most prized that honour were the volunteers from the Active Citizen Force (ACF). They were especially noted for their participation in the Italian campaign, where as infantrymen they had done so well under artillery bombardment. The ACF now defied Erasmus; 22 of the regiments were wearing the Red Tab as late as 1952.30 As regards language, the Defence Act was amended to require bilingualism. After 1 November 1949 correspondence had to be in the two official languages, policed by a Military Language Board. One effect was to discourage unilingual English speakers from joining the UDF. Another important consequence was to close the UDF off as potential employment for naturalized British immigrants. Due to economic problems in Britain, several waves of emigration to the colonies/dominions marked the 1950s. Many British soldiers, once wartime travellers around the Cape or stationed there under the Imperial Air Training Scheme, had returned with their families to settle. Recruitment could include them only if they had mastered Afrikaans very quickly. Fourth, military exchanges were discouraged. The programme had started in 1927 and by 1939, 38 officers had gone to Britain while 36 British officers came to South Africa. UDF officers and troops also attended training courses in Britain.31 Despite the meagre contact with Britain and its virtue of saving money, the number of soldiers sent to Britain slowed down between 1948 and 1952. A partial replacement was a local Military Academy, intended to train all future officers of the UDF. It was originally attached to the SA Military College (in Pretoria), but later moved to Saldanha - that is, to within Erasmus's parliamentary constituency. Finally, what could be done to individuals? Few could be easily dismissed, because soldiers as state employees were protected by the Public Service Act. Informal office politics were used to produce early retirements. Because many of the pressures were informal, however, facts are hard to come by. Yet veterans of this era speak of the chief persecutor, F. C. Erasmus,32 with near-universal contempt. One reason is the removal of insignia. The only unclassified study of resignations during this period is of the SAAF between 1946 and 1971 by Willem van den Bos. The SAAF case is ideal. Before 1950 the majority of officers were English speakers. By 1955 Afrikaans speakers were in the majority, and by 1966 they outnumbered English speakers by a ratio of 3:1. Furthermore, the study deals with the period after 1961, placing in view long-term factors that affected the UDF after 1945.33 Van den Bos's data show three peaks in the rate of resignation after 1948: 1951/52, 1954/55 and 1967/68. Another upsurge in 1948, for technical reasons,

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

is beyond academic reach. Working with both formal resignation documents and a questionnaire, Van den Bos tracks the resignees' reasons for leaving. One important feature surfaces immediately: before 1951 officers were not asked to state their reasons for leaving. When these are requested, they at first state them bluntly, but subsequently stated reasons are distinctly bland. Years later the questionnaire reveals more about who resigned and why.34 The resignations of the 1950-5 5 period do not affect all professional categories equally: it is those with flying experience, pilots, who take the major share. This means the pilots with combat experience. The bulk of these are prewar officers and early volunteers. Between 19 51 and 1953 more volunteers joined the United Nations force in the Korean War. To fill the gaps, pilots with short-term contracts were recruited. Some of these also resign, and their reasons for leaving are consistent with general trends in resignation.35 Between 1950 and 1955 it is English-speaking officers who resign in droves. Controlling for economic influences, Van den Bos finds no correlation to inflation: Afrikaans speakers subjected to the same pressures do not leave. The real and main reason English speakers cite is political influence: they thought their careers suffered because of their political views or on account of too much political influence in the SAAE These were experienced as 'undercurrents', Erasmus's 'political bias', and 'demoralization' on account of political decisions. Even the few Afrikaans-speaking officers who resigned testify to the same effect.36 In the 1966-71 period, resignations spread evenly across categories. Except for the surprising popularity of farming, most pilots entering a second career, however, are still flying. Technicians also are able to continue in similar technical work. Here the lure is not the private sector but service in the semi state, mostly the South African Airways, which continued to grow. The Airways offered better pay than SAAF salaries scaled by the Public Service Commission. Interestingly, more Afrikaans than English speakers left the SAAF for the Airways. The median age of resigning officers is 30. The possibility of a second career is obviously a critical factor in making the move.37 But in the early 1950s, the possibility of a second flying career in the semi state was limited. The South African Airways was in its infancy. It was either the SAAF or no flying. In his conclusion, Van den Bos makes a point worth repeating. Whether Erasmus's 'political discrimination in fact occurred is immaterial. A person's actions and reactions are governed by what he believes is happening.'38 The airmen fled. Yet although perception explains individual decisions, perception is not understood here as imagination. Erasmus declared openly that he was going to reorganize the UDF. In August 1948 he rose in Parliament to declare a host of intentions. The UDF favoured town above country. This was a violation of the 1912 Defence Act which specified a role for Rifle Associations, many of which were in rural areas. Rifle Associations were deprived of the right equipment and became the targets of suspicion and ridicule on the part of UDF officers.39 Information

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97

was no longer going to be shared with Britain. The other dominions, in his opinion, did not do this; only South Africa had been led into such foolishness by Smuts. In any case, information-sharing was a violation of sovereignty. In domestic affairs, the UDF 'will no longer be used to spy on the Opposition.'40 To support his points Erasmus quoted from World War II DMI files. This was not mere rhetoric. The Cape Town offices of DMI had been closed without consultation with Royal Naval Intelligence at a time when the Royal Navy was using the Cape.41 Black people would not receive any military training, as they had during World War II. Erasmus quoted approvingly the account of an officer, discharged from the UDF, of the racial aspect of service in North Africa. The officer had been upset by alcohol served, the sight of interracial contact ('a black tartar walking arm in arm with a white woman*), and felt concerned 'at the consequences the heinous conduct of these thousands of natives might have on their fellow-countrymen in the Union after the war'.42 Erasmus then continued: 'The next reorganization that will have to take place is in connection with the bilingualism of the Defence Force. The Afrikaans language has been flouted in a wicked way ... it really looks as if there exists only one official language in South Africa. In the Intelligence Division, one of the most important divisions, the language throughout is English/ The language/ DMI connection with World War II is then strengthened: 'I have come across great dissatisfaction in the Defence Force. There are many people going round feeling hurt and humiliated [because although Smuts's] policy was to wage war with volunteers he exercised compulsion on them and if they did not do what he wanted he humiliated them and trampled on them.'43 The UDF's top personnel were all Smuts appointees. To move against them was to risk scandal. Pierre Van Ryneveld was scheduled to stay as Chief of General Staff until his retirement in 1949. Next in line was General Evered Poole, however, a veteran of the Italian campaign and head of DMI since 1946. Before Italy Poole was particularly close to one DMI officer, Captain Bernard Notcutt, designer of the dreaded survey What the Soldier Thinks? Among others, the survey found that only 3 per cent of all volunteers supported the statement We ought to aim at making South Africa mainly Afrikaans-speaking and dominated by Afrikaans traditions'.44 Poole had to be removed from the line of succession. Erasmus explained that the UDF could not afford another majorgeneral. In addition, Smuts had done Poole, a combat veteran, a great disservice in appointing him head of a staff section. Poole was sent to head the South African mission in Berlin.45 Having caught Poole in his sights, Erasmus clean forgot about Smuts himself. In June 1940 Smuts had been declared Commander-in-Chief of the Union Defence Force by Government Notice. This appointment had to be terminated specifically rather than automatically accompanying the transfer of power to Prime Minister D. F. Malan. The National Party came into office on 26 May 1948. Sixteen months later the position of Smuts, now the leader of the

98

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 3.6

SAP Discharges Bought, 1948

Length of service

Number

Under 1 year

96

1 to 2 years

309

2 to 3 years

161

3 to 4 years 4 to 5 years 5 to 6 years

12 11 2

6 to 7 years 7 to 8 years 8 to 9 years 9 to 10 years Over 10 years Total

6 7 13 11 63 691

Source. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year 1948 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1948), p. 1.

Opposition, had not changed. Erasmus's embarrassing lapse of vigilance may have contributed to the curtness of the note Smuts received in late 1949.46 That the guns of Erasmus smoked is thus true but still somewhat pointless. If Erasmus wanted to 'politicize* the SAAF, all he had to do was nothing. The perception of a coming spoils system was already in effect. Along with a famine of money and compulsory homage, it caused a migration. There is no reason to doubt that what happened to the SAAF also happened to the Army and the Navy. But did it happen to the SAP? Their volunteers had also served in World War II. Their betrayal also was serious. What would their Minister do? Republicanization: The SAP In 1948 the victory of the National Party seemed instantly to undo the achievements of the recruitment programme in effect since 1946. The Commissioner of the SAP's Annual Report noted a 'considerable increase* in the number of discharges purchased by policemen. The figures in Table 3.6 are revealing. Like those of the airmen, resignations by prewar officers are conspicuous. The resignations are not broken down by language. Yet notably the SAP, given its intakes since 1927, was predominantly Afrikaans-speaking. The long-serving Commissioner, De Villiers, had an Afrikaans background. Many policemen were simply resigning in anticipation of the Nationalists' spoils system.

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The situation after 1948, however, does not make for an easy comparison to the UDF. De Villiers's successor, Commissioner R. J. Palmer, was a veteran of the Rhodesian (British South African) police. Supposedly imperial in political affiliation - he volunteered for the war - Palmer in 1946 asked Minister Harry Lawrence to allow re-employment of interned SAP members. Lawrence refused.47 The SAP clearly sought manpower rather than political rectitude. The request to re-employ policemen dismissed during the war was granted in 1952. Relief Measures (of the Department of Internal Affairs) meant that interned policemen could continue their careers as if there had been no interruption. The Stormjaers were still out in the cold but members of the Broederbond and Ossewa Brandwag, for example, could come back.48 In 1954, Major-General C. I. Rademeyer was the first postwar Commissioner appointed who had previously refused to take the Red Oath and had been placed on compulsory leave as a result. In 1954 Rademeyer issued a Standing Order that all reporting could be done in a policeman's first language. Proficiency in written English was not a special recommendation for upward mobility. In the following year, the SAP established a Chaplain's Service and a Cultural Organization {Afrikaanse Kultuurvereeniging or AKPOL). The head of the Chaplain's Service and deputy chief of AKPOL was the Reverend Harper Martins of the Dutch Reformed Church.49 The SAP did not change its symbols until well into the 1950s. In 1957 the crown worn on caps was replaced with a castle. Ministerial actions affecting the SAP emanated from two ministries, Internal Affairs and Justice. Compared to Erasmus's measures in the UDF, their Republicanization measures were far less punitive. Personalities played a role but the most obvious reason for greater tolerance was the manpower shortage. During the 1950s, the SAP could never fill its establishment figure. White recruitment in the period between 19 51 and i960, although ardently pursued by the SAP's Recruitment Contingent, is in fact described as 'more difficult than during any other period in the history of the South African Police'.50 By i960, for example, it was still short of 1,427 white and 956 black policemen.51 As will be discussed later, black recruitment could fill some gaps, but since Blacks were not allowed to police white residential areas, they could not be the only answer. The need was for white recruits. One remedy for recruiting shortfalls was the 1954 removal of prohibition on marriage within five years of service. Another was the lowering of the entrance age to 16 in 1952, with the implication that matriculation was no longer a prerequisite. The recruit would have to complete high school in the SAP. The ideal remedy would have been increased remuneration. Recruiting was clearly influenced by pay (in cash), allowances and benefits. Improvements in the pension scheme in 1955, for example, pushed the number of white applicants above 1,000, increasing to 1,193 in 1956 and 1,277 in 1959.52 The 1959 announcement that cost-of-living allowances for married policemen would be discontinued, however, led to a sharp drop to 862 in i960.53 Even after successful recruitment, as Table 3.7 shows, men left the SAP in considerable numbers.

IOO

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 3.7

Year

SAP Discharges Purchased, 1945-60

Number

1945

103

1946

279

1947

429

1948

691

1949

360

1950

495

J

95i 1952

734 498

1953

475

1954

53 1

1955

643

1956

593

1957

700

1958

620

1959 1960

547 699

Source-. South Africa, AnnualReport of the Commissioner of the South African Police, 1945-60 (Pretoria: Government Printer), under the heading *Wastage\

The simple fact was that the SAP could not compete with other state agencies for the services of its old constituency, rural Afrikaans-speaking men. The semistate was immensely attractive in financial terms. ISCOR, for example, was a much better bet for entry into the wage market, especially for married men. The SAP's most pressing problem was to get men into the organization, yet it could not compete in the market of matriculants. And once a matriculated man found employment, the chances of a subsequent move to the SAP was near nil. The solution was to recruit below the level of matriculants; this was accomplished by lowering the SAP's entry age. Getting them while they were young also improved the chance of building lifelong ties to the organization. Republicanization: A Comparative Summary Nationalist Ministers wanted to Republicanize the state's security agencies. Party Congresses wanted this, and the Minister of Defence did it with particular zeal. Since Afrikaans speakers' beliefs determined Republicanism, Republicanization could be accomplished by changing language regulations. But it was not in the first instance Afrikanerization, particularly since the security agencies were sub-

THE STATE OF APARTHEID

IOI

stantially Afrikanerized before 1939. It was the settling of World War II debts within a thinly concealed Republican spoils system. Organizational imperatives were present, too. There were too many soldiers and too few policemen. People of all colours and languages were entering state employment, but least of all the SAP. The SAP had indeed succumbed first to the curse of modern security agencies: how to recruit when the economy and state are expanding. Of course the SAP said it offered more than a job; it was an adventure. Its adventures just did not pay well. Republicanization rarely consisted of persecution of individuals. Most measures were cultural-symbolic efforts to draw attention to South Africa and its revered Republican traditions, not service to anything beyond the waters' edge. In effect, it heightened awareness of partisan differences. Most of the immediate damage was done through 1948 resignations by people who sensed something bad was about to happen to their careers. Policemen and soldiers read the newspapers. Their awareness of victory's consequences was acute. In this situation, professionalization ironically required ministerial intervention, active reassurance that the fast track - recognition of worth in what officers do for a living - remained open to all white comers. The Nationalists' creeping barrage - individual dismissals, language, money, and tradition - only made a bad situation worse. Strategic Connections World War II ended the life of the Committee of Imperial Defence (CID). As indicated in an earlier chapter, the CID never made decisions itself, only coordinated logistical co-operation between the colonies/dominions and Britain on the basis of consultation. This way of making decisions for the post-1945 Empire was out of the question. The Empire was to become the Commonwealth. Its members had equal status to Britain. Because of British incapacities and American strength during World War II, Australia, Canada and New Zealand subsequently swung to the USA for their own defence. The organizational format for new defence collaboration with the USA was suggested by Allied Command in 1945. Epitomized by General Eisenhower's Operation Overlord, it was the military implementation of a political accord reached by sharing the same enemy. Various countries' Chiefs of Staff simply combined under a Supreme Commander (Combined Chiefs of Staff). This format led to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). The model could be imitated on a regional basis; hence, for example, the Australia, New Zealand and American agreement (ANZUS) and the Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO). The glue in these regional arrangements was not British. The USA held them together for reasons of its military power and the global commitments it was prepared to make in the Cold War.54 Its central military preoccupations, however, were with Europe (NATO) and adjacent areas.

IO2

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

In 1946 Britain's weakness in forming defence organizations was apparent at a meeting of Commonwealth Prime Ministers. A British White Paper produced after the Conference of 1946 thus endorsed the idea of regional security associations.55 Long free to determine their contributions to Britain's wars, the dominions were now wholly free. Cut loose from the British web, they were about to be ensnared by the USA. Yet in comparison to the Imperial system, the post-194 5 defence system created principally for Anti-Communism (or the Cold War) was, in organizational terms, highly decentralized. East of the Suez Canal, Britain was paying dearly for its conduct of the War. In India a nationalist movement was on the verge of success, resulting in the independence of India and Pakistan. Burma and Ceylon achieved their independence soon afterwards. None of these countries was interested in the Commonwealth's security umbrella. Aware of such an association's provocation of the Soviet Union (and soon China under Mao), they opted for security policies of neutralism, linked with foreign policies of Non-Alignment. Britain's remaining concern east of Suez was with Malaya and, further east, with Borneo, Hong Kong and some Pacific islands. Although east of Suez decolonization was accepted in principle, contraction of a military presence by no means signified an end to British Imperialism. Commercial and other links were merely elevated at the expense of military links. How decolonization was to be accomplished - an orderly retreat - was important enough to be fought over. Non-Communist or friendly governments were useful; besides, trade links could not survive otherwise.56 West of Suez it was another matter. For Britain the Middle East was a strategic priority accepted by both Labour and the Conservatives after 1945. Although it was a Commonwealth responsibility, the area was also a strategic priority for the USA, for reasons of oil supplies and possible Soviet influence, and for other Western powers' postwar management of their colonial legacies. Post-194 5 defence organization having been resolved with regional treaties, Britain by 1949 started to think about the Commonwealth's armaments and production for its strategic priorities. If war were to break out in the Middle East, how on earth could the next war be any different to the last? Middle Eastern conflict required resupply, probably again whence it was supplied during World War II. The USA remained the main supplier. Because it was out of the range of hostile aircraft based in Europe, America had flown supplies to the Middle East across African territory. South African armaments and supplies, too, had mainly gone to the Middle East. Therefore air bases needed to be constructed in Britain's African possessions. They would naturally be guarded by the local population, who would have to bear arms. Ideally, air bases would establish an east-west link to carry American goods, connecting with a north-south link to Southern Africa. Besides its air facilities and supplies, South Africa was the naval repairman of the Southern Atlantic and Indian Oceans. If the Suez Canal were closed, it also

THE STATE OF APARTHEID

IO3

would be a route of naval resupply. Although South African sailors had participated in Mediterranean operations, naval development had not been stimulated by the experience. The (Royal) Navy Reserve of 1913 had been upgraded to a Seaward Defence Force in World War II. In 1946 the Force became part of the UDF under the name South African Naval Force, flying a South Africa naval ensign. These were forward steps. But the force's independent operational capacities were minimal, quite apart from the question of its limited strength.57 But still, Simonstown was the only port available to Britain in the entire South Atlantic. South Africa was not drawn into a regional defence treaty, but in naval matters, the Commonwealth operated on the principle that bases should be mutually open to member states.58 In addressing Middle Eastern conflict, Britain's old question resurfaced: manpower. With Australia and Canada tied up in distant regional associations, their men and women were less likely to arrive in the Middle East. Indian manpower would soon be gone. In Britain itself, conscription had to be introduced after the war because financial considerations prohibited a return to a scheme similar to the one devised by Kitchener. Colonial units like the King's African Rifles (of Kenya) were used in Malaya in 1951-52, but the weight of the Treasury's decisions squashed the idea of an Imperial African Army.59 However, some hope of a regional security association for South and Central Africa remained.60 For our purposes, the relevant foreign policy pattern was the concession, in principle, of decolonization, whose military implications were clear enough by 1948. East of Suez most older British possessions were alone at last; a few remaining possessions would receive some protection and were obliged to free naval facilities for British use. The Royal Navy would be able to sail from here to other interests around the globe. West of Suez the Middle East was a priority. Preparations for another war here imitated World War II arrangements almost to the letter. In its retreat from Empire, Britain would accomplish an extraordinary feat in contemporary military history: preservation of professional military standards. Unlike the French Army in Algeria and Vietnam and the Americans in Vietnam, the British Army would not ruin its combat performance under unconventional conditions. Many of its soldiers were conscripts, as well as volunteers from other possessions (Southern Rhodesia, for example). Officers did not become political activists after campaigns in Palestine (1945-8), Malaya (1948-60), Kenya (195260) and Cyprus (195 5-9).61 There are many reasons for this, including the approach taken to unconventional conflicts and structure of the army.62 The point, however, is that the British military forces prided themselves on their professionalism - and examined other militaries for similar qualities. In 1945, as indicated earlier, they thought their standards had also touched South African soldiers.

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South Africa and the 'Gateway to Africa* If anyone had forgotten about its volunteerism, South Africa reminded them of it by participating in one of the Cold War's first military disputes. In response to the Soviet Army siege of Berlin, Britain, France and the USA in July 1949 decided to supply Berlin by air. In this airlift the new Malan government released SAAF pilots for active service. This was seen as signifying that Republican defence/foreign policy would not necessarily mean isolationism. South Africans would still volunteer, regardless of who was in charge. The airlift briefly inspired the Malan government to seek incorporation in NATO. The British, however, were thinking about land forces in the Middle East. They consulted with New Zealand, and moved on to discussions with Australia and South Africa. Britain wanted armoured divisions, and to lure the South Africans they described the Middle East as the Communists' 'gateway to Africa'. The South Africans took the bait: the Chief of the South African General Staff, General Beyers, was very positive about the possibility of committing an armoured division.63 But this was not 1902. The Nationalists wanted to know what Britain offered in return. The Malan government was actually dismayed that it was excluded from the cheap deals available from the USA under its Mutual Defence Association Act. Why should the volunteers of the airlift pay for arms others received virtually free of charge? Not even for their Korean operations did the South Africans receive aircraft. If they had to deal with Britain in the Middle East, they wanted something in return. Besides, economic growth in South Africa, although vigorous, did not mean one could release major capital for defence. Because civilian projects were more important, Ministers for Commerce and Trade and Finance opposed big Defence budgets.64 The Minister of Finance, N. C. Havenga, was not a Nationalist but a member of the small Afrikaner Party that had fought the 1948 election in conjunction with the National Party. Britain's part of the quid pro quo was not going to be easy; in 1949 it was in the grip of another balance-of-payments crisis.65 Treasury pressure was so intense that the Admiralty, despite describing the Simonstown base as 'strategically essential', thought of transferring the property to South Africa in order to save money.66 One item the UDF needed was aircraft. Canada had received a request for training aircraft, but a combination of NATO-commitments and South Africa's racial policies resulted in rejection. To the British, Erasmus in 1949 presented a list of items dominated by fighter aircraft and armoured vehicles. Estimating the cost at about 20 million sterling, Britain made no commitment. Erasmus returned to London in 1950. His government was prepared to make a commitment to a Middle Eastern conflict, if the following were provided: 1 Armoured Division; 1 Fighter group (9 squadrons) that is, a total of 48 aircraft; 1 Air Transport Squadron. As many Naval Forces as could be diverted from Southern African

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waters would go to the Mediterranean. The staff arrangements would be made in advance of the conflict.67 The British Defence Ministry was delighted with the offer. No politically embarrassing treaty had been required. The arms would be supplied in a phased programme. But who would pay the cost of the force, now estimated at between 40 and 50 million sterling? The matter was deferred as Britain's top Middle East soldiers went to South Africa to investigate. They returned with the most damning of assessments. The UDF's professionalism was caught in the vice of Republicanization. The SAAF had 'ceased to have anyfightingvalue'.68 As a result, Erasmus's list moved to the bottom of the pile. South Africa would have to make a firm, unconditional commitment to the Middle East before the list could crawl upwards. In the end South Africa had to pay. Moreover, about 25 million of the 30 million sterling for equipment ordered, would be spent in Britain: 15-16 million for army and 9 million for air force equipment. The sole concession was that the schedule of payments should be agreed upon beforehand. The Malan government had not included the equipment's cost in the 1951-52 budget, and 1953 was an election year. The Nationalist Party did not want to raise taxation.69 Delivery of equipment was slowed down, but it eventually arrived. Strategic Connections: Southern African Particulars What, for the British, were the particulars of the Southern African situation after 1948? The Republicans' victory rapidly rewound history, lurching to a stop at 1899. During the late nineteenth century, British interests in Southern Africa were to prevent the Transvaal Republic from capturing the region for its own purposes. Since the Treaty of Methuen in 1703, Portugal had not been a military challenge. It was the Republicans who had to be contained. White settlement in Southern Rhodesia, although uncertainly supported by the Colonial Office, was part of the containment idea. But the main confrontation came between 1899 and 1902. It was supposed to have killed Republicans' ambitions in the region. Unfortunately for the British, it did not stay dead. Until the Balfour Declaration in 1926, South African foreign policy could not diverge from that of Britain even, as demonstrated, in declarations of war. The Declaration confirmed South Africa's independent status, and a Department of Foreign Affairs was established in 1927.70 A Minister of Foreign Affairs was not to be appointed until 1955. Before that, Prime Ministers acted as Ministers of Foreign Affairs, assisted by envoys and roving representatives. The close association with Britain remained until World War II. One of the few problems in the relations with Britain, raised at Imperial Conferences in 1917, 1918, 1921 and 1923, was racial policies.71 When Britain was in the driving seat, it sought to incorporate its other Southern African holdings into the Union. For this reason, the term 'South Africa' was left

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ambiguous in the 1910 Constitution. Various Union governments supported the idea of a greater Union. This was never supported by (Southern) Rhodesian voters, who were consulted on the matter.72 In 1949 it was the Malan government which revived the idea of incorporation: it asked Britain to resolve the anomaly of three High Commission territories - Basutoland, Bechuanaland, and Swaziland - being not only geographically close to (in one case enclosed) but also economically dependent on South Africa. The South African motives were a mixture of old and new. South Africa, including the Republican Transvaal, had long sought continental leadership. Now Malan, a novice in foreign affairs, appointed a roving ambassador, Charles Te Water, to address various problems. After meetings in the USA, Te Water came up with an African Charter, a regional African alliance connected to the AntiCommunist side in the Cold War. The Charter would be useful, first, after the Western principals had been overrun by Communists. Second, Communism was already pursuing its evil ways in Africa. Therefore, the Charter promoted the idea of extending South African influence in Africa south of the Sahara, in the interests of 'Western European Christian Civilization*. Te Water was replaced by former Minister for Commerce and Industries Affairs Eric Louw. When Louw embarked on a tour promoting closer economic co-operation with African countries, unattractive motives became apparent in South Africa's enthusiasm for the African Charter.73 Starting in the late nineteenth century, and even during the time of incorporation, Britain followed a balance-of-power-approach in Southern Africa. Power was defined in economic and racial terms, reinforcing the positions of South Africa and Southern Rhodesia. But Southern Rhodesia was the ideal counterweight to South Africa. Now, after World War II, Southern Rhodesia's economy was booming. The stimulus of World War II sustained European foreign exchange problems in relation to the USA. The Europeans thus preferred to buy African rather than American tobacco. Southern Rhodesia's white minority was stridently pro-British, and immigrants flooded in from Britain after 1945. Although liberalizing racial moves lost their momentum in 1943, the racial policy of the Huggins government was not nearly as controversial as that of the Malan government. And if Southern Rhodesia could be linked to a central African political order, this, besides solving several British problems to the north, would create a counterweight to the south.74 As suggested above, the racial policies of Union governments had always been problematic in Anglo-South African relations. After World War II, Britain was told it would be an issue for other countries as well. Smuts's request for the incorporation of the Mandate (South West Africa) into South Africa had foundered on this issue at the United Nations in 1946. Under the Nationalists, race relations could only get worse. Then and later Nationalist supporters would be genuinely perplexed by the world's rejection of Racial Utopia. They simply could not grasp that modern Utopias, such as they are, have to mobilize the

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principle of equality to acquire legitimacy. Appropriating the rhetoric of decolonization simply would not do. They also could not grasp why a volunteer for Anti-Communism would be unwelcome for reasons related to domestic practices. Anti-Communism took so many monsters to its bosom that it seemed to be a case of double standards. Even in Southern Africa, the South African government was treated as a polecat. British capital fled from South Africa to Southern Rhodesia after 1948.75 In 1948 British policy declared a federation desirable among Nyasaland, Northern Rhodesia, and Southern Rhodesia. It started its official existence as the Central African Federation (CAF) in July 1953. The CAF's market was larger than that of South Africa. It also had mines - indeed, the federal revenue was larger than that of South Africa because of mining revenue. The CAF lasted nine years. Its dissolution would cause a crisis for the Southern Rhodesian state.76 Policy-Making: Finance, Commerce and Industries, Defence and Foreign Affairs The Nationalists' major defence achievement of the 1950s is generally taken to be the 'exchanges of letters' regarding Simonstown. Concluded in June 1955, it affected the 'defence of the sea routes around Southern Africa', and the need for 'international discussions with regard to regional defence against external aggression'.77 The Simonstown Agreement, as it is commonly known, is central to several outstanding studies of the Nationalists' defence arrangements in the 1950s.78 The research contains a debate about the side that gained the most Britain or South Africa? - which is not central to our purposes. Hence I confine myself to what follows. First, rather than choosing self-reliance or non-alignment, as equally nationalistic politicians in the former British possessions east of Suez had done, Republicanism invested in the Cold War. Indeed, the Malan government surprised observers by its willingness to be involved in world affairs. Republicans' thinking about the world was not isolationist; on the contrary, they were globalists. The Nationalists' thinking was related to the Cold War, of which Te Water had been reminded on his visits to the USA. The Malan government, represented by Minister Erasmus, offered South Africa to the Commonwealth as a base during a war with the Soviet Union.79 The offer of transit facilities came in March 1949. Interestingly, the Suppression of Communism Act would be introduced only in 1950, and diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union continued long after the Act was promulgated. Second, what the Nationalists had said as Opposition politicians before 1948 was as important as what they subsequently wrote into policy. Nationalists convinced nobody that they were not an aggressive, narrow-minded group of politicians committed to racial inequality — after Hitler supposedly a mortal sin. It was not so much that the South Africans enthusiastically promoted and practised

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racial inequality. The days when apartheid would be treated as acid rain had not yet dawned upon the Western principals. Yet the Nationalists were operating under conditions of global change. Britain's policy of decolonization implied acceptance of equality, freedom of choice, and self-government. If these principles were not officially defended, Britain's policy east of Suez made no sense. Most of the colonial powers of Europe were in the same position. Britain thus turned a cold shoulder to South African proposals regarding regional affairs; indeed, a formerly somewhat passive search for a regional counterweight to South Africa was activated. Southern Rhodesia was to benefit from this renewed search. Encouraged by the British, Southern Rhodesia's relations with South Africa during the 1950s were subsequently marked by mutual hostility and suspicion. Negotiations over Simonstown confirmed perceptions of the people who were in charge. Whatever they thought about it in strategic terms, Nationalists in Opposition used Simonstown to score partisan hits, railing against it as an insult to sovereignty. Technically this was incorrect - property-ownership was at stake80 - but Erasmus, being the Nationalists' Party organizer, said so anyway. One reason for his stridency was the historically weak position of the Cape, the place of Erasmus's constituency, in the National Party. Cape Nationalists could rise in the Party only if they were not thought liberal. In addition, the tireless Party organizer had to be rewarded. Since Defence was ranked low in Cabinet, Erasmus got the job. The Simonstown Agreements eventually cost South Africa in financial terms: British assets had to be bought at the high cost of £750,000. But for symbolic partisan reasons the Nationalist governments, not the British, always brought it up.81 The pace of negotiations was affected by the perception of partisan aggression. Britain doubted the integrity of the South African negotiators. Given what they had said not so long ago, could their promises now be trusted? Were they not going to be like the Irish who, after concluding similar naval agreements with Britain, denied the latter the use of those very ports during World War II? For all South Africa's later efforts to show maturity (that is, reliability in one's word) in foreign affairs, the suspicion about the Nationalists' moral character remained. Eventually the British government came to the conclusion that an agreement should be reached sooner rather than later.82 In this instance it may have given the advantage to the Nationalists, who said they had at last reclaimed sovereignty. But the long-term consequences of the perception of Republicanism as aggressive and cynical could only be negative. South Africa would live through a period in world affairs marked by multiplying defence treaties, without incorporation into any. Third, for all the shares bought in the Cold War, the Nationalists showed very early that their primary interest was in race. In 19 51 the Nairobi round of discussions about logistics for possible Middle Eastern conflict was not helped by South Africa's insistence that its local population would not bear arms.83 In

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earlier negotiations (1949) Malan stressed the dangers of arming natives, using the Madagascar revolt of World War II as an example best avoided.84 The South Africa government would carry race with them regardless of what issue was at stake. Negotiators on all sides were aware of domestic politics, specifically the need to sell agreements to their respective legislatures. What is the point of negotiating treaties if legislators will not ratify them? British policy-makers knew their Parliament would not ratify the transfer of High Commission territories to South Africa. Thus incorporation was a lifeless issue. But the South African government's views on race were more than a sensitivity to legislators' possible opposition. The arming of disenfranchised people clearly related to the state's monopolization of the means of violence, not the Opposition in Parliament. At Nairobi the defence of South African territory was not at stake. Yet it revealed the filter through which any defence matter passed: how it would affect power relations in South Africa where, as everybody knew, a minority ruled a majority through state power. Fourth, defence planners obviously relied on intelligence. South African papers remain closed, but those of Britain have been examined. What do they reveal? The British Cabinet took their cue from Erasmus's behaviour. His reluctance to exchange officers with Britain and the position of coloured people in the UDF's naval section were open secrets. In closed negotiations Erasmus was acting in conjunction with General Christiaan L. de W. du Toit, not a volunteer in World War II but now the UDF's Chief of General Staff. Du Toit's anglophobia, Cabinet was informed, made him as 'unhelpful as can be'. He was 'well on the way to ruining the South African Air Force by getting rid of the best English-speaking officers and some good fighting Afrikaners as well'. It would be 'a tragedy to hand over Simonstown to him'.85 Erasmus had worked determinedly to get Du Toit. When Smuts's appointee Van Ryneveld left, Erasmus chose Beyers in order to avoid Poole. But Beyers looked too fondly upon British proposals, and was effectively dismissed. So it was Poole after all. He was barely tolerated, and soon sent to Berlin. Then at last Republican purity arrived in the form of Du Toit. This information affected the fine print of the Simonstown Agreement. The facilities became South African property - the main purpose of the agreement - but Britain secured guarantees that the naval dockyard's workers would not be subjected to the colour bar. The bilingualism requirement Erasmus had introduced would also not apply. The personnel on loan from the Royal Navy and the joint exercises envisaged made that impossible.86 The British military wanted to avoid even the appearance of conniving with the South African government and the UDF's cultural and racial practices. In so doing, it protected part of the young SA Navy from Erasmus and Du Toit. The actions of the British over Simonstown indicate that professionalism can

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quickly be undone by politicians. The Royal Navy would not allow it - at least, not in the part of the UDF that it wanted to use. Finally, the various negotiations of the 1950s point to early internal divisions in South African defence policy-making. The main opponents of the Department of Defence were Finance and Commerce and Industries. The financial authorities of state spending favoured civilian projects, and for this reason disliked big military budgets. In addition to money, Louw (Commerce and Industries) was a member of the inner ring of Malan's Cabinet. Havenga (Finance), a member of the liberal Afrikaner Party, was not a Malan confidant, but his decisions were important in ensuring Parliamentary approval of budgets. Erasmus could not compete with them. The Department of Defence was much older than the Department of Foreign Affairs. Yet although Foreign Affairs did not have a Minister, roving Ambassador Eric Louw was a senior member of Cabinet and a former Minister for Commerce and Industries. The negotiations over Simonstown were handled by Erasmus, a low-ranking Minister. A strong personality given to almost legalistic intransigence, Louw was promoting the African Charter that so alarmed Britain. By mid 1955 the Charter would be very dead, but in the process Louw's attentions drifted into the area of external defence. By the time of the Simonstown Agreement (June 1955), he had 'established a significant ascendancy over Erasmus in matters of external defence policy'.87 Before the end of the year Louw would be Minister of Foreign Affairs and have access to the Ministry. The point of the Erasmus-Louw relationship is not psychological or personalistic. Its relevance is twofold: first, it explains South Africa's docility in the Simonstown Agreements. South Africa agreed not to inflict Racial Utopia on its naval dockworkers in negotiations handled by that ultimate Republican, F. C. Erasmus. It was simply that at the time the UDF did not have naval-bureaucratic resources at the dockyards or in the UDF itself. Louw suffered no such handicap. The second relevant matter is the legalistic legacy to policy-making. Although South Africa would later emphasi2e international law in its disputes, it is not to it that the matter refers. Other than Cabinet, South Africa did not have a body for inter-departmental co-ordination in the 1950s. Departments went their own ways, even in the common area of external defence. In foreign policy, Te Water's African Charter connected everything simultaneously. But neither he nor Louw could succeed with it. In regional policy Louw consequently took an approach of piecemeal or 'inorganic' types of contact with other countries.88 The Military Within Most of the dynamics within military circles have already been discussed. Utopian racial thinking pushed the UDF into the background of state actions; a process of Republicanization was in motion; the defence budget's share of total expenditure did not grow in line with civilian commitments; and although it was

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increasing, employment in the UDF did not outstrip growing employment in civilian state institutions. Furthermore international factors affected the military as well. Airmen volunteered and fought in two Cold War episodes, the Berlin Airlift and Korea, but South Africa was unwelcome in any of the new regional defence associations, including possible associations on the African continent south of the Sahara. As a result, South Africa became a spectator to the arms bazaar created by the Cold War. In addition to the above, the following merits brief discussion. As a result of the commitment to the Middle East, South Africa eventually received 200 Centurion tanks, 20 Comet tanks, Ferret scout cars, several hundred Saracen armoured personnel carriers, a few items of artillery, and 9 Canberra B12 bombers. From Canada came 40 Vampire FB5 jets and 30 Sabre F86 jets. The SAAF also later received 56 Alouette helicopters from France. The South African Navy acquired valuable equipment under the Simonstown arrangements. It placed on order to British shipyards, and later received: 2 destroyers; 4 frigates; minesweepers and 7 Shackleton aircraft for coastal defence.89 A radar system was deployed. From the beginning, Canada registered fears that the arms it supplied could be used by the South African government against the disenfranchised. This was entirely possible, especially with regard to aircraft, even training aircraft. But in its orders South Africa was bound to the technological probabilities of desert warfare fought by an armoured division in the Middle East. Thus South Africans could not order equipment primarily suited to light infantry operations, including automatic rifles, machine guns, and transport helicopters. The Belgian FN-rifle, for example, was available as from 1954/195 5, but most South African infantry (and policemen) remained wedded to .303-rifles. Local construction of armoured cars was halted after World War II. This could be revived, yet limitations on local construction of chassis remained evident in the desire for imported tanks. By the end of the 1950s, after the Suez Crisis, the need for an armoured division in the Middle East abated. Given the military budget's share of the state expenditure as well as the attitudes of arms suppliers, the UDF in the 1950s thus did not acquire available and relevant light infantry equipment. SAAF authorities wanted aircraft, but not the transport helicopters so important to light infantry operations. Army authorities thought chiefly about armour. Most of the goods acquired did not suit the state in domestic confrontations with the disenfranchised. Intimidating the disenfranchised through the power of numbers was also difficult. Infuriated by ACF units' insubordination over the Red Tab issue, Erasmus hacked away at their strength and role. Most of the ACF volunteers had come from urban areas. No new ACF units would be created in urban areas, and too many ACF veterans were on the register. ACF recruitment was thus reduced to 30,000 men. These measures required an amendment to the 1912 Act; in 1952 it was done.90 To soften the blow and emit Republican noises, the Rifle

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Associations^ total membership was increased. Their weaponry was kept at home, training was casual, and they were addressed in archaic Afrikaans terms ({burger*, for example). Rifle Associations became Rifle Commandos. For once, Erasmus went too far. By 1958 the Army Chief of Staff concluded that the Rifle Associations no longer had a proper military function: they had to be brought back into the UDF. Training was brought into line with the light infantry units of the UDF. Urban recruitment returned. The result was more than 200 battalions tied to clusters of magisterial districts - in effect, regional commands of the UDF. In other words, their military function related to internal security. In effect, the Rifle Commandos had merged with the ACF. This merger was made possible by the Defence Act of 1957.91 The Act also created a Council of Defence, and addressed the old problem of how South Africa was legally defined. Divisions in the House of Assembly seemed to revert to 1912 rather than 4 September 1939. There was nothing strange about this. The expansionism of the African Charter may have suggested that the National Party would send soldiers all over Africa. Foremost in the Nationalists' mind, however, was the Middle East and promises they had made to Britain about an armoured division.92 Consequently, they had no motive for changing the condition that soldiers outside South Africa had to be volunteers. The old definition stayed. For military purposes South Africa still consisted of South Africa plus the Mandate93 Summary As campaigns and methods in South Africa plus the Mandate still have to be discussed, only a partial view of the state of Apartheid has thus far emerged. Features and trends up to 1961 are summarized as follows. Race policy, the issue dearest to the state's heart, moved from White Supremacy to Racial Utopia. Racial Utopia did not arrive at once - its origins dated back to the days of hunter-gatherers. Through Utopian root principles, however, the state - and minority rule - acquired in its own eyes a legitimacy hitherto based on paternalistic and segregationist inequality. Racial Utopia justified just about any means of social engineering on a massive scale and, as will be shown, involved substantial violence. For our purposes, however, Racial Utopia also meant that security agencies would be central neither to final Utopia nor in the methods of constructing it. The God-given communal character of the people made that illogical. They would bear the burdens of the restoration process with happy hearts, finally to revel in the separate worlds restored by the state. It did not matter that the people had not been consulted in the matter of Racial Utopia. There are good grounds to believe that Racial Utopia was not constructed on cynicism; it appealed to the love of moral propriety which, in turn, could be strengthened by avoidance of overt violence. Because their principles were inegalitarian, Nationalists' behaviour was often taken to reflect an amoral enslavement to power. If this were true, martial instruments of domination would

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have been in the centre, not on the periphery. Utility was a powerful presence, nevertheless. By defining away race and majority, the state's political proprietors mobilized a divide-and-rule logic. Labour needs could be better served by controlled urbanization (or counter-urbanization). Violence could always be described as only a temporary necessity, not an inherent characteristic of the system. But still, Utility was not the only god in town. But it was more than a case of avoiding the security agencies, for reasons of propriety and the logic of principles, when it came to implementing Racial Utopia. Regardless of any racial issue, World War II had seen security agencies betray Republicanism, spy on Republicans and intern them, and cheat them out of a probable electoral victory. In any case a spoils system was in effect, but the security agencies had to pay for what they did during World War II. The result would be a restoration of the agencies' Republicanism, lost in 1902. Most resignations in the SAP and UDF came in anticipation of what the Republicans would do. Their fears were justified. Republicanization included corporate financial neglect, seizing documents, demanding symbolic homage, manipulating appointments and promotions, refusing to send officers on training courses abroad, and decimating the ACF and Rifle Associations. The latter had once been cherished Republican traditions. This counted for little; what mattered is what soldiers did in the last war. Republicanization was not the only process affecting the state. It was being Africanized in overall employment, showing a minority of white employees by i960. The semi-state grew fast, making it a haven for people once driven out of rural Afrikanerdom into the security agencies. Certainly the SAP was no longer the first choice as employer of even poor Whites. This partly explains why, of the two security agencies, the SAP did better in protecting itself from hostile ministerial interventions. The most powerful departments were financial authorities, Finance and Commerce and Industries, led by strong members of Cabinet and Parliament. For reasons other than Republicanism, they opposed big budgets for both military and police. In its exterior defence connections, the state bought into the Cold War, participating in the Berlin Airlift and Korea. This fighting is genuinely odd, as the Soviet Consulate remained open until 1956. But South Africa remained unpopular with potential allies. Unpopularity did not make South African assets useless. The desired items resembled those of World War II — an armoured division in the Middle East and naval facilities. South African territory itself was not worth fighting over. It had to give. The arrangements did produce equipment for local use, but South Africa paid for each and every item in gold. In Southern Africa, too, South Africa came away with little. The Nationalists' victory alarmed British investors and activated an economic and racial balance-of-power approach. Southern Rhodesia, and later the Central African Federation, was the counterweight. The Republicans were being left alone — a perverse dynamic, given their globalist view of the world. For the post-194 5 British, it was politically impossible

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to defend racial inequality in principle. World War II - mainly Singapore forced them to abandon some of their colonies, and this had to be justified as an act of high-mindedness, not financial impoverishment. F. C. Erasmus went to head the Department of Justice after his tenure at Defence. He had to come up with the answers to Sharpeville and, in conjunction with the new Minister of Defence, forge a way ahead.

Notes 1. David Welsh, The Roots of Segregation (Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 1971). 2. By Afrikaners I mean those Afrikaans speakers who identified with the political interests of Republicanism and racial inequality. Since many Afrikaans speakers were critical of and opposed those interests, they are excluded from the term Afrikaners. Afrikanerdom refers to both Afrikaans speakers and Afrikaners. This distinction is tedious, but is made in the interests of avoiding another Boer War. 3. See T. Dunbar Moodie, The Rise of Afrikanerdom (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975). 4. See Hermann Giliomee, T h e National Party and the Afrikaner Broederbond', in Robert M. Price and C. G. Rosberg (eds), The Apartheid Regime (Cape Town: David Philip, 1980). 5. The influential early statements are Alexander Hepple, South Africa: A Political and Economic History (London: Pall Mall, 1966); and Leo Kuper and M. G. Smith (eds), Pluralism in Africa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). 6. See Theda Skocpol, States and Social Revolutions (London: Cambridge University Press, 1979). In the Introduction Skocpol indeed cites the South African case as one inspiration for her research. 7. Stanley Greenberg, Legitimating the Illegitimate (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987); Deborah Posel, 'The Language of Domination, 1978-1983', in Shula Marks and Stanley Trapido (eds), The Politics of Race, Class and Nationalism in Twentieth Century South Africa (London: Longmans, 1987); and 'Language, Legitimation and Control: The South African State after 1978', Social Dynamics, vol. 10, no. 1 (1984). 8. A. Ashforth, The Politics of Official Discourse on Twentieth Century South Africa (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990). 9. Saul Dubow, Racial Segregation and the Origins of Apartheid in South Africa, 1919—1936 (London: Macmillan, 1989). 10. Doreen Atkinson, Cities and Citizenship: Towards a Normative Analysis of the Urban Order in South Africa, with Special reference to East London, 1950-1986, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (University of Natal, 1991). 11. Saul Dubow, Racial Segregation and the Origins of Apartheid in South Africa, 1919—1936, p. 12. 12. Doreen Atkinson, Cities and Citizenship: Towards a Normative Analysis of the Urban Order in South Africa, with Special reference to East London, 1950-1986, pp. 104-246. 13. Ibid., pp. 247-332. 14. Ibid., pp. 9-103. 15. Joseph Barry Standish, State Employment in South Africa, unpublished MA thesis (University of Cape Town, 1984), pp. 134—48. 16. Hermann Giliomee, 'The Growth of Afrikaner Identity', in Heribert Adam and Hermann Giliomee (eds), The Rise and Crisis of Afrikaner Power (Cape Town: David Philip,

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i979)> p. 5. 17. Joseph Barry Standish, State Employment in South Africa, pp. 99-100. 18. See South Africa, Report of the Departmental Committee of Enquiry on Pensions (South African Permanent Force) 19j2 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1952), pp. 1-7. 19. Albie Sachs, 'The Instruments of Domination in South Africa', in Leonard Thompson and Jeffrey Butler (eds.), Change in Contemporary South Africa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975), pp. 236, 249. 20. Cynthia Enloe, Police, Military and Ethnicity: The Foundations of State Power (London: Transaction Books, 1980), p. 56. See also Cynthia Enloe, Ethnic Soldiers: State Security in a Divided Society (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1980), pp. 180-81. 21. Stanley Trapido, 'Political Institutions and Afrikaner Social Structures in the Republic of South Africa', American Political Science Review, vol. 57 (1963), pp. 75-87. 22. Gwendolen M. Carter, The Politics of Inequality (London: Thames & Hudson, 1958), p. 83. The Leo Marquard Papers, BC 587, Manuscripts and Archives, lodged in the Jagger Library at the University of Cape Town, contain copies of the lectures. Some contain a critique of South African racism. See Leo Marquand's pseudonymous John F. Burger, The Black Mans Burden (London: Victor Gollancz, 1943). 23. Jack and Ray Simons, Class and Colour in South Africa (Harmondsworth: Penguin, i$>69)> P- 54O. 24. Eddie and Win Roux, Rebel Pity: The Life of Eddie Roux (London: Rex Collins, 1970), p. 205. 25. See Michael Fridjohn, The Torch Commando and the Politics of White Opposition, paper presented at the African Studies Seminar, University of the Witwatersrand, 1977. 26. E. G. Malherbe, Never A Dull Moment (Cape Town: Timmins Publishers, 1981), pp. 247-8. 27. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1948), Cols 551-62. 28. Ibid., Cols 3126-7. 29. SANDF Documentation Centre. Box 91. Oorsig van Vordering in die UVM Mei 1948— September 19J2. 30. Including the Royal Durban Light Infantry, First City Light Infantry, Cape Town Highlanders, Witwatersrand Rifles - De La Rey, Royal Natal carbineers, Natal Mounted Rifles, Kimberley Regiment, Pretoria's Regiment (Princess Alice's Own) and the Prince Alfred's Guard. 31. SANDF Documentation Centre. MV/EF 105, MV 55/6, Appendix 14. 32. Erasmus apparently destroyed all his papers upon leaving office. Department of Defence documentation is currendy being examined by two scholars, Louise Jooste and Roger Bolton, whose forthcoming work we hope will not be classified. 3 3. Willem Hendrik van den Bos, An Investigation Into Resignation of Officers From the South African Air Force (Permanent Force) During the Period 1946—1971, unpublished MA thesis (University of South Africa, 1978), p. 57. 34. Ibid., p. 58. 35. Ibid., pp. 11-12, 48, 50, 54. 36. Ibid., pp. 61, 108—9. 37. Ibid., pp. 19, 48-9, 57, 103. 38. Ibid., p. 108. 39. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1948), Cols 544-540. Ibid., Cols 543, 551. 41. Ibid., Col. 3126. 42. Ibid., Col. 545.

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T H E MILITARY I N THE MAKING OF SOUTH

AFRICA

43. Ibid., Col. 546. 44. E. G. Malherbe, Never A Dull Moment, pp. 250-53. 45. Poole subsequently worked for the Department of Foreign Affairs. He died in 1969. 46. F. C. Erasmus to J. C. Smuts, 7 October 1949. In Jean van der Poel (ed.), Selections from the Smuts Papers, vol. VII, August 1945-October 1950 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), pp. 859-61. 47. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-19$$ (Silverton: Promedia Publications, 1988), p. 194. 48. South Africa, Department of Internal Affairs, Circular No.} of 19j2 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1952) 49. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-19$$, pp, 24247, 258. 50. Ibid., p. 240. 51. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year i960 (Pretoria: Government Printer, i960), p. 1. 52. See South Africa, Report of the Departmental Committee of Enquiry on Pensions (South African Police) (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1954). 5 3. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police (Pretoria: Government Printer). For 1955, 1956, 1959 and i960, under the heading 'Recruitment*. 54. W. C. B. Tunstall, The Commonwealth and Regional Defence London: The Athlone Press/University of London, 1959), p. 61. 55. Cmnd. 6743. 56. W. C. B. Tunstall, The Commonwealth and Regional Defence, pp. 51-6. 57. Total personnel came to 863. Vessels consisted of 3 frigates, 6 harbour motor launches, 2 boom defence vessels and 1 controlled minelayer. The Royal New Zealand Navy had done much better by the War. R. K. Campbell, Sea Power and South Africa (Pretoria: University of Pretoria/Institute for Strategic Studies, 1984), pp. 8-10. 58. Few strategists wondered what fulfilment of this arrangement would signal to belligerents. Surely they were entitled to treat it as an act of war? 5 9. David Killingray, 'The Idea of a British Imperial African Army', The Journal of African History, vol. 20, no. 3 (1979), pp. 434-435. 60. W. C. B. Tunstall, The Commonwealth and Regional Defence, pp. 47-8, 50. 61. See J. Paget, Counter-Insurgency Campaigning (London: Faber & Faber, 1967). 62. See G. Blaxland, The Regiments Depart: The British Army, 194J-1970 (London: William Kimber, 1971); John Keegan, 'Western Europe and Its Armies, 1945-1985', in Lewis Gann (ed.), The Defence of Western Europe (London: Croom Helm, 1987), pp. 5-9. 63. Peter Henshaw, South Africa's External Relations with Britain and the Commonwealth, 194J—19J6, unpublished PhD thesis (Cambridge University, 1989), p. 162. In 1950 Beyers would be effectively dismissed by Erasmus. 64. G. R. Berridge, South Africa, the Colonial Powers and African Defence* (New York: St Martin's Press, 1992), p. 97. 65. Peter Henshaw, South Africa's External Relations with Britain and the Commonwealth, 194J-19J6, pp. 165-6. 66. G. R. Berridge, South Africa, the Colonial Powers and African Defence', pp. 26—7. 67. Ibid., pp. 36-7. 68. Ibid., pp. 43-4. 69. Ibid., pp. 48—9, 97. 70. Although it has operated under various names, Foreign Affairs will be used throughout. 71. Deon Geldenhuys, The Effects of South Africa's Racial Policies on Anglo-South African Relations, 194J-1961, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (University o f Cambridge, 1977), pp. 1 1 - 1 5 .

THE STATE OF APARTHEID

117

72. See Ronald Hyam, The Failure of South African Expansion 1908-1948 (London: Macmillan, 1972); and Martin Chanock, Unconsummated Union: Britain, Rhodesia and South Africa 1900-194; (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1977). 73. G. R. Berridge, South Africa, the Colonial Powers and African Defence', pp. 2-23. 74. See Annette Seegers, Revolution in Africa: The Case of Zimbabwe, unpublished Ph.D. thesis (Loyola: University of Chicago, 1984), pp. 114-64. 75. It doubled foreign investment in Southern Rhodesia between 1947 and 1949. Ibid., pp. 121-3. 76. Ibid., pp. 69-164. 77. Cmnd 9520, United Kingdom, Exchanges of Letters on the Defence Matters between the Governments of the United Kingdom and the Union of South Africa, June 19JJ (London/Ministry of Defence: Her Majesty's Stationery Office, 1955), p. 1. 78. G. R. Berridge, South Africa, the Colonial Powers and African Defence'; and Economic Power in Anglo-South African Diplomacy: Simonstown, Sharpeville and After (London: Macmillan, 1981); G. R. Berridge and Jack E. Spence, 'South Africa and the Simonstown Agreements' in J. W. Young, (ed.), The Foreign Policy of Churchill's Peacetime Administration, 19J1-19JJ (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1988); M. Feige, The Power of Proteus: Great Britain, South Africa and the Simonstown Agreements, 1948—19JJ, unpublished MPhil thesis (Cambridge University, 1985); Peter Henshaw, South Africa's External Relations with Britain and the Commonwealth, 194J—19J&, and 'The Transfer of Simonstown: Afrikaner Nationalism, South African Strategic Dependence, and British Global Power', The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History', vol. 20, no. 3 (1992). 79. Ritchie Ovendale, 'The South African Policy of the British Labour Government, 1947—1951' International Affairs, vol. 59, no. 1 (Winter 1982/83), pp. 44-5. 80. John Dugard, 'The Simonstown Agreement: South Africa, Britain and the United Nations', South African Law Journal vol. 85, no. 2 (1968), pp. 142-56. 81. Peter Henshaw, The Transfer of Simonstown: Afrikaner Nationalism, South African Strategic Dependence, and British Global Power', pp. 422-36. 82. Ibid., pp. 424—8. 83. Nairobi did not fail for this reason alone. But see W. C. B. Tunstall, The Commonwealth and Regional Defence, p. 47. 84. Peter Henshaw, South Africa's External Relations with Britain and the Commonwealth, 194J-19J6, p. 157. 85. Peter Henshaw, South Africa's External Relations with Britain and the Commonwealth, 194J-19J6, p. 238. 86. Peter Henshaw, 'The Transfer of Simonstown: Afrikaner Nationalism, South African Strategic Dependence, and British Global Power', p. 436. 87. G . R. B e r r i d g e , South Africa, the Colonial Powers and African Defence', p p . 1 5 3 . 88. Ibid., p p . 1 - 2 3 ff. 89. Deon F. S. Fourie, War Potentials of the African States South of the Sahara (Johannesburg: South African Institute of International Affairs, 1968). 90. See South Africa, Report of the Select Committee on the Subject of the Defence Amendment Bill (Parow: Government Printer, 1952), pp. ix-xvi. 91. See South Africa, Report of the Select Committee on the Subject of the Defence Bill (Parow: Government Printer, 1956). 92. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1957), Cols 1288, 1509, 2963—8. 93. For a different viewpoint, see Richard Dale, Defense Legislation and Communal Politics: the Evolution of a White South African Nation as Reflected in the Controversy Over the Assignment of Armed Forces Abroad, 1912-1976 (Ohio* University: Center for International Studies, Africa Series No. 33, 1978), pp. 37-9.

CHAPTER 4

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE, 1948-76

This chapter is concerned with relations between the state, its security agencies, and their opposition. The discussion begins in 1948 and ends with Soweto in 1976. This period witnesses acceptance of armed struggle as an acceptable means of resistance to the state, the rise of a Security Branch empire within the state, the military's reaction to it, and the first encounters with guerrillas in Namibia and elsewhere in the region. As will be argued, the state's use of its coercive capacities was not nearly as adept as it is often depicted. The security agencies fought each other as eagerly as they battled their opponents outside the state. And what mattered to the security agencies was not only resistance on a large scale. A relatively marginal episode could have massive impact. From the Promotion of Bantu Self-Government Act (1959) to Sharpeville (1961) Early Verwoerdianism did not foresee homelands development resulting in independence. The Bantu Authorities Act of 1951, which establised a hierarchy of tribal, regional and territorial authorities, was justified as a defence of tribal life against assimilationist pressures. The money spent on the homelands' development was a cautious affair, too. The Tomlinson Commission's 1955 recommendations for stimulating development foundered on this very issue. Although the Bantu Authorities Act said it implemented 'those human rights and privileges for which we are yearning in this life',1 the final shape of Racial Utopia was not yet visible. Slowly the state's racial policies appropriated the language of decolonization and development. Nations would become free. In 1957 the Transkei Territorial Authority started to exercise functions separated from the central authorities. In 1958 the former Minister of Native Affairs, Dr H. F. Verwoerd, became Prime Minister. In 1959 the state broke through with the Promotion of Bantu SelfGovernment Act. The Act did not mention independence, but homeland 118

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

II9

authorities were given legislative powers. This was not taken seriously by many observers; they knew Parliament could overrule inconvenient homeland legislation. But the existing legal contract between the state and all South Africa's inhabitants was unilaterally suspended. For the disenfranchised, this was a moment of exquisite political horror. While they were without a vote, they had previously been citizens, subjects of a country where one Parliament reigned supreme. Territorial zones would be carved out of the old South Africa for separate nations represented by new legislative authorities. The disenfranchised, in others words, were going to lose their citizenship. They were promised freedom, but it was a 'separate freedom' for eight nations identified on a combination of ethnicity, culture and language. The Promotion of Bantu Self-Government Act implied this, and later, in 1959, Verwoerd said independence could not be ruled out. For many, this was fighting talk. In late 1959 the two principal organizations of the disenfranchised, the ANC and PAC, were still conducting their campaign against pass laws. The campaign was not exclusively based on the disenfranchised. Senior ANC leadership believed in, first, protest as an educative vehicle and, second, that political action should be principled. Full citizenship had to be achieved by non-violent methods. Martyrdom was preferable to taking life. PAC leadership had no difficulty in warning the SAP of impending action and giving assurances that it would stick to non-violent methods. They exhorted their followers to abide by their rules.2 Recognition of the limits of protest, however, were at hand. In townships near Vanderbijlpark and Vereeniging - World War II centres of munitions and steel production - influx control had been highly contentious. Nearly 5,000 people had been driven out in 1959. On top of this came raids for, among other things, liquor violations. The ANC was slow to establish a presence in this fertile ground. The PAC was quicker, surprising the SAP by the size of crowds their meetings attracted. The SAP decided to send reinforcements to the Sharpeville Police Station. On 21 March i960, a crowd assembled at this station. They were unmoved by calls to disperse, a baton charge, low-flying aircraft and three Saracen armoured cars parked nearby. After stoning by the crowd and a scuffle during which one policeman was knocked down, the police opened fire. They killed 69 people and wounded 180.3 Sharpeville was soon followed by violent encounters between the police and protesters at Langa and elsewhere in the country. A state of emergency was declared, and political leaders were detained en masse on 30 March. When the state of emergency was lifted in August, merely picking up the pieces could not suffice. The tradition of non-violence was in shreds. The legal contract was suspended unilaterally with the Promotion of Bantu Self-Government Act of 1959. Now the social contract was gone too. The shooting indicated that the disenfranchised no longer lived under the paternalistic racial umbrella. Racial Utopia meant they could be shot just as soldiers killed enemies during war. Although protest was expressed in demands and a strike was called for

I2O

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Republic Day celebrations (31 May 1961), if the demands went unmet, resistance was at a crossroads. Demands were not met. In June 1961 the ANC national executive received a proposal from Nelson Mandela about a campaign of violence. He asked that those ANC members who participated in it should not be censured. Both popular sentiment and the leadership accepted violence to achieve their aims.4 The dominant interpretation of the 1961 acceptance of violence is that the disenfranchised and their leaders simply ran out of hope and patience. It was more than that. When the Promotion of Bantu Self-Government Act is seen in conjunction with Sharpeville (and Langa and others), it explains the moral right to violence felt by the disenfranchised. Only when one appreciates the connection to threatened citizenship can one understand the weight attached to that moral right. For the SAP's methods in dealing with crowds, Sharpeville was a crisis. Because of a damaged cable, telephone links could not be established. The Police Station was cut off. When a senior officer from Divisional Headquarters arrived, he had to travel by armoured car to the Police Station. The armoured cars did have automatic weaponry, Sten machine guns, but they were not suitable for the proceedings. The policemen inside the Police Station were armed only with service revolvers and .303 rifles. The officer, Lieutenant-Colonel G. D. Pienaar, did order live ammunition to be loaded, but had not given the order to fire. Pienaar later said he stopped the shooting only by jumping in front of the line of fire. He had not had time, he said, to issue a warning of imminent fire to the crowd, nor would he have been heard above the noise.5 Sharpeville was not the only incident which, from the SAP's point of view, exposed their methods. Near Durban, the announcement in late 1959 of people's removal from Cato Manor to Kwa Mashu heightened public protest. In one incident, policemen could not hold their unit and fled for shelter. Here they attempted to barricade themselves, but to little avail. Eventually the bodies of nine policemen were recovered. 1960 was a disastrous year for the SAP's methods in dealing with crowds.6 What made the crisis so obvious was that opposition to the state was clearly a mass phenomenon and only partly heeded exhortations to remain non-violent. Between 1949 and 1954, the strikes characterizing opposition towards the end of World War II had abated. In 1949 a serious riot in Durban had caused 142 casualties and considerable damage to property, but because the main participants were black and Indian people, it was widely understood as an intercommunal or race riot.7 In 1950 had come the first indication of the mass public character of future protest. In February Parliament promulgated the Suppression of Communism Act (No. 44 of 1950), the terms of which declared the SACP an illegal organization. To many this was an infringement of freedom of speech. Thus large numbers of people participated in the Freedom of Speech Convention in March (in Johannes-

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

121

burg) and Freedom Day demonstrations on i May (for example, in Benoni, Orlando and Sophiatown). Because of the connection between Communism/the SACP and mass public protest, the SAP concluded that the former had caused the latter. These were essentially Communist uprisings.8 The SAP was not the only organization to think in these terms. Prominent members of the SACP also thought the Suppression of Communism Act merged the struggles of the SACP with those of the ANC.9 In 1951, the ANC and South African Indian Congress announced plans to disrupt the forthcoming Van Riebeeck festival. No actual disruption materialized. The many meetings held in connection with it, however, inspired a Defiance Campaign. Launched in mid 1952, it aimed at the repeal of six pieces of unjust legislation. The campaign spread quickly across the country, but had lost all momentum by December 1952. Although it lasted for just about six months, the campaign soured relations between the SAP and resisters, especially in the Eastern Cape, where it involved riots and violence. Yet after the Defiance Campaign ended (December 1952) the ANC reaffirmed its commitment to non-violence. During most of the 1950s, the state's problem was its legal arsenal. The SAP had arrested 8,391 people during the Defiance Campaign:10 what were they to be charged with in court? When it came to sedition, the Riotous Assemblies Act was still in force, now complemented by the Suppression of Communism Act or the numerous pass laws. 1953 thus saw the promulgation of two new laws enlarging the SAP's powers. Declaration of a state of emergency was made easier by the Public Safety Act (No. 3 of 1953). The scope of criminal public violence was enlarged by the Criminal Law Amendment Act (No. 8 of 1953). In 1956 the old Riotous Assemblies Act was revised, narrowing the legal scope of public activities even further.11 The Defiance Campaign also directly affected the organization of the SAP. It led to the expansion of non-European posts in the establishment, and sustained the impetus towards militaristic training and centralization of the command structure. In line with Racial Utopia's early development, the SAP by 1952 had accepted that members of one race (as officially defined) should be policed by members of that race. Previously the SAP had used policemen other than white, often in skilled positions in Detective Branch and as trackers, but under white supervision. Under post-1948 racial policy, some police stations were manned exclusively by members of relevant race groups, and commanded by officers of the same. White officers' supervisory roles contracted. Besides offering nonEuropean officers better chances of individual advancement, the SAP claimed, this arrangement served to 'foster a better understanding between the residents and the Police and to establish the image of the Force as the friend and protector of law-abiding inhabitants'.12 The growth of the SAP in the 1950s can be seen in Table 4.1. The big leaps in the SAP's absorption of non-European recruits were clearly connected to the Defiance Campaign: establishment strength leapt between 1951 and 1953. The

122

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 4.1 SAP, European and Non-European Categories (Establishment and Strength), 1948-61 Year

1945 1946 *947 1948 1949 1950 1951

Strength

Establishment

Strength

7,874

6,55i

4,9°7

5,9O3

8,742 10,709 12,898

8,302

6,002

5,906

9,669

6,903 7,690

6,756 6,868 7,280

1 2,975 11,634 11,652

11,301

11,250

11,301

12,164

11,602

16,301

15,564 *5,565

11,986 11,938

14,682 14,642

",777 11,776

X

959

i960

7,5H 9,064

io,575 10,926

*955

1957 1958

7,7i4 7,5i2

11,064 11,064

11,678

1955 1956

9,74o 10,548 10,478 9,999 9,955 10,138 10,110

1952 1954

Non-European

European Establishment

n,835 11,938 11,925

11,181

7,345 7,291 8,591 10,341 10,829 10,794 10,851 10,889 12,134 12,925 13,786

Source. South Africa, AnnualReport of the Commissioner of the South African Police 1945—1960 (Pretoria: Government Printer). Under the heading 'Establishment/

increase in 1958 was widely expected with the opening of the New Modderfontein Training Depot for non-Europeans only. The influx of these policemen was vital to the SAP because, as previously shown, its ability to recruit among Whites had deteriorated markedly. Indeed, it was with pride and political significance that the SAP Commissioner reported annually that no shortage of non-European applicants could be detected. The new type of recruit perpetuated the SAP's militaristic training bias. As can be concluded from Table 4.2, they were as prone to indiscipline as earlier recruits. These tendencies would be cured by soldierly training. Although increased numbers would help with the pressure generated by the Defiance Campaign, police casualties during the Campaign shook SAP nerves about the quality of local command. In 1953 the post of District Commandant was upgraded (to lieutenant-colonel). It was emphasized that decisions at the new non-European police stations should be made by the most senior officer present. To create seniority, about 121 posts held by white officers were upgraded. They created internal inconsistencies, later resolved by increasing the number of police divisions to 11 (from 9) and districts to 79 (from 62), as well

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

Table 4.2

Dismissals from the SAP, 1945 to i960 iropean

1945 1946 1947 1948 1949 1950 1951 1952 1953 1954 1955 1956 1957 1958 J

959 i960

123

Non-European J

n/a

9

149

17 28

249

54

227

54 68

194

61

HI

174

45

121

49 45

224

40

242

48

212

5i

170

2

95

65

176

136

3"

108

285

Source: South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police 1945-1960 (Pretoria: Government Printer). Under the heading Wastage.'

as the standardization of promotions, rank, and graded command posts.13 In other words, new police stations were going to be manned by non-Europeans, but the commands still would come from the most senior white officers. Except for the legal problems, emanating mainly from the lawyers in the Department of Justice, the SAP regarded public events between 1953 and 1957 without alarm. In early 1957 the beginning of the bus boycott marked a change, particularly as it coincided with renewed anti-pass demonstrations. Yet in the following year, the SAP noted only two incidents of relatively minor importance.14 Against this background, it is obvious why Cato Manor and Sharpeville (and later other episodes), as well as the state of emergency imposed in their aftermath, caused such commotion within the state. In the first instance, by the late 1950s the state expected general, often violent, protest. The episodes in Natal and the Transvaal were soon followed by a serious series of incidents in Cape Town. In Langa a crowd dispersed only after three baton charges and shooting. People then moved into nearby Nyanga, where they were eventually contained with the help of the Defence Force. A march on the centre of Cape Town miraculously avoided violence, but in other city neighbourhoods, and elsewhere in the Western Cape, the SAP was enountering serious

124

THE

MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

challenge. In the Transkei, riots occurred at Flagstaff, Lusikisiki, Mount Ayliff and Tanabankulu.15 In the second instance, although the SAP had its hands full, it was not as though the state was on the verge of being toppled by a challenge from the streets. The problem lay in what would be required by the general, often violent, resistance. In the 1950s the state's legal arsenal had been vastly strengthened - but it was not enough. The SAP's strength had doubled and its non-European face was far more visible to the disenfranchised. This did not pacify the protesters. Many of the policemen doing the shooting at Sharpeville had been non-European.16 In the third instance, while international interest during the 1950s had been muted, Sharpeville both heightened interest and made it highly critical. For the SAP the reaction 'was one of international hysteria ... abroad the events were emotionally blown out of all proportion'. Local church figures, in a 'similarly hysterical manner', demanded an impartial inquiry into the events at Langa and Sharpeville.17 Counting the Cost, 1961 In addition to showing that the SAP acted like an army facing foreign enemies, Sharpeville masked an equally serious problem affecting the SAP: its role in policing crimes not regarded as crimes. The SAP was not the only agency enforcing Racial Utopia. Municipal authorities, district labour bureaux, and administration boards also policed the disenfranchised. Inspectors ('peace officers') of the administration boards had powers of interrogation and arrest as regards accommodation, employment, and presence in an urban area. Administration boards employed their own police, albeit trained by the SAP.18 The Department of Bantu Affairs issued reference books and kept fingerprints on central files. Prints of the whole hand were kept in the Central Reference Bureau in Pretoria. Other state agencies' officials policed squatter communities and 'illegals'19 through the eviction of people and their belongings. Policing was even privatized in, for example, mining companies' use of mine police to control workers. The SAP shared in the policing of influx control. It became a standing order, for example, to arrest people without pass books. Major SAP sweeps through black and white urban areas for pass and other violations were not uncommon. The SAP assisted in the forced removal of people under the Group Areas Act and in the process of consolidating homeland territory. The SAP and the South African Railway and Harbour Police arrested people for contravening the Reservation of Separate Amenities Act of 1953. In other words, a large portion of SAP activities was taken up by policing statutory or technical offences, which would land up in a Bantu Commissioners Court. Of course the SAP could in many ways act appropriately: criminals were caught and people in peril saved. Countless acts of service beyond the call of

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

12}

duty were, however, dwarfed by legitimacy problems more complicated than being instruments of domination. Racial Utopia's laws eroded habits of lawfulness. Obeying the law for some comes from fearing punishment. For most others, obedience is a habit nurtured by personal experience of a standard applying equally to all. Habits of lawfulness were eroded when those who made the law did not live under it, when laws reflected minority more than public interest, and when definitions of criminal activity became too broad. Habits of lawfulness include respect for the office of a policeman. By the late 1950s, transparently diminishing respect for the office of the SAP was often depicted as a consequence of police brutality. In many cases - certainly at Sharpeville - this was a reasonable conclusion. But serious problems originated in belittling behaviour necessitated by legislation. Racial Utopia's laws debased and trivialized policemen's office, especially those regulating family life and sexual relations. Policemen were put in demeaning positions in order to apprehend criminals: compelled to burst into bedrooms, peek through keyholes, ask contemptible questions, or farcically search for the offending item of evidence. Policemen were required to behave like half-wits. They were paying for it with their lives. Towards Empire: The Rise of Security Branch Although the SAP was not the only state agency policing Racial Utopia, it still provided various non-policing services to the state. Naturally the SAP sought a more specific definition of their functions. They did not want to change legislation, only their agency's assignments.20 Section 5 of the Police Act (No. 7 of 1958) identified four activities: (i) the preservation of internal safety; (ii) maintenance of law and order; (iii) investigation of any crime or alleged crime; and (iv) prevention of crime. The police's backup of the military was preserved. The priority was internal safety, understood as the security of the state's political directors and the interests they represented. This functional priority meant Security Branch was the elite of the SAP. The 1950s indeed greased the upward mobility of Security Branch's policemen. The first head of the new Branch in 1947, Major H. J. du Plooy, became Commissioner of the SAP in i960. In the following year Advocate B. J. Vorster succeeded F. C. Erasmus as Minister of Justice. Vorster was known as a ruthless politician. The SAP welcomed him because he would be the strong political leader they desired. In 1961 Vorster took the view that the country was on the verge of a revolution, the product of agitators.21 His view was not wholly imaginary. In 1961 the ANC, PAC and SACP were beginning their violent opposition. Sabotage started with bombings in December 1961. Within 18 months 200 more occurred. In reaction, Vorster prepared new legislation dealing with sabotage. It took the form of a General Law Amendment Act (No. 76 of 1962). Even compared

126

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

with stringent previous legislation, this Act was distinctly illiberal. Repetitive detentions of 90 days without trial were possible. Serious violations would result in capital punishment and the law was written in such a way that the accused had to prove innocence. Simultaneously, ministerial powers extended to curtailing organizations and restricting freedom to attend political gatherings. In Vorster's case, being a victim of detention without trial clearly did not result in contempt for the practice. Vorster thought the big battle with subversives was still to come; he predicted 1963 as a year of destiny. For this reason he substantially expanded Security Branch and gave permission for people other than white to be eligible for permanent appointment in the SAP. Another former head of Security Branch became SAP Commissioner in 1963. He was Colonel Hendrik van den Bergh, a former fellow-internee of Vorster during World War II. He supported Vorster's reading of events and proposed more active methods for the Branch, including infiltration, especially of the SACP.22 In 1963 Security Branch scored the stunning success Vorster and Van den Bergh were anticipating. An informer led the Branch to a house in Rivonia. Here they found evidence of a joint ANC-SACP campaign codenamed Operation Mayibuyi. According to the SAP, it included a foreign military invasion that would be supported 'by 7,000 local saboteurs and gorilla [sic] fighters/23 In December ten accused were brought to trial. A list of others who had escaped or could not be tried was attached. Judgement was delivered in June 1964. All the accused were found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment, including Nelson Mandela, Walter Sisulu and Govan Mbeki. Bolstered by this success, the SAP in 1964 devised a specific internal security training course for security policemen. In its first year, 15 5 members of the Security Branch completed the course, along with 120 other members of the SAP.24 One organization, however, eluded Security Branch during the arrests connected to Rivonia: the African Resistance Movement (ARM). In late July 1964 anonymous phone calls to newspapers spoke of a bomb at Johannesburg Railway Station. The bomb exploded anyway. The head of Security Branch arrived; so did Minister Vorster. Van den Bergh assured Vorster that the Branch would apprehend the culprits before midnight and instructed officers to concentrate their efforts on John Harris, a member of the African Reistance Movement. This, the SAP says, was due to Van den Bergh's 'brilliant deductions ... and unprecedented ability in this field'.25 Harris was arrested (at 11 p.m.), and later tried and executed. On 9 October 1964 Minister Vorster said sabotage and terrorism were things of the past. In January 1965 the 90-day detention without trial clause of the General Law Amendment Act was suspended.26 The hunt for key Communists, especially Braam Fischer, continued for another year. Fischer was arrested in late 1965. The subsequent trial, according to the SAP, 'signified the demise of the Communist movement in the Republic of South Africa ... [the SACP] would in future

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

127

be controlled from London ... the possibility of reorganising the Communist Party in South Africa had obviously been ruled out and, as future attacks would thus have to be launched from outside South Africa, terrorism was the only solution.'27 Vorster stayed busy nevertheless. The Official Secrets Amendment Act of 1965 was extended to cover military and police activities. Witnesses could be detained for up to 180 days by the Attorney-General. The Suppression of Communism Act was amended to give extra ministerial powers of censorship. Under Section 6 of the new Terrorism Act 1967, detention without trial was expanded to an indefinite period if the purpose of the detention was interrogation. Later, Sections 4 and 6 of the Internal Security Act 1976 made provision for preventive detention of up to 12 months and the detention of potential state witnesses for up to six months. These sections also make provision for a person to be held without being seen by a doctor, lawyer, or anybody else. The SAP never sought revision of its primary and obviously political duty. Statements in 1990 would not differ from those made in the early 1960s: The Republic has, in many ways, been threatened in the past and still has to deal with terrorist onslaughts, violence and attempts by radicals to undermine law and order. Radicals, organisations and their supporters concentrate on promoting resistance to all forms of authority and realise their objectives by means of violence and intimidation. Their attempts are not aimed at the Government only, but also against the ordinary person who does not want to submit himself to authority. Violence is still considered, by certain organisations, to be a means to realise their objectives. Consequently, violence is generally and freely used among the blacks in order to settle points of difference and conflict, resulting in countrywide unrest and riots.28 Security Branch also never lost its prominent position. The arrest of Yuri Loginof as a Soviet spy in 1967 suggested that Security Branch knew what it was doing. Commissioner Van den Bergh was succeeded by another security policemen, Colonel M. C. W. Geldenhuys. Van den Bergh's career continued upwards. In 1968 he was appointed Special Adviser on State Security to the Prime Minister. In 1990 Security Branch still said its tasks were: (i) gathering information on activities or people which might endanger the state, the public, or the maintenance of law and order; (ii) questioning suspects; (iii) taking steps to bring suspects to court; and (iv) maintaining an 'efficient and extensive information network* by various means.29 Information was derived from a network of informers and more impersonal, technocratic means. For the state Security Branch's predictions seemed always to come true. In 1972, for example, in the State vs Moumbaris and Others under the Terrorism Act, the SAP concluded that a conspiracy of terrorism had been hatched on foreign soil. The conspirators had then tried - and failed - to export their wares to South Africa. This prediction was validated by the start of insurgency in Namibia and Rhodesia. The threat of revolution was of foreign inspiration, and revolutions were made by conspiracies of outsiders.30

128

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 4.3

The SAP, 1961-74

Year

Estimated population

Establishment of the SAP

Police {/1,000 people)

1961 1962

16,827,000 17,201,000

28,167 28,328

1.67 1.65

1965

17,615,000

29,039

1964 1965 1966

18,055,000 18,453,000 18,896,000

30,769

1.65 1.70 1.69 1.79

1967

19,564,000 19,825,500

1968

20,575,000

1969 1970 1971 1972

22,050,000 22,808,000 25,508,000

1973 1974

24,396,000 25,297,000

1975

26,430,527

31,131 32,295 35,168

Prosecutions (/' 1,000 people)

100

80 13 30 2

9

2

33,628

1.70

9 32 31

33,942

1.67

31

34,378 32,109

..56 1.40

2

34,5*4 34,880

1.48

3° 3°

1.49

20

35,190 35,546

1.39

l

I

l

x.71

-34

9

9 9

Source: South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South Africa Police for the Year ended jo fune

(Pretoria: Government Printer, 1977), p. 11.

Security Branch's reputation for political manipulation developed in a relatively closed organizational environment. In 1965 the Public Service Commission recommended expansion of SAP in-service training. This the SAP did. Few senior policemen at the time had academic degrees or professional qualifications. Yet more English speakers and matriculants were joining the SAP, probably in response to salary increases and improved benefits in 1965.31 In 1967 the Public Service Commission also started to extend its student bursary loans to policemen. In the same year study for a Police Diploma from UNISA32 or a technical college was supported by state funds. In 1968 Minister Vorster announced that coloured policemen would be admitted to the officer corps. By 1970, eleven of these reached the rank of lieutenant.33 Yet despite much evidence of professionalization, traditionalism remained. The SAP recruited and trained its own personnel. Promotions hinged mainly on exams administered from within, the cost of which had to be borne by the student, or qualification at select outside sources. Only much later, in the 1980s, did the SAP develop management courses for different ranks, but here again the courses were run by senior officers with 'the help of academically qualified

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persons'.34 Combined with poor pay and working conditions, the control of appointments and promotions from within made the SAP a very unattractive environment for qualified and professional people. One preferably entered the SAP young and untrained, and laboriously climbed the ranks. Yet between 1965 and 1968, policemen's careers blossomed. The number of assistant commissioner posts increased from six to 23; colonels from 26 to 68; lieutenant-colonels from 47 to 134; majors from 96 to 186; captains from 189 to 403; and lieutenants from 297 to 768.35 By 1968 the SAP was treated as the state's favourite son. It was noted that in the preceding four years an average of 90 per cent of all crimes had been solved. The success rate in serious crimes was 77 per cent. As will be shown, this pride was partly motivated by finance. The SAP accomplished a high success rate against a declining share in overall state expenditure. Effective policing, in other words, was cheap. Improved radio communication and Security Branch seemed to suggest, too, that it was not labour-intensive. Police reservists - that is, part-timers - could help out with routine work. Only in one year (1966 and after revised salaries and benefits) did the ratio of policemen per 1,000 of the population improve (see Table 4.3). Despite ominous long-term trends in the character of policing and the SAP itself, on domestic soil the state was safe. Members of Poqo, the organization active in the resistance of the early 1960s, were brought to trial in 1968 and 1969. Another group of men was prosecuted in 1969 under the Terrorism Act. There was no cause for alarm, and chiefs of the Security Branch regularly got their reward. Failures, Rivalries and the Cold War Of all the resistance organizations of the 1960s, the African Resistance Movement (ARM) was probably the smallest. It was born among detainees during the i960 state of emergency and reflected, in part, dissatisfaction with the Liberal Party as well as the ANC and SACP. Members wanted to do something more than stage non-violent protests.36 Upon their release a group of about five people tried to put their ideas into action. They formed a National Committee for Liberation (NCL). In 1964 the name was changed to the African Resistance Movement. Branches were opened; yet because of the cell structure and code names, it was not always apparent who was in and out.37 Gradually the ARM fell under the sway of radical white liberals, often with ties to English universities and the student organization NUSAS (National Union of South African Students). Between August 1962 and June 1964, the state later claimed, the ARM was responsible for eleven sabotage attacks on 16 separate targets. One member of NUSAS, Adrian Leftwich, became particularly prominent, advocating continued sabotage after the Rivonia arrests of 1963. It had to be shown that defiance was

I30

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

continuing. If sabotage were spectacular, so much the better. On 4 July 1964, however, in a sweep by Security Branch, Leftwich was arrested.38 Through Leftwich Security Branch acquired more than enough evidence to bring some of the ARM to trial. Members fled in haste. In Johannesburg there was nobody left except John Harris and John Lloyd. They perpetrated the spectacle at the Railway Station on 24 July, which resulted in more arrests. Already detained members may have thought of sabotage, but Harris's action was extreme; now they were implicated in it. The ARM was finished.39 But it made an enormous contribution to the state's subsequent actions and rationalizations. The ARM fitted perfectly the state's depiction of a subversive organization. The overthrow of public order was promoted by radicals who were white and came from the most privileged sectors of society. Their ideology led them to make common cause with the disenfranchised. As the Station bomb showed, white radicals cared not a fig for human decency. Because it involved (in later terminology) a soft target, the Station bomb was greeted with far greater public outrage than any ANC attack on pylons. White radicals, the most dangerous of all opponents, deserved to be treated with the same ruthlessness as they showed towards Johannesburg's commuters.40 Thus by inference, if Security Branch assaulted ARM suspects in jail, they would not offend white sensitivities. Indeed, the ARM suspects were probably the first white detainees to be violently assaulted during interrogation. The threat of another Station bomb justified any means to catch revolutionaries. Thus ARM suspects who had fled to neighbouring countries were kidnapped and returned.41 The Station bomb also explains the extraordinary attention Security Branch subsequently paid to political activity on English university campuses. The state's enemies were everywhere. But the greatest impact of the Station bomb began with the finger-pointing among security agencies. Security Branch claimed Leftwich on 4 July. On 24 July, 20 days later, Harris set off for the station. Why had he not been detained on the evidence Leftwich provided (and for which he would become notorious)?42 That Security Branch could arrest Harris so quickly — the bomb had gone off at 4.33 p.m.and arrest came at 11 p.m. - suggested they knew about him. Van den Bergh's bold promise of an arrest before midnight to Vorster relied less on brilliant deductions than on information he already possessed. Worse was to come. Press reports stated that an operative of the Department of Military Intelligence (DMI) had infiltrated the ARM. The agent later lost contact with the ARM, but DMI allegedly did not share their information with Security Branch. The Branch never denied the agent's account of events. Van den Bergh reacted by saying the incident could have been prevented if DMI had shared their knowledge with Security Branch. Parliamentarians took up the issue. The Leader of the Opposition concluded: '...this is a terrible indictment of the Government ... [sabotage] could have been avoided had there been proper liaison between the Police and Military Intelligence in South Africa. ... How can you

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

131

entrust the security of a country to a government when one Department discovers valuable information but fails to pass it on to the other, Sir?'43 Minister of Defence J. J. Fouche was not amused. The SADF's local intelligence had picked up news of the ARM, he said, but not via the person mentioned in the press. The information was passed on through normal channels - that is, through a liaison officer and reports. Between July 1963 and December 1964, 143 reports were sent from DMI's Counter-intelligence to Security Branch. A further 264 evaluation reports were sent. DMI did co-operate with Security Branch. Thus Security Branch had known the names of ARM members.44 That Van den Bergh so boldly struck at DMI was due to Security Branch's status with the Cabinet after Rivonia. The Cabinet did have a State Security Committee, but it consisted merely of various departmental representatives. The SAP's Security Branch was first among equals. Since the dispute over the Station Bomb would not die down, however - and moreover, played itself out in Parliament and between military and police - something had to be done. Opposition parliamentarians would not let go of such a rewarding issue.45 The result in 1966 was a new State Security Advisory Council (SSAC). It symbolized that rivalries would stop, but not much else; it simply replaced the State Security Committee. The main reason was that new Prime Minister Vorster did not want to let go of the police portfolio. Security Branch continued to advise him. Van den Bergh continued his ascent. In 1968, upon retiring as head of the Branch, he became the Prime Minister's Special Adviser on State Security. Even in Namibian operations, as will be discussed, the military was shut out. In 1969 Vorster nevertheless gave in to the idea of something more than Security Branch: a national intelligence agency. Named the Bureau of State Security (BOSS), the agency would gather its own intelligence. But a hierarchy was in effect: other agencies were obliged to send information to BOSS which, after co-ordinating all the information received, would send it through to the Cabinet. BOSS was not a subcommittee of Cabinet. Security Branch was not disestablished: it also would send information to BOSS. But BOSS drew most of its members from Security Branch, and Van Den Bergh became its first head.46 BOSS'S arrival simply added to the trouble, and Van Den Bergh's contempt for DMI did not abate, including an attempt to inflict the ultimate bureaucratic indignity, a takeover of DMI's offices.47 At Defence, Fouche's successor, P. W. Botha, almost literally had to prepare his defences. An observer of the intelligence agencies later commented on the spectacle of having to listen to BOSS attacking the military, while the soldiers berated BOSS, and everybody present condemned Security Branch.48 The security agencies were not the only internal rivalry of note, either: between Foreign Affairs and the Department of Information another battle was raising steam. Since Prime Minister Vorster thought Foreign Affairs too passive abroad, Information was given authority to make friends more aggressively. Although it was Information's eccentric bookkeeping

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

that would later land them in hot water, Foreign Affairs was more troubled by their inflated egos.49 How were the rivalries going to be resolved? A commission of inquiry would have to sort out priorities; known as the Potgieter Commission, it started work in 1969. All concerned were invited to make submissions. In 1971, an abridged final report was made public. The report introduced the term national security. A national security agency was necessary. The main reason was that numerous enemies were seeking to overthrow the status quo in South Africa. Enemies were 'active in many spheres ... trying to attack in all fields and not only in one or another ... (including) (i) military; (ii) political; (iii) economic; (iv) social; (v) educational; (vi) psychological; (vii) subversive; (viii) terrorism; (ix) sabotage; (x) espionage.... An onslaught may be made on the security of the State in each of these spheres.../ 5 0 A Total Onslaught against South Africa was in progress. Given the confidence of the Vorster-Security Branch alliance, the identification of a serious comprehensive threat obviously related mainly to dynamics within the state. In 1969 the Prime Minister described the state's battle against its opposition as an 'easy one'. 51 This was not a bureaucratically useful view. If the threat had sufficient seriousness, the rivalries could be discouraged. A national security agency, co-ordinating all intelligence, could then put an end to infighting. The politician most impressed by the logic was the Minister of Defence. His charges had been shut out of the Vorster-Security Branch alliance and, adding insult to injury, had been blamed for the Station bomb. Even before the Potgieter Commission's report was issued, the Minister of Defence explained the enemies' basic position: '...we are being threatened by the global and overall strategy under the leadership of aggressive communism ... [which] applies to virtually every sphere of life...' 52 The Potgieter Commission's report led to the Security Intelligence and State Security Council Act 1972 and the creation of a State Security Council (SSC). Its functions were: (a) at the request of the Prime Minister, to advise the Government with regard to (i) the formulation of national policy and strategy in relation to the security of the Republic, and the manner in which such policy or strategy shall be implemented and be executed; (ii) a policy to combat any particular threat to the security of the Republic; (b) to determine intelligence priorities.53 Despite Security Branch's successes in the 1960s, a single incident by one of the state's smallest opponents had thus set in motion a train of events culminating in a new concept of defence and a national security agency. The ARM's exposure of cracks in the state's arsenal was magnified by the surrounding political context. The state made triumphalist claims after the Rivonia trial, much like the Americans' light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel-claims before the Tet Offensive of 1968.

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

I33

When the Vietcong struck, they did not win in military terms, but the Americans were forced to concede that there was no light. In a local context, the state was in a dominant position. Resistance on domestic soil was at a very low ebb. On the regional front, armed struggles in Angola, Mozambique, Namibia and Rhodesia also seemed to be making little headway.54 Yet the state, through its own rhetoric of perfection, was forced to concede that something was wrong. It had to do something about it; and that something depended largely on dynamics inside the state. As yet, the SSC did not speak or appear to have much muscle. Even at its later height the state's policy-making entailed substantial competition and conflict.55 The ground, however, had been prepared for change. Beaufre In 1968, for the first time, the SADF's Staff College offered a series of lectures on Strategic Studies organized by Lieutenant-General C. F. ('Pop*) Fraser, recently returned after a stint as military attache in France. He was assisted by Professor Ben Cockram of the University of the Witwatersrand and Deon Fourie of UNISA. Fraser and Fourie were greatly impressed by French strategist Andre Beaufre's writing on security problems of the Cold War.56 During 1968 Fourie produced probably the first local strategic analysis to employ Beaufrian concepts.57 Through the Staff College senior officers of all the services, including Brigadier Magnus Malan, were exposed to Beaufre.58 The fact that SADF officers were exposed to French strategic thinking is important because French strategists, unlike Americans' preference for importing management from the private sector into the state, see the state as having legitimate instruments of its own. The French tend to be concerned with the state as the equivalent of the national interest.59 Beaufre is known for his guidelines on promoting French interests during the Cold War. Two of these deserve brief mention. The first is a description of the Cold War, because of the stalemate at a nuclear level of conflict, as an era dominated by indirect strategy. When indirect strategy applies on tactical levels, it usually means: do not attack frontally. Beaufre applied indirect strategy on a global scale. States were opponents; they would attack each other mainly in nonmilitary fields. The second is the organizational mechanisms necessary for the state's defence. These had to be very carefully organized in a hierarchy that coordinated efforts against wide-ranging or total attack. Although he gave it a French slant, Beaufre invented neither the concept of national security nor national security agencies. In reflecting on recent unpleasantness, principal actors of the Second World War came to the conclusion that their old definitions of defence were inadequate. It did not give sufficient attention to non-military considerations, was far too passive in orientation, and gave no instruction on how the rivalries among service branches that plagued the Allied

134

THE

MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

war effort could be managed. To produce military collaboration, it was necessary to place a civilianized national security agency above military establishments in the bureaucratic hierarchy. The concept of national security also set a different, more assertive tone than mere defence of territory.60 The Cold War drove the new notion of national security into the Third World. This war told states they were not mere spectators to a world struggle but prized participants in it. National security thinking delivered guidelines on the identification of enemies and how to fight them. The most serious of enemies was World Communism, whose assault on the West ran through the Third World in the form of subversion. In various contexts, hard and soft versions of this doctrine emerged, but the touchstones remained the examples of Cuba and Vietnam, the Warsaw Pact's support of national liberation movements, and the moral decline of the West. Once it had taken hold, however, the national security thinking in Third World states introduced specific periods of repressive domestic politics. In Latin America, for example, such periods were initiated in Brazil (1964), Chile (1973), Uruguay (1973) and Argentina (1976). Political opponents became enemies of Western values, ruthless subversives, and had to be dealt with in warlike fashion.61 As indicated in earlier chapters, various South African governments were antiCommunist. After 1945, they invested heavily in the idea of Containment (Kennan's Riga Principles) and Churchill's notions about the Cold War. Now the charms of national security were irresistible. National security thinking centred on the state, loved centralization, and regarded society as vulnerable to subversion. Many civilian officials and the white population came to believe they lived in a world fundamentally hostile to South Africa.62 Beaufre explained why this was the case. Regardless of how carelessly one read or heard of Beaufre, however, he opposed military supremacy. By no means was he about to justify the attempted coups of French soldiers in the 1950s and 1960s. Soldiers were subordinated to higher - civilian and political - authority. Thus South African soldiers could not use Beaufre to complain when politicians restricted their actions. The great Clausewitz had said the same thing: war is the continuation of policy by other means. Soldiers had to defer to the political game. What mattered, therefore, was what the civilian politicians thought. Did the state ever seek a second opinion on what ailed it in 1970? It did, but in so doing entered an echo chamber built by a strategic studies community that had mushroomed in South Africa along with the Potgieter Commission, the Security Intelligence and State Security Council Act of 1972, and the creation of a State Security Council (SSC). By 1978, the first book-length study was published.63 Over time it became obvious that the state's strategic thought emanated from two primary sources, the SADF and Afrikaans-language universities. In addition, private organizations started to plough the same furrow.64

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

13 5

COIN: First Encounters In March 1965 a group from Security Branch Headquarters in Pretoria set up camp in northern Namibia under the guise of being a civil engineering company. The reason for their arrival was reports that SWAPO (the South-West African People's Organization) had established a base nearby at Ongulumbashe. With the help of SAAF helicopters, the SAP attacked the base successfully in August 1966. Minister Vorster told Parliament a terrorist war had started, albeit as far away as the northern part of the Etosha Game Reserve. Prime Minister Verwoerd's instructions were to deal with terrorists as though dealing with foreign enemies. Although the Namibian and South African conflicts had quite different roots, they followed intertwining paths. As already discussed, Security Branch would not have been the same without the Nazis in Windhoek during the early days of World War II, nor would the OB have planned a police coup d'etat without noting the SAP's stunning reaction to Hitler's admirers. South African troops were stationed in Namibia during the war. Simultaneously a South West African Command (an extension of the UDF) was created. After 1945 South African troops withdrew. The Command continued, assisted by an ACF unit, a few Rifle Associations and a small air component acquired in 1964.65 The SAP stayed under the Police (South-West Africa) Act of 1939. Their bloodiest confrontation with locals came in 1959 at the Alte Werf-township (or Ou Lokasie) outside Windhoek. Eleven people died and an unknown number were wounded. Policing in Namibia followed a geopolitical administrative pattern inherited from the German occupation. Southern and central districts were known as the Police Zone. To the north lay four areas barely touched by German officialdom: Caprivi, Kavango, Kaokoland, and Ovambo. White settlers were originally prohibited from entry into Ovambo. In return the Ovambo allowed Germans to recruit labour on their territory. This and later labour shortages in the Police Zone created the basis of a north-south migrant labour system in Namibia. Locals' reaction to this system was one of the main ingredients of political resistance.66 The Germans also introduced practices - pass laws, for example - very similar to South Africa's. When South Africa was given the territory to administer as a C-mandate by the League of Nations in 1921, it advanced those practices. South Africa did not acquire the mandate for itself; it was simply acting on behalf of the British Crown. Full administrative and legislative powers were allocated, but intended by the League to be exercised as a 'sacred trust'. This included attending to the moral and material development of the local population. Article 4 of the mandate expressly prohibited South Africa from using the territory for military purposes. South Africa had to report annually to the League on how it fulfilled its obligations. South Africa did not stick scrupulously to the mandate's requirements. In 1937, for example, aircraft bombarded a dwelling in Ovambo after the headman

136

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

had opposed officials. Influx control was continued under a Native Administration proclamation in 1922. The League also thought the pattern of state spending did not promote locals' welfare. South Africa was spending too much on improving the infrastructure (and linking it with South African harbours and railways) and too little on native affairs or education. The first state school in the non-Police Zone, for example, was built only in i960. After World War II, South Africa asked the new United Nations to allow incorporation of Namibia. This was denied. After 1948, the South African government refused to send an annual report to the UN, saying it was not the legal successor of the League. The matter was taken to the International Court of Justice (ICJ), whose judgement in 1950 was that South Africa indeed owed reports to the UN, although it was not obliged to place Namibia under the UN Trusteeship Council. In 1956 the ICJ again ruled on an associated matter. The UN's General Assembly had created a South West Africa Committee; it was entitled to receive oral evidence on the territory. In i960 the ICJ was asked to rule on whether South Africa's mandate was still valid. It would deliver a strange judgement in 1966. The countries that had brought the case to the court, it said, had no locus standi.

The UN's General Assembly rejected the ruling. In October 1966 it declared the mandate terminated. Three years later the Security Council supported this resolution. According to Resolution 276 of 1969, South Africa was illegally occupying Namibia (as the territory became known in 1968). Again the opinion of the ICJ was sought. In 1971 it ruled that the Security Council had acted properly. Its resolutions were binding. This judgement contributed to the revival of urban resistance in Namibia. Schools were the scene of student protest. A country-wide strike started in 1971, continuing until 1972. Namibian churches wrote an open letter to the South African Prime Minister, noting maladministration of the mandate and requesting a peaceful resolution of the dispute. SWAPO had been recognized by the OAU since 1965. In 1973 the UN made the breakthrough, recognizing the organization as the sole legitimate representative of the people of Namibia. Its struggle for the independence of Namibia was no less legitimate* For SWAPO to have established a base at Ongulumbashe was an achievement, yet allies of sorts had recently emerged in the south of Angola. Here Portuguese rule was coming under the gun. In the central regions a movement, the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA), was engaged in a guerrilla struggle, although its support base lay primarily with urban students and intellectuals. Its ideological outlook was a mix of Communist thought and homemade anti-colonialism. Another organization, led by Holden Roberto and originally based in the north, the People's Front of Angola (UPA), was attracting support in the south. Its followers included a young student, Jonas Savimbi. He later broke away and formed the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA).67

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

137

Often the three organizations fought each other as hard as they fought the Portuguese. For their part, the Portuguese took no prisoners either. But the border between Angola and Namibia was not a Berlin Wall. On both sides lived Cuanhama people who spoke roughly the same language. Thus SWAPO and its forerunner, the Ovambo People's Organization (OPO), stimulated resistance in the north as much as the north reinforced it on the southern side of the border. Communication flowed along profoundly untechnocratic lines. Roads were scarce, and by the mid 1960s included few tarred kilometres. Water supply depended on a few rivers, most notably a scheme developed along the Ruacana. Conflict perforce followed the seasons, one rainy and making available roads impassable to heavy traffic, the other dry. The latter was more generous to traffic, but no respectable guerrilla thought of acquiring armour. Anti-colonial warfare was supposed to be unconventional. Guerrillas would avoid frontal attacks on vehicles carrying Portuguese and South African soldiers, which would be stung with landmines. The battle was going to be for political loyalties, not territory. The SAP was not prepared for guerrilla struggle in the north of Namibia. Historically the area was the least policed of all territory falling within the SAP's ambit. About 618 policemen were attached to the South-West Africa Division of the SAP; only 24 were in the non-Police Zone. Naturally their informational and other links to local communities were minimal. The SAP took notice of the creation of OPO in 1959: it led to the shootings at Alte Werf. But during the early 1960s the SAP was beefing up its riot capacities and indulged themselves in counter-sabotage in urban areas. It knew very little about counter-insurgency. The last such campaign by South African troops had been fought during World War I in German West Africa. The first reaction of the SAP after Ongulumbashe was to send reinforcements. They arrested some SWAPO supporters. An incident in May 1967, on the banks of the Zambezi River, in which two policemen were wounded and a senior SWAPO commander was killed, prompted further reinforcements. They came from the newly trained riot police in South Africa. Although they arrested about 160 insurgents, the riot policemen's effectiveness was dubious. They were withdrawn in May 1968. To this day the SAP has revealed little about its methods in the period 1965 to 1968. The approach appears to have been search-andcapture, consistent with policing that aims at a criminal trial.68 In June 1968, the SAP started formal training in counter-insurgency (COIN). At first COIN training was split between the SAP and SADF, since the latter offered six-week courses at its infantry school. Later the SAP started COIN theoretical instruction at the College in Pretoria, followed by a practical course at a base (later Maleoskop) in the country. It included subjects like survival skills, ambush and counter-ambush, follow-up operations, and attacks on enemy bases. Policemen stayed in Namibia for only three months; afterwards they returned to their stations elsewhere.69

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

When COIN-trained policemen started working in Namibia, they preferred search-and-destroy missions. Patrols along the border and among villages played a secondary role, as did hearts-and-minds activities. The latter consisted mainly of free medical advice and handing out gifts. White policemen dominated COINunits; only in 1972 did policemen other than white arrive to help with COIN. Working beside the COIN-units was Security Branch. They concentrated on SWAPO activists.70 The SAP's COIN theory lagged behind practical experience - which was not collected principally in Namibia. In 1967 the ANC, the SAP's main opponent, participated in an operation with the Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU) in Rhodesia. It ended disastrously at Wankie. On the basis of it, the South African Cabinet decided to send policemen to assist the Rhodesian armed forces. For the next eight years, until August 1975, an average of about 2,000 policemen served there at any one time. Experience gained here went with policemen to Namibia.71 One example set by the Rhodesian security forces was the COIN use of soldiers other than white. The SAP followed suit in 1972. For the Rhodesians, service rivalries had to be mediated by joint operational commands at local level, and although information was the main requirement, soldiers could not rely on traditional agencies to obtain it. Soldiers were forced to create informationgathering capacities of their own. Pseudo-operations could be fantastically successful. It could not work, however, without captured guerrillas' willingness to change sides. Putting guerrillas on trial was only a public-relations victory. They were much better used to brief and debrief teams, even to return to the field. The Rhodesians were delighted by the turned guerrillas' zeal. They regularly outperformed other soldiers.72 For the SAP's opponents, the same motivation for turning after capture applied. The General Law Amendment Act of 1962 (the Sabotage Act) provided for the death penalty. So did the Terrorism Act of 1967. Both applied to Namibia. The Administrator-General of Namibia held the same - indeed, greater - powers to issue proclamations and regulations as his South African counterparts. The SAP's most obvious weakness at this time was lack of mobility in the air. For this reason the SAAF arrived in 1968. It set up facilities at Rundu (Kavango) as well as a helicopter unit at Katima Mulilo (eastern Caprivi). Later in 1968 units of the Army arrived too, but the Ministers of Defence and Police reached an agreement that they would be for training purposes only. Until 1972 this arrangement held: only the SAAF would act in operational support of the SAP. COIN was the SAP's business.73 The agreement fell apart with the strikes of 1971 and 1972. The SAP simply did not have the manpower to police a countrywide strike, resistance in schools, and assorted other challenges in Namibia. A state of emergency was declared in Ovambo. SADF units started to act in support of the SAP. Declaration of Ovambo as a self-governing territory in 1973, which required elections, made a

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

139

bad situation worse. By July 1973 the SADF had substantially expanded its presence in a northern area labelled the Operational Zone, which coincided roughly with the old No-Police Zone. All SAP units were withdrawn. The SADF had started its counter-terrorist training in 1968. By 1973 it was a standard component of Army training. The Army also bifurcated its operational division into conventional and counter-insurgent streams. The SADF had been in the Operational Zone for barely a year when the Portuguese coup of 1974 occurred. When the SAP held sway in the north, it followed suspects across the border. But now the south of Angola became more critical. The guerrillas knew that people along the two sides shared political sympathies; so much the better for the Portuguese to leave. Soon the South African state would have to decide what to do. In its first encounters with guerrillas the state, nevertheless, revealed a pattern of choice not subsequently altered. It contained four cornerstones: COIN 1: following the ANC The ANC was more important than SWAPO. This was not in the least surprising: the ANC was a much older organization, its leadership had substantial experience and growing popular support. SWAPO was a recent creation in a remote zone originally policed by only 24 policemen. On domestic soil the ANC may not have been the major actor in the early-1960s sabotage campaign. The PAC/Poqo was probably as active, and, despite a number of bitter localized conflicts in the countryside, the ANC had not shown itself as a presence in them to the state.74 Yet the ANC established a foreign mission in i960. Its work included establishing a military training programme to launch guerrilla warfare. This effort attracted the support of foreign patrons; Tanzania, for example, allowed the ANC a base for military operations. From here the ANC collaborated with ZAPU to reach South African soil. As Wankie showed in 1967, Zambia was not a good launching pad for operations. The western side of Zimbabwe proved hard ground for guerrillas. ZAPU and the other Zimbabwean guerrilla organization also could not settle their differences. Each party used military actions for diplomatic purposes, trying to gain the attention - and official blessing - of the OAU. With the arrival of the Pearce Commission in 1971, resistance politics in Zimbabwe shifted inside.75 Although the Zimbabwean connection was never particularly profitable, this is where the ANC was for most of the 1960s. After leaving their four bases in Tanzania, guerrillas had to work with ZAPU's assets in Zambia and the west of Zimbabwe. Wherever they went, the South African state followed. Sending policemen to assist the Rhodesian security forces cannot be understood without this iron logic. As previously shown, during the 1950s relations between Rhodesia and South Africa were chilly. After all, Rhodesia was Britain's economic and racial counterweight to the Nationalists of the south. UDI in 1965 had not

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impressed the Verwoerd government, which thought the Smith government a bunch of cowboys and second-rate political hacks.76 But guerrillas were guerrillas. Besides money, the South Africans sent policemen. They stuck to the area the ANC had to cross, the Zambia-Zimbabwe border area west of Lake Kariba.77 COIN 2: theory and practice Reactions to guerrillas did not show COIN as sure-footed. In northern Namibia Security Branch, riot police, and then COIN units of the SAP followed each other in quick succession. The SADF arrived, moreover, not because something was amiss in the SAP's approach but because of limited SAP numbers. They could not police a long country-wide strike along with SWAPO's guerrillas in the north. The Minister of Defence and the SADF did try to come to grips with the theory behind guerrilla warfare and COIN. The 1960s, indeed, was the international heyday of this kind of literature. Here the South Africans turned to the Americans. Catching much attention were the thoughts a relatively obscure American colonel, J. J. McCuen, recorded in The Art of Counter-Revolutionary Warfare™ McCuen's book was published in 1966 - that is, less than two years after the Gulf of Tonkin incident of 1964 that led to American ground troops' deployment in Vietnam. McCuen's experience was thus based mainly on the earlier American presence that favoured special operations. Only later would the Americans shift to more conventional COIN missions. McCuen did not argue from a practical base, but held a mirror to what Mao Zedong had said about guerrilla warfare. Mao said guerrilla warfare was a phased struggle. Terrorism started it, followed by sabotage operations, and it in turn gave way to guerrilla actions. After guerrilla operations came a phase of conventional warfare. Naturally it was a protracted struggle, beginning overtly and then reaching the open. Counter-revolution, McCuen said, had to arrest the progression in its prevailing phase, then force the guerrillas back into an earlier phase. Since various areas might be in different phases, those countering should be engaged in different operations simultaneously. Here McCuen slides into Beaufre's territory. Obviously different actions require co-ordination, lest they sink into a quagmire of contradiction. For those who wanted to resolve bureaucratic infighting during COIN, Beaufre and McCuen were a perfect combination. New Minister of Defence P. W. Botha certainly had not read Beaufre or McCuen when he said in Parliament in 1966: '...in the world in which we live the dividing line between war and peace is generally no longer a clear one, and the South African Defence Force, as indeed the defence force of every free country in the world, must take that situation into account Terrorism gives way to guerrilla war, then to full-scale war/79 Botha was responding to questions of whether the lack of security co-operation during 1964 had been resolved.80

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141

COIN practice was another matter: the SADF had no direct practical experience of it. By agreement, they stayed out of the SAP's hair in Namibia. As time went by, however, Beaufre's indirect strategy and McCuen's guidelines would be quoted repeatedly. Yet very little COIN practice originated in theory. Rhodesian improvisation was too valuable. Theory would follow it. The SADF's attitude in this regard was consistent with existing practice in military education and leadership. From the time of Union, debates about the Department of Defence held that military experience counted more than intellectual or staff ability. Staff courses and later joint staff courses at the Defence College favoured those with operational experience, the line officers. The SADF wanted innovative soldiers. The abstractions of staff officers would spoil them. Even for its elite, the SADF thought theory best ignored. The Military Academy, for example, did not even offer a course in Military Strategy until 1991. In the SADF's career paths, theoretical work never found accommodation. The action was in the line. One did not even need an academic qualification to be Chief of Staff (Planning). Staff officers with intellectual interests had to follow them on the side. Nobody represents the SADF's balance of practice and theory better than the career of Brigadier C. J. J. van der Waals. Fluent in Portuguese and with substantial operational experience, he was (and remains) one of the most knowledgeable people about COIN in Southern Africa. In the 1980s he indeed became one of the SADF's chief authorities on COIN. Yet he never reached the pinnacle of the SADF's hierarchy. The SADF simply did not believe in rewarding thinkers. COIN J: command and co-operation

By agreement, as we have seen, the SADF and SAP agreed to stay out of each other's way in northern Namibia. Of the SADF only the SAAF was allowed to conduct operations in northern Namibia until 1972. Other SADF components were allowed were to conduct training in the area. With the strike and a declaration of a state of emergency in Ovambo, this agreement could not stick. By July 1973 the SADF had substantially expanded its presence in a northern area labelled the Operational Zone, which coincided roughly with the old no-Police Zone.81 Although SAP units were withdrawn from the Operational Zone, from that Zone in the early 1970s came an idea - and a practice - on what the state could do with rivalries: form committees to co-ordinate operations. The first coordinating committees were formed primarily to join the SADF and the SAP, the latter then the dominant agency in northern Namibia. In 1973 a reorganization expanded the system into a series of Gesamentlihe Interdepartementele Teensinsurgensie-

komitees (Joint Interdepartmental Counter-insurgency Committees or GITK), later renamed Joint Counter-Insurgency Committees (GTK).

142

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

In the Operational Zone, the GTKs spawned joint intelligence and operational subcommittees, respectively known by their Afrikaans acronyms GIS and GOS. Minor adjustments were made throughout the 1970s. The top unit of the NSMS in Namibia was the SWA Joint Management Committee (JMC), meeting under the chairmanship of the Administrator-General of the territory.82 The JMC ensured that decisions were implemented without delay and as ordered. Rivalries were not supposed to spoil them. COIN4: Undercover Since the Nationalists' victory in 1948, security agencies had found increasingly dense cover. The English press, for example, was mainly allied to the Opposition. Other newspapers, like the Rand Daily Mail, had a black readership and became one of the few newspapers to report on extra-parliamentary politics on the Witwatersrand. But in any case, the policing vanguard was Security Branch. They wished to make public as little of their work as possible. The sabotage of the early 1960s, however, made a principled argument for a covert state. The real danger was not mass protest. It was secret organizations - the ARM and SACP, for example - that had the most lethal sting. Since membership was largely white, they could avail themselves of parliamentary records, press information, and the like. Many members also were ex-liberals; thus their championship of press freedom was self-serving. Why, then, should the state print information that would hang itself? Like had to be fought with like. COIN added to the state's argument for secrecy. Only one phase of the struggle was really overt, but the struggle could succeed only if sabotage and terrorism were successful. Therefore any action against it, including telling nobody what one did, acquired the legitimacy of preventing something even worse. Secrecy prevented revolution. Subjectively, there was also the reasoning that one did not want to alarm supporters or encourage the opposition by admitting to failures. When for whatever reason an issue could not be addressed only by officials, a commission of inquiry could handle problems. Where necessary, it conducted proceedings in cameraP Within the military, a Department of Military Intelligence was re-established in 1961, when the link with the Commonwealth's intelligence services was severed. But secrecy also extended to military expenditure and civilian control of it. Part of the argument here centred on arms acquisition and strategic resources, intersecting with a dispute within the military about money. Since 1912, the budget had been prepared by the Department of Defence. The SADF's line thought some DOD staff officers were in the pockets of Treasury and other civilian fiscal authorities. In 1966 the military embarked on a reorganization to effect more specialization. The result was a new series of Directorates-General. Included in them was a transfer of budgetary responsibilities from the DOD's

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

143

Adjutant-General to the Comptroller of the Military Finance Service. The Comptroller reported to the Chief of the SADF, not the Secretary of DOD.84 A secret supply of defence expenditure already existed. It was created in 1952 to buy arms on the world market. During the 1960s it was activated along with other sources of funding. Multiple paymasters led to corruption, addressed by a secret Groenewoud Commission of Inquiry.85 In 1974 the secret military accounts were consolidated into the Defence Special Account Act. As international isolation increased, so did the justification for secrecy. The greatest shock came in 1973, however, when the oil cartel announced an oil embargo. Iran stepped into the breach. Yet strategic fuel supplies was now the greatest secret of all. The state thought it had ample justification for covert behaviour - in other words, they simply acted as the extra-parliamentary opposition did and as the Cold War demanded. Survival overruled the fiscal contours of a separation of state powers. Parliament and civilian departments could not be trusted to give the military what was necessary. English journalists would bray whatever was done. The state would not listen. The state's first encounters with COIN may be read as structurally determined. Yet some incidents, although not chance events, followed personal choice. Harris's bomb is perhaps the best example, but there is also P. W. Botha's arrival in the Ministry of Defence. Like Erasmus, he was rewarded for his electoral service to the National Party with a not very prestigious or central Cabinet position. Botha had dropped out of university to become a professional organizer for the National Party. Dye it as he might with militarism, personal roots always showed. Building empires was the business he knew best, from the days when he had to fight the Ossewa Brandwag. By self-instruction he soon held forth on global affairs and military strategy. His military empire would suit thousands of soldiers' careers. Equipment In the 1950s and 1960s, the problem was not that protesters had firearms; on the contrary, at best they carried cutting weapons or rocks. Monopolization of the means of violence continued well into the 1970s. The SAP's Firearms Units did annually report confiscated firearms, homemade firearms, and ammunition. People in the countryside were getting firearms from somewhere. The task was to keep ahead with the confiscation, especially in the Transkei, Natal and Port Natal Divisions.86 Sharpeville forced the SAP to reorientate its training programme. Between i960 and 1961 anti-riot drill was included in training for the first time. The equipment used included Browning and Sten machine guns, and police dogs.87 Sharpeville also, however, exposed deficiencies in the state's arsenal of violent means. It required equipment suitable to dispersing crowds and protecting policemen. The incumbent Minister, J. J. Fouche, accompanied the SAP's Minister in a

144

T H E

Table 4.4

MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Deficit (Before Loans) of Central State Budget

Year ending 31 March

As % of GDP

1960 1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971

-2.3 —1.3 —2.1 —2.2 -1.7 -3.6 -3.4 -3.8 -3.3 -3.3 -3.1 -3.1

J97* 1973 1974

-5-3 -3.8 -2.0

Source. D. G. Franzsen, 'Die Herstel van Fiskale Dissipline' in D. G. Franzsen (ed.), Owerheidsfinansies in SuidAfrika (Durban: Butterworth, 1984), p. 191.

post-Sharpeville tour around the country. Fouche agreed that internal street righting was the form of opposition to the state. Street righting required automatic rifles and armoured cars - but the state did not have these, especially automatic rifles, in its armoury, or the cash to buy them in short order. The urgency was overwhelming. Tanks to fight Communists in North Africa were superfluous. In addition, no neighbour of South Africa would attack; they might have had the desire to do so but lacked the capacity.88 Approximately half of the fleet of Centurion tanks were thus sold to Switzerland.89 But the curse of Sharpeville fell wide, including the purchase of arms abroad. Some of the sharpest points of criticism of the reaction to the shooting had come from outside. At the United Nations, the General Assembly's critical resolutions were finally taken up by the Security Council. In 1963 it accepted a voluntary arms embargo. South Africa's major arms supplier, Britain, did not veto the resolution, suspending arms sales in 1964. Britain agreed to honour a contract to supply 16 Buccaneer strike aircraft, but after its delivery there would be no more. In reaction, the state thus adopted a posture of self-reliance in military procurement. An investigation prior to 1964 concluded that a local arms industry was better situated outside the state.90 An Armaments Board was created in 1964 to obtain arms from local and overseas sources. An Armaments Development and Production Corporation was empowered to initiate and co-ordinate research. Infantry equipment was procured without great difficulty. Under licence from a

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145

Table 4.5 Relative Contribution (%) of Public Order, Defence, Education and Health to Growth of Total State Expenditure, 1960-75 Year

Public order*

Defence

Education

Health

Black admin

i960

3- 2 74

11.3

6.6

1.0

1965

3-7 2.9

8.1

1970

3.0

5-7

8.3

44 4.8

1975

*-5

IO.I

7-4

54 54 44

5-i

Note: * Department of Justice, Prison Service and the SAP. Source: Barry Standish and I. Abedian,y4« Inquiry into the Growth of Government Expenditure in South Africa, 1920— 1982 (Cape Town: University of Cape Town, 1983).

Belgian company an automatic assault rifle (FN series) was produced in 1964. A light general purpose machine gun (FN MAG) followed. The assault rifle became the R-i, issued to SADF infantry. South Africa's mastery of the rifled barrel and explosives during World War II was bearing fruit. The first project was to build armoured cars, useful to both SADF and SAP as light patrol vehicles. Known as Elands, they were based on World War II-vintage Panhards and produced under licence. Their chassis did not have to carry a heavy weight; the original version of the Eland weighed about 6 tonnes. While the 1960s are thus accurately depicted as giving birth to a policy of military armaments expansion, the state's actions were quite ambiguous. At first the enemies were street fighters, resulting in the sale of tanks South Africa could not produce. Production constraints and the arms embargo placed a ceiling on conventional military expansion. Armoured cars can work miracles, but in the long run they usually cannot stand against tanks. The question of helicopters in COIN was serious but not fatal, as one could argue that many COIN campaigns were ruined by inserting and evacuating soldiers by air. Yet who could wage conventional war without air cover? Countering street fighters, too, simply inclined towards infantry equipment, not the best technology to acquire when the UN's General Assembly was filling up with people victimized by the pacification campaigns of the late nineteenth century and equally repressive later policies. How could they forget? Infantry equipment was best suited to rural areas, far away from international inspection. But despite some localized conflicts, a general challenge from the countryside did not develop between 1945 and 1976. Reasons for its absence include a minuscule middle peasantry - that is, rural dwellers with some independence of means and freedom from political repression. In view of the small

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 4.6

State Employment

Year

Total employment

Military (PF only)

SAP

i960 1970

780,857 988,971

3°>749

28,007 32,109

1975

,287,4*1

30,719

35,635

Sources'. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Period 1July ip/j to pjune I$J6 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1977), p. 11; Joseph Barry Standish, State Employment in South Africa^ unpublished Master's thesis, University of Cape Town, 1984), p. 129.

SAP establishment, the latter is especially important. Layer upon layer of civilian surveillance enveloped rural people. The agricultural extension officer, tax collector, teacher, and tribal authority were probably more effective in reporting signs of trouble than a policeman in uniform.91 In urban areas, however, there were few places to hide. If policemen behaved like infantry, their actions would be known far and wide. Money The state could hardly justify its poor material development of the SAP's arsenal by scarcity: in the 1960s the economy was booming. Government itself reported that the period between 1963 and 1967 had averaged a growth rate of 6.4 per cent per annum in the Gross Domestic Product. This rate had exceeded the target of 5.5 per cent. The SA Reserve Bank's reports showed that growth accelerated after 1968. Its annual economic report for the year ending in June 1970 listed an increase of a colossal 12 per cent over 1969 GDP figures. In 1971, the growth slowed down to 9 per cent.92 The oil crises and global recession of the 1970s were still a long way off. Nor was the state afraid of borrowing money. The state's fiscal indiscipline indeed horrified the Reserve Bank, as can be gauged from Table 4.4. The state was prepared to spend large amounts of money on the military. Only a portion of the money came via the defence claims of the Appropriation Bill and the Part Appropriation Bill (or mini-budget). Construction of military bases and camps came under the Department of Public Works, and national service (including conscientious objectors) under the Department of Manpower. The Special Accounts of the SADF and SAP also created additional and large amounts of money not subject to public inspection. Despite constraints in establishing exact amounts, the general spending habits of the government was evidence of state preferences (see Table 4.5). Measured

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE Table 4.7

147

State Employment by Function, 1960—75

i960 General admin. Black admin. Socioeconomic services* Health Education Defence Public order**

1965

1970

1975

16,474

18,390

21,410

28,415

5,336 276,432

11,118

12,785

294,597 50,045

329,512

15,097 392,285

99,647

109,501

25,219

3O,749 66,008

39>7*4 87,144 17,951 36,080

4M

58,832

22

95,672 152,286

3°,7I9 80,092

Noter. * Including South African Railways and Harbours and the General Post Office. ** Including the Department of Justice, Prison Service and SAP. Source: Joseph Barry Standish, State Employment in South Africa, p. 146.

in cash amounts, spending on the police increased from R 37 million in 1961 to R 108 million in 1972. By 1977, it reached R 192 million. By contrast, military spending increased from R 46 million in 1961 to R 1,385 million in 1977.93 The assets and equipment of the SADF was valued by 1969 at roughly R 2,000 million.94 As it had throughout its history, the SAP was obliged to borrow equipment.95 The state continued to believe policing was cheap. Security Branch made sure of that. Supporters: Minds and Manpower Although it took immense pride in technological achievements, the SADF believed the first demand of a military was for manpower.96 This translated into two avenues: expanding the standing contingent and increasing the cohort and length of national service. The standing contingent's growth can be gauged from Table 4.6. Another measure of the state's preferences was employment by function (see Table 4.7). As for national service, the 1957 Defence Act regarded white men as eligible for conscription for nine months. They were selected by ballot. The intake started with 7,000 men. In 1967 the ballot system was abolished. National service applied to all white males. In 1972 the period of service lengthened to 12 months, followed by annual 19 days' service (as part of the Citizen Force) for five years. As of 1975, service could include three months' duty in the 'operational area'. Two years later National Service was increased to two years, while duty in the Citizen Force lengthened to an annual 30 days for eight years.

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

The state was aware of resistance to conscription. With racial labour reservation still in place, employers competed for white labour. Yet since 1912 a cadet system in schools has been a basic component of the defence scheme. Thus it merely had to be revived. Other secondary-school activities, in addition, became enthusiastically attuned to the pleasures of military life through adventure, leadership and youth camps. For example, in 1967 Die Burger held its annual youth leadership conference. On Day 1 participants were lectured on Godsdiens en Gruwels van Europa met spesiale verwysing na Oos en Wes Berlyn (religious persecution

by Communists). On Day 2 pupils went to the SADF at the Castle, where they were addressed by Minister P. W. Botha. During the weekend pupils discussed what they had heard. Day 5 's theme was Suid-Afrika maak horn materieel sterk vir

vrede (SA acquires material strength for peace). The lecturer was the CommandantGeneral of the SADF, who arrived by helicopter. Day 6 concerned South Africa's spiritual strengthening. Springbok rugby captain the Reverend Dawie De Villiers did the honours. He was followed by a visit to naval facilities in False Bay and a cruise on the frigate President Pretorius. On Day 7 activities were devoted to the theme of making South Africa culturally strong. The Navy orchestra played at a ceremonial flag-raising ceremony. SANLAM (the Afrikaans corporate giant) was visited. At last the youth were released to their parents.97 The militaristic implications of this sort of leadership are obvious. Enthusiastic presentations of the military spread across the popular press and publications.98 When television was introduced, the government-controlled media consistently presented military life, and South African security forces in particular, as attractive and heroic, and its enemies as ignoble deviants. This popular presentation contributed to a hardening in the tone of public debate. It justified martial attitudes and practices, and would equip generations of white men with martial skills. P. W. Botha, in fact, said that young men would learn ruthless efficiency in the military.99 Yet mistrust of the military among Whites, and certainly Afrikanerdom, was not dead. And later literary depictions of military service (the grensliteratuur) suggested that many men were not receptive to the military experience.100 However, before 1975 (and, as will be shown, after this date) national servicemen and professional soldiers were likely to be lucky in war. Service in the Operational Zone would never produce a stream of white casualties. Resistance to conscription was rare in the 1960s and early 1970s.101 Hearts and Minds: Soweto 1976 On 16 June 1976, a demonstration of secondary-school pupils at Orlando West ran into a group of policemen. The students retreated, but then dispersed across Soweto. It was the first outbreak of rioting and associated violence in urban townships since the early 1960s. Within days it spread to schools across the country, and to some universities. By 18 June the government had closed schools. They were formally reopened on

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

149

26 July, but then a second wave hit. School stay-aways were still in effect, but now students also organized protest marches outside the townships. A third wave followed after September as students conducted campaigns favouring social austerity. Several cases of sabotage occurred later. Schools reopened later, and the educational system tried to recover. Yet the high spirits of 1976 about what could be achieved in the streets seemed to have gone.102 About 6,000 people were arrested or detained between 16 June 1976 and 28 February 1977. The state also fell back on its traditional mechanism of dealing with controversy: a commission of inquiry was appointed. Its 1980 report blamed the authorities for underestimating the students' opposition to the teaching of some subjects in the medium of Afrikaans, cited as the immediate cause of the riots. Its backdrop was dissatisfaction over the way the Bantu Administration Boards were administering townships. Agitators took advantage of both school and broader problems.103 This report aside, the state's reaction to Soweto was conditioned by two preceding events. First, of all the organizations that had a hand in Soweto, the state focused on the Black Consciousness movement. In 1974 several Black Consciousness leaders, including Steve Biko, were arrested after disorders on university campuses, following celebrations of the end of Portuguese rule in neighbouring states. They were prosecuted under the Terrorism Act. During Soweto, many students themselves invoked Biko's ideas about freeing one's mind as well as forcefully asserting rights. Thus, in September 1977, all Black Consciousness organizations were banned, including the Black People's Convention (BPC), Black Unity Front (BUF) and South African Students' Organization (SASO). Biko was arrested and died in jail, after an interrogation that included torture.104 Questioned about Biko's death in Parliament, the Minister of Police, Advocate J. T. Kruger said: 'It leaves me cold.' Analysts have been split over the role of organizations in the Soweto uprising, particularly Black Consciousness groups. For the state, however, its role was central. The SAP took this view, as did the Commission of Inquiry. The fault, it was declared, 'lay with the youths' state of mind'.105 The reason for this conclusion is quite important, as it reflects the state's expectations about the mindset of the disenfranchised after 1948. Before World War II, as we have seen, the state was fully aware of hearts' and minds' role in accepting minority rule. Rumours in the countryside, for example, were condemned because one ought not to show fear. Force and a show of force were valued because they concentrated people's minds on the costs of resistance. Under Racial Utopia, however, a different reasoning starts to take hold. Since a person's mind is naturally group-conscious, one need not worry about individualistic complaints. Development of groups will solve the problem of injustice. Although agitators could stir up trouble, their trials could be used to educate the public. In 1956, for example, 156 members of the Congress Alliance were

150

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

arrested and tried for treason between 1958 and 1961. All were eventually acquitted. Particularly since so many people were involved, the trial was used to intimidate. The Rivonia Trial of 1963 was used for very similar purposes.106 But political education really had to affect masses of people. Groups' development included educational growth. The Institute of Race Relations reported in 1964, for example, that pupils at school as a percentage of the black population had increased from 8.9 per cent in 1950 to 13.9 per cent in i960. By 1975 the percentage had climbed to 20 per cent107 The increases did not flow from major leaps in expenditure but from devices such as double sessions. These were still in effect in 1976. Literacy in the black population undoubtedly increased under Racial Utopia's Bantu Education Act of 1953. From the state's point of view, they were helping increasing numbers of people. Why on earth should pupils be unhappy when arithmetic and social studies were taught in Afrikaans? The state was providing a benefit, after all. Soweto, in fact, was a dramatic failure of a massive winning-hearts-and-minds experiment. Legitimacy was in the eye of the beholder. Pupils and their parents thought the Bantu Education Act was not education in the sense of giving people the means of self-determined improvement. This they could see from the curriculum and Ministers' pronouncements. They were receiving knowledge in order to be of service to their community and the economic demands of the country. Churches had disregarded segregationist policy; that is why education was taken away from mission schools and placed under state-direction in 1953. And the state invested more money in White than in Bantu Education. They were being taught to be separate and unequal. Black Consciousness's critique had cut to the heart of the mental enslavement of Bantu Education. The pupils of Soweto rose against it. The state had spent a considerable amount of money on Black Education, albeit not as much as people wanted them to. They thought it was uplifting, a monument to their moral claims. Pupils literally burnt it down. Small wonder that Black Consciousness played so large a part in their reaction. The state, however, was not finished with thinking that the provision of benefits brings legitimacy. Less than ten years later, they would try again. Second, between 1975 and early 1976 the SAP decided to reorganize its riot sections. The reason was shortcomings in the response to labour unrest. But between 1973 and 1976, the rate of strikes increased dramatically in Natal, as well as East London and the East Rand. The strikers were aware of what might happen to them, and refused to elect leaders or any representative body. In most cases, they also stuck closely to factory premises. As before, Security Branch was active in detecting unwelcome moves by labour, but the strikers' tactics confounded them. The bottom-up approach, for example, prevented the Branch from lopping off the leadership. Other sections of the SAP were trained in counter-insurgency, on account of the SAP's deployment in Namibia and Rhodesia. They were attuned to a war in the bush, not around

FROM APARTHEID TO REPUBLICAN STATE

I5 I

factories. In the long run, the state had to reconsider its industrial relations policies but in the short term, the SAP had to deal with the streets. In 1976 each SAP Division thus acquired a riot squad. Acquisition of equipment was limited, however, because of budgetary constraints. Training in crowd and riot control had to be done at the Maleoskop base, primarily a counter-insurgency training centre.108 In Soweto and elsewhere, students thus met the riot squad of the Soweto Division without suitable equipment and the kind of information Security Branch could supply. Informers were mobilized, but mainly because of spontaneity or hasty organizational arrangements that marked the uprising's first stages, they did not supply timely information. The fact that some journalists were better informed than they were about impending marches incensed the SAP.109 Already in one of the first clashes, on 16 June, a group of policemen were unable to reach safety or disperse a crowd pelting them with stones. A constable discharged his automatic weapon. By late on the 16th, reinforcements arrived from other divisions of the Witwatersrand. Fifteen people were killed, eleven by shots fired by the SAP. The Commission of Inquiry reserved its most severe criticisms for the SAP's reaction on this day. It framed subsequent developments.110 Some damage just could not be undone. Impact About the consequences of Soweto on the disenfranchised there has never been great dispute. Tom Lodge puts it best: The uprising was succeeded by the exodus of thousands of young men and women to Lesotho, Swaziland and Botswana and many of these were to provide [the ANC's Umkonto we Sizwe] with a new army of highly motivated and well-educated (in contrast to the recruits in the early 1960s) saboteurs. By mid-1978 South African security police chiefs estimated that approximately 4,000 refugees were undergoing insurgent training in Angola, Libya and Tanzania, most of these under ANC auspices ... [The ANC was also] able to capitalise on the political exhilaration which was generated by the disturbances themselves.111 The challenge for the ANC was to get their new recruits back into the country. They would play their part. Those left behind were equally critical. For the young, personal dignity - let alone political utility - demanded that they show themselves not spiritually enslaved by Bantu Education. Although the Black Consciousness organizations were not destined to attract as many supporters as the ANC, Biko was everywhere. And in the best of epitaphs: in hearts and minds. In deference to the new attitude, the Bantu was soon dropped from Bantu Education's name. But the schools, universities and streets were never the same. Security Branch had brought SASO and the BPC to trial before Soweto (between 1974 and 1975). During the proceedings, the Branch realized that existing

152

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

legislation had grown blunt. Black Consciousness could not be related to the Terrorism Act (1967), the Suppression of Communism Act (1950), or the Illegal/ Unlawful Organizations Act (i960). Prosecutors got tied up in intentions, motivations, and states of mind. One outcome would be legislation simply forbidding all actions that could possibly relate to the overthrow of the state. A mug with the ANC colours on it could thus lead to a charge of sedition. And the state was gripped by another bout of finger-pointing. In 1973 the SAP had upgraded Soweto to divisional status, in part because policing needs here were specific.112 But either Security Branch was lazy or its tried-and-true method, informers, could not be brought to bear on school pupils. Bantu Education both did not work properly and failed to alert authorities. The press caught their share of the blame, too. Its union concluded an agreement with the SAP in 1977 about reliable reporting. At the SASO/BPC trial, an academic from the Rand Afrikaans University, C. J. van der Merwe, agreed to act as expert witness for the prosecution. The head of Security Branch, Johan Coetzee, had approached him. The defence enlisted the aid of Ted Robert Gurr. They won. In the aftermath of Soweto, however, the SADF invited Van der Merwe to lecture on his research into revolutions. Van der Merwe also lectured to the SAP. But in comparison to them, the reception at the SADF was fantastic. The SADF, in Van der Merwe's recollection, 'het die dinggevat en met dit geloof (took the thing and ran with it).113 The 'thing' was a National Security Management System. Summary The combination of the Promotion of Bantu Self-Government Act and Sharpeville was a bombshell. Prior to 1959, the disenfranchised were still part of the legal, political and societal order. Their resistance reflected this contract. Faced with unilaterally determined denationalization and, on top of that, being shot at like foreigners could not fail to be a turning point. Far more than running out of patience in their fight for franchise, the loss of citizenship forced the disenfranchised to accept violent methods. For the state, too, Sharpeville was a shock. Although the state still monopolized the means of violence, its sharpest stick, Security Branch, had failed. Throughout the 1950s the Branch had worked alone in a vast terrain, but its achievements were more than adequate. It had produced large numbers of people, in the Treason Trail and later Rivonia, to earn the trust of Cabinet. Effective policing had also been cheap. But Sharpeville and various similar incidents exposed the vulnerability of sections of the SAP. Protesters were both assertive and implacable. A crowd could easily inflict casualties, regardless of the colour of the policemen or how many shots they had fired. For incumbent Police Minister Erasmus, the future was clear. Policemen would learn the tactics of riot and crowd control. Uniform Branch had to behave like

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infantry. Automatic rifles, machine guns, and armoured cars were at the head of his shopping list. And why not raise the money by selling the Centurion tanks? South Africa had just left the Commonwealth. Harold Macmillan had lectured Parliament about the 'winds of change'. Amidst incessant carping by Britain about racial policy, why should South Africa help the British by sending an armoured division to North Africa? Black Africa was not that much of a threat. About half of the tanks could go. Domestic armaments production should start as soon as possible - not to replace the tanks, but to make automatic rifles and armoured cars. This was done very quickly. No official seemed to anticipate the international reaction to policemen behaving like infantry. Nobody seemed interested in why policemen were treated so dismissively by protesters. Protesters' impatience and outrage was one thing, but surely the policing of Racial Utopia's laws of propriety added something to the equation? In any case, the opposition was preparing a sabotage campaign, a war in the shadows. Security Branch would do the necessary. Erasmus was soon replaced by Vorster, a more powerful politician who took a very personal interest in policing. The Branch indeed scored the stunning success its head, General Van den Bergh, and Vorster were expecting. From the near-panic after Sharpeville, Rivonia led them into a rhetoric of perfection. The opposition was wiped out. But not quite. For the sake of signalling that resistance was not dead, a fringe group consisting mainly of white ex-liberal students planned a spectacular act of sabotage. The Station bomb of 1964 was not the first act of opposition violence, nor were ARM detainees the first suspects to be mistreated in state custody. Yet the incident led the state across a threshold. It confirmed the view that the state's opposition was ruthless, unprincipled and came from the least distressed — white — sectors of society. They were simply arrogant, pitiless radicals. The ARM was not Communist but the liberals became fellow-travellers of a cause leading to chaos. Beaufre and McCuen would later explain them very well. Security Branch would subsequently keep a close eye on English universities. And suspects could be systematically assaulted, tortured, kidnapped and otherwise mistreated. Who could condemn the breaking of Harris's jaw in detention if it could prevent a repeat of the death and disfigurement of the Station bomb? The ANC-SACP would not consider an attack on a soft target feasible until many years later, yet they and other resistance organizations were judged by what the ARM had done. And among the security agencies, Security Branch kept its prominence until at least Soweto. The Station bomb nevertheless exposed problems in the central state's management of security affairs which the Parliamentary Opposition exposed relentlessly. On account of the departure from the Commonwealth, Military Intelligence (DMI) was revived. It also was now an actor in the intelligence business. The truth of the dispute was never established but the allegation was that crucial information somehow got lost between Security Branch and Military Intelligence. Eventually Vorster conceded the necessity of one overarching intelligence agency,

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but this merely added fuel to the flames. It took a commission of inquiry to establish a national security agency, the SSC. Yet it could not break the bonds between the Prime Minister, the SAP, Security Branch and General Van den Bergh. The SADF could not have been altogether happy with the state's security management. Like the SAP, it saw operational experience as the primary base. Yet as South Africa left the Commonwealth, sabotage started and died, and the ANC went into exile to plan revolution, the SADF had hardly fired a shot in anger. The cadet component of the 1912 defence scheme was one outlet, but surely the Commandant-General had better things to do than address school pupils at leadership conferences. Conscription was expanded, but against criticism in Parliament about white labour shortages. At last, after years of training, the SADF was allowed to operate in northern Namibia. Until 1973 the SADF was not the vanguard of COIN operations in the Operational Zone. The first encounters with COIN were not particularly consistent. When SWAPO insurgents initiated their war in Namibia, Security Branch was sent to deal with them. Later the Riot Squads were used. By 1971/72, when the SAP simply could not cope. But four cornerstones were visible: SAP's main quarry was not SWAPO, but the ANC. The SAP followed the ANC wherever they went. COIN theory followed practice, especially the innovative practices of the Rhodesian theatre. And it was best to do things under cover. Within affairs of state, Vorster's rise to the top symbolized a shift away from the older empires of the state, Native Affairs and the Railways. Later the Portuguese coup was critical in consolidating the security forces' central position in the state. But the SADF had far more imperial potential than the SAP. Its Minister was an expert in institution-building. The theoretical material used by soldiers, Beaufre in particular, said they could not be excluded from national security affairs in an era wherein global politics was war by another name. Already in 1966 the SADF had wrested control over expenditure from the Department of Defence. The Minister of Defence also presided over the arms industry. Parliament had given the military secret funds to acquire arms elsewhere. And the economic boom had gone to the state's head; it was incapable of fiscal discipline. In other words, structurally and in terms of individual power, the SADF was in a much better position to become the centre of the state than the SAP. Soweto was interpreted as a structural error in relations among the security agencies. Security Branch could not cope — even journalists knew more than they did. The SAP's tactics and technology on the streets were also obviously lacking, often counterproductive. The commission of inquiry said this, especially about events on the first day. Security Branch was not prepared, either, for a worst-case scenario. Far more ominous from the SADF's point of view was the mass character of the protest. The violence of the early 1960s was conspiratorial. Soweto, however, suggested a shift to mass resistance. The violence did not last

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long, but thousands of Bikos had appeared out of Bantu Education. For the next fifteen years, the security agencies would have to find a way to control the streets. They would also fight each other for control of the state's response. The position of Prime Minister was crucial, as Vorster had shown, in determining who prevailed in operations. The battle within the state would be an executive battle. The judiciary had been no opposition when it came to security legislation. The so-called Sabotage Act of 1962 was promulgated, so was the Terrorism Act of 1967. The state demonstrated what it would do under these terms, even to the enfranchised after the Station bomb. The legal positivism of the early days of Union lived on. As for the legislature, Vorster's rise indicated that the National Party was not the sole determinant of state actions. Vorster had not been leader of the Transvaal caucus of the National Party, nor was he a central figure in Afrikanerdom. He built his career within the state on the SAP. The structural legacy symbolized by Vorster was that the Prime Minister should have the closest of relations with the security agencies. Parliament reigned supreme in the knowledge that the majority party, the Nationalists, would never be turned out of office by the enfranchised. The Opposition was not much of an opposition. Opposition after 1976 would belong to the disenfranchised. In the Durban strikes it was clear that unions planned their actions in anticipation of the arrival of the Security Branch and the SAP's infantry. The youth of Soweto moved like quicksilver. The ANC, too, would have to move its new recruits, and the Portuguese would return home. The executive would have to react vigorously to all of the above; if it did not, more Station bombs could be expected.

Notes 1. Jeffrey Butler, Robert I. Rotberg and John Adams, The Black Homelands of South Africa: The Political and Economic Development of Bophuthatswana and Kn>a%ulu (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), p. 28. 2. Tom Lodge, Black Politics in South Africa since 194J (Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1983), pp. 201-4. 3. Ibid., pp. 205-9. 4. Ibid., pp. 232-4. 5. SAP Archives Document 30-4/1 as quoted in Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police ipij-ipSS (Silverton: Promedia Publications, 1988), pp. 275-8. 6. Ibid., pp. 273—5. 7. Tom Lodge, Black Politics in South Africa since 194^ p. 60. 8. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913—1988, pp. 225—7. 9. Jack and Ray Simons, Class and Colour in South Africa (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969), p. 608. 10. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913—1988, p. 253. 11. For a full discussion, see Anthony S. Mathews, Law, Order and Liberty in South Africa (Cape Town: Juta, 1971), pp. 184-96, 221-30.

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12. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 191 3—1988, p. 240. 13. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year J 9J3 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1954), pp. 2-3; South Africa, AnnualReport of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year 19j 6 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1958), p. 2; South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year 19;8 (Pretoria: Government Printer, i960), p. 2. 14. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-19$$, pp. 25 8-72. 15. South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year i960 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1961), pp. 4-5. 16. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 276-7. 17. Ibid., pp. 281-2. 18. Simon Bekker and Richard Humphries, From Control to Confusion (Rhodes University: Institute of Social and Economic Research Occasional Paper 29, 1985), pp. 1-23. 19. See Josette Cole, Crossroads (Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1978) on how this was done in the Western Cape. 20. South Africa, Report of the Select Committee on the Legislative Effect of the Police Bill (Parow: Cape Times Limited, 1958). 21. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 298-300. 22. Ibid., pp. 300-11. 2 3. South Africa, Report of the Commissioner of the South African Policefor the Year ended 30th fune, 1964 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1965), p. 8. 24. Ibid., p. 7. 25. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 328-29. 26. Ibid., p. 330. 27. Ibid., p. 340. 28. South Africa, White Paper on the Organisation and Functions of the South African Police (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1990), pp. 5, and 33-4. 29. Ibid., pp. 32-3. 30. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 368-447. 31. South Africa, Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Period 1 July 1966 to 30 June 196J (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1968), p. 2. 32. In 1971 it became a UNISA degree in Police Administration. 33. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 360-77. 34. South Africa, White Paper on the Organisation and Functions of the South African Police (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1990), pp. 56—7. 35. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 375-6. 36. I would like to thank Professors Pamela Reynolds, David Welsh and Francis Wilson for their information about the ARM. 37. Andries du Toit, The National Committee for Liberation (ARM'), 1960-1964, unpublished MA thesis (University of Cape Town, 1990), pp. 68-131. 38. See Miles Brokensha and Robert Knowles, The Fourth of July Raids (Cape Town: Simondium, 1965). 39. Andries du Toit, The National Committee for Liberation (ARM*), i960—1964, pp. 132-95. 40. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 328-30.

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41. Andries du Toit, The National Committee for Liberation ('ARM'), 1960-1964, pp. 195-7. 42. See Jonty Driver, Elegy for a Revolutionary (Cape Town: David Philip, 1969); Hugh Lewin, Bandiet: Seven Years in a South African Prison (Cape Town: David Philip, 1981). 43. The alleged agent's name was David Plots. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1965), Cols 46-7. 44. Ibid., Cols 205-7. 45. Ibid., Cols 638-9, 923-4. 46. South Africa, Report of the Commission of Inquiry into Matters Relating to the Security of the State (Abridged) (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1971), pp. 10—12. 47. Gavin Cawthra, Brutal Force: The Apartheid War Machine (London: International Defence and Aid Fund, 1986), pp. 38-9. 48. Ken Flower, Serving Secretly: Rhodesia into Zimbabwe 1964-1981 (London: John Murray, 1987), p. 154. 49. James Barber and John Barratt, South Africa's Foreign Policy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), pp. 113-14. 50. South Africa, Report of the Commission of Inquiry into Matters Relating to the Security of the State (Abridged) (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1971), pp. 33, 34. 51. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1969), Col. 4578. 52. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1970), Col. 294. 5 3. South Africa, Security Intelligence and State Security Council Act (No. 64 of 1972) in South Africa, Government Gazette No 3JJ4, 14 June 1972 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1972) paragraph 5. 54. A reliable case-by-case assessment of guerrilla organizations' achievements at this time appeared in Richard Gibson, African Liberation Movements (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), pp. 55-141. 5 5. Garth Sheldon, Theoretical Perspectives on South African Foreign Policy Making', Politikon, vol. 13, no. 1 (June 1986) 3-21. 56. See Andre Beaufre, An Introduction to Strategy (London: Faber & Faber, 1965). 57. Deon F. S. Fourie, War Potentials of the African States South of the Sahara (Johannesburg: Institute for International Affairs, 1968). 58. Deon F. S. Fourie, 'Strategiese Studies aan die Universiteit van Suid-Afrika', Aambeeld, vol. 8 (1980), 20. 59. For the Americans, see Lawrence Freedman, 'Indignation, Influence and Strategic Studies', International Affairs, vol. 60, no. 2 (Spring 1984) and Colin S. Gray, Strategic Studies and Public Policy: The American Experience (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1982). On French thought, see Robert Gilpin, France in the Age of the Scientific State (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968), chapter 9; Edward A. Kolodziej, 'Revolt and Revisionism in the Gaullist Global Vision: An Analysis of French Strategic Policy', Journal of Politics vol 33 (May 1971); and the section entitled 'French Strategic Thought' in Alden Williams and David W. Tarr (eds), Modules in Security Studies (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 60. See R. Smoke, 'National Security Affairs' in F. I. Greenstein and N. W. Polsby (eds), Handbook of Political Science: International Politics, vol. 8 (Massachusetts: Addison-Wesley, I 975). 61. An incredible amount of writing has been devoted to this phenomenon. For a useful overview of the literature, see David Pion-Berlin, 'Latin American National Security Doctrines: Hard- and Softline Themes', Armed Forces and Society, vol. 15, no. 3 (Spring 1989), pp. 411-29. 62. Kenneth W. Grundy, The Militarisation of South African Politics (London: I.B. Tauris,

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1986), pp. 10, $ 5. See also Grundy's earlier The Rise of the South African Security Establishment: An Essay in the Changing Locus of State Power (Johannesburg: Institute of International Affairs, 1983). 63. Michael H. H. Louw (ed.), National Security: A Modern Approach (Pretoria: Institute for Strategic Studies, 1978). 64. For example, Terrorism Research Associates (in Cape Town) and another mysterious entity entitled the Africa-International Communications. 65. Frederik Johannes Burger, Teeninsurgensie in Namibi'e: Die Rol van die Polisie, unpublished MA thesis (UNISA, 1992), pp. 207-8. 66. The background discussion is drawn from Gail-Maryse Cockram, South West African Mandate (Cape Town: Juta, 1976); Andre du Pisani, SWA/Namibia: The Politics of Continuity and Change (Johannesburg: Jonathan Ball, 1985); I. Goldblatt, History of South West Africa: From the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century (Cape Town: Juta, 1971); David Soggot, Namibia: The Violent Heritage (London: Rex Collings, 1986); Gerhard Totemeyer, Namibia: Old and New (London: C. Hurst, 1978); and John H. Wellington, South West Africa and Its Human Issues (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967). 67. See John A. Marcum, Angolan Nationalism (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1969). 68. Frederik Johannes Burger, Teeninsurgensie in Namibi'e: Die Rol van die Polisiey p. 285. 69. Ibid., pp. 283-5. 70. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 401-44. 71. Frederik Johannes Burger, Teeninsurgensie in Namibi'e: Die Rol van die Polisie, p. 282. 72. Ron Reid Daly (as told to Peter Stiff), Selous Scouts Top Secret War (Alberton: Galago, 1982), pp. 17-64. 73. Frederik Johannes Burger, Teeninsurgensie in Namibi'e: Die Rol van die Polisie, p. 208. 74. Tom Lodge, Black Politics in South Africa since 194j, pp. 231-94. 75. See Annette Seegers, Revolution in Africa: The Case of Zimbabwe, unpublished PhD thesis (Loyola: University of Chicago, 1984), pp. 222-84. 76. Cited in Kenneth W. Grundy, Confrontation and Accommodation in Southern Africa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), pp. 256-7. 77. Annette Seegers, Revolution in Africa: The Case of Zimbabwe, pp. 250—94. 78. J J McCuen, The Art of Counter-Insurgency Warfare (London: Faber & Faber, 1966). 79. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1966), Col. 3238. 80. Ibid., Col. 3204. 81. Frederik Johannes Burger, Teeninsurgensie in Namibi'e: Die Rol van die Polisie, p. 208. 82. Ibid., pp. 228—9. 83. See, for example, South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1966), Col. 1384. 84. R. J. Bouch, 'The Development of the Comptroller's Section, SADF', Militaria 6/3 (1976), pp. 1-5; Ashley C. Lillie, 'Chief of Staff, Finance', Militaria 12/2 (1982), pp. 66-9. 85. See South Africa, Ondersoek na Suid-Afrikaanse Weermagsaangeleenthede: Opsommin Bevindings en Aanbevelings van die Groenewoud-Komitee (Departmental Report: SADF, 1965). 86. See the Annual Reports of the Commissioner of the South African Police. 87. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 288, 302. 88. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1961), Cols 7398-9. 89. Helmoed-Romer Heitman, South African Arms and Armour (Cape Town: Struik, 1988), p. 43. 90. This is ARMSCOR (undated), pp. 2-7.

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91. Tom Lodge, Black Politics in South Africa since 194; , pp. 261-94. See also G. E. Devenish, T h e Development of Administrative and Political Control of Rural Blacks', in A. Rycroft (ed.), Race and the Law in South Africa (Cape Town: Juta, 1987), pp. 26-40. 92. Increases measured at current prices. SAIRR, A Survey of Race Relations in South Africa (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1970), p. 79; SAIRR, A Survey of Race Relations in South Africa (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1971), p. 172. 93. Measured in terms of cash allocations. Figures are rounded. South Africa, Statistical Year Book 196J (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1965), R-7; South Africa, South African Statistics 1974 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1974), 19.7; South Africa, South African Statistics (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1978), 19.7. 94. South Africa, White Paper on Defence and Armament Production (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1969), p. 1$. 95. For example, 80 Saracen armoured personnel cars in 1969. The Military Balance, 1971-1972 (London: International Institute of Strategic Studies, 1971-1972), p. 38. 96. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1965), Cols 6702-18 and 6756-815. 97. Copy of the itinerary and accompanying scrapbook courtesy of Ina Ackermann. 98. See, for example, Siegfried Stander, Like the Wind (Cape Town: Saayman and Weber, 1985); Helmoed-Romer Heitman, South African War Machine (Johannesburg: Central News Agency, 1985); Paul L. Moorcraft, Africa's Superpower (Johannesburg: Sygma Books/Collins, 99. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1966), Cols 3245-61. 100. Phillip Frankel, Pretoria's Praetorians (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), pp. 124-160; Kenneth W. Grundy, The Rise of the South African Security Establishment: An Essay in the Changing Locus of State Power, pp. 10—11, 17, 33—5. 101. See Annette Seegers, 'South Africa: From Laager to Apartheid', in Charles C. Moskos and John Whiteclay Chambers II (eds), The New Conscientious Objection (London: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 127-34. 102. Tom Lodge, Black Politics in South Africa since 194;, pp. 328-30. 103. See South Africa, Report of the Commission of Inquiry into the Riots at SOWETO and Elsewhere from the 16th of fune 1976 to the 28th of February 1977 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1980), vol. I, pp. 553-641. 104. Despite the bannings, the BC movement was reborn in 1978 with the formation of the Azanian People's Organization (AZAPO). 105. South Africa, Report of the Commission of Inquiry into the Riots at SOWETO and Elsewhere from the 16th of June 1976 to the 28th of February 1977p, vol. I, p. 627. 106. Dennis Davis, 'Political Trials in South Africa', in Dennis Davis and Mana Slabbert (eds), Crime and Power in South Africa (Cape Town: David Philip, 1985), pp. 34-47. 107. Nathan Hurwitz, The Economics of Bantu Education in South Africa (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1964), p. 26; SAIRR, A Survey of Race Relations in South Africa, 19/4-19;j (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1975), p. 220. 108. South Africa, Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police for the Year ended 30 June 1976 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1977), p. 1. 109. And the Acting Prime Minister, P. W. Botha. He was reported as saying that foreign evil-doers got their information 'from their agents in South Africa, the traitors who crawl around here at night'. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913—1988, p . 511.

110. South Africa, Report of the Commission of Inquiry into the Riots at SOWETO and Elsewhere from the 16th of June 1976 to the 28th of February 1977, vol. I, pp. 90-127; vol. II, pp. 15-27.

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i n . Tom Lodge, Black Politics in South Africa since 194;y p. 339. 112. Brigadier P. J. Lerm was its first Divisional Commissioner. 113. Interview, 25 November 1989. In his later research Van der Merwe argued that a revolution exists when a state cannot make decisions or enforce them. C. J. van der Merwe, ( n Stelselontleding van Rewolusionere Aktiwiteitey unpublished PhD thesis (University of Stellen-

bosch, 1980).

CHAPTER 5

REPUBLICAN STATE AND OPPOSITION, 1976-86

At issue in this chapter is how security agencies developed institutionally and reacted to challenges between roughly 1976 and 1986. The discussion starts with the institutional dimension, then moves to challenges within South Africa. Obviously not all challenges can be relevant to the discussion; only those affecting the following three aspects are discussed. First, the state's resources are important, including money, an ability to extract manpower from society, and suitable equipment. Second, the state's use of its security agencies may not be successful. Challengers may have developed methods that resist defeat. Third, the state's use of coercion is constrained by its political support base. Some actions are bound to test supporters' tolerance.1 Nonmaterialist considerations cannot be excised from this tolerance. As discussed in Chapter 4, the State Security Council emerged in 1972, primarily on account of disputes internal to the state. Subsequently the SSC began to evolve into a National Security Management System (NSMS). It existed until the end of the 1980s; the decade indeed saw the military rise to great heights in the state. Since a variety of circumstances pertained to this rise of the military, research justifiably ran in different directions,2 but the NSMS became an essential part of explanations. The NSMS deserves discussion. It is not the only significant development of the state in the 1980s, however, and must be considered in conjunction with other shifts. The NSMS, 1970 to 19803 The NSMS was surrounded - and indeed, its very existence often justified - by ideas and perceptions about the military having good attributes. Bureaucrats and elected politicians described the SADF as the state institution that best knew how to do things. In what did these ideas originate? The answer is in operational experience in northern Namibia during the early 1970s. Here COIN had been the SAP's business. But with the strike and 1972 declaration of a state of emergency in Ovambo, the SAP could not cope. All 161

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SAP units were withdrawn. By July 1973 the SADF dominated the Operational Zone. What they had learnt in the preceding years of coexistence with the SAP was that military decisions had to be linked with non-military ones. It enhanced efficiency, if only by reducing rivalries. This linking was effected through coordinating committees. The first of these committees was created in 1970. In 1973 a reorganization expanded the system into a series of Gesamentltke Interdepartementele Teensinsurgensie-

komitees (Joint Interdepartmental Counter-Insurgency Committees or GITK), later renamed Territory Counter-Insurgency Committees (GTK). The GTKs spawned joint intelligence and operational subcommittees, respectively known by their Afrikaans acronyms GIS and GOS. Minor adjustments were made throughout the 1970s. The top unit of the NSMS in Namibia was the SWA Joint Management Committee of JMC, meeting under the chairmanship of the Administrator-General of the territory.4 The first counter-insurgency committee on South African soil was probably based in Durban during the mid-1970s. At one time led by (later General) Koos Lloyd, the local SADF Command formed a TIK (for Teeninsurgensie Komitee). Its members apparently spent most of their time trying to undermine Chief Buthelezi.5 Shortly after the Portuguese coup of April 1974, the Public Service Commission was instructed to investigate the efficiency of the SSC. Its first report was delivered in 1975 and, although classified, is known to bureaucrats as the Venter Report, after an official of the Commission. P. W. Botha and close associates in the Department of Defence played a decisive role in the Venter Report's findings. Mr Venter's investigations led him to Cabinet's Oorlogsdagboek (Diary of War), created in 1918 in conjunction with the Colonial Office, as a place to record threats. Mr Venter found that entries had stopped in 1968.6 The Cabinet clearly was not taking threats seriously. The SSC also failed to put an end to the intelligence rivalries of the 1960s, and new disputes were brewing. The Department of Foreign Affairs, for example, was supposed to provide accurate information about South Africa's neighbours. Then Foreign Affairs in 1979 predicted the wrong election results in Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia). It thought the UANC of Bishop Abel Muzorewa was going to win by a handsome margin.7 Operating within Foreign Affairs' ambit was the Department of Information. In 1977 Information's arrogance, corruption and ineptitude became trapped in the political spotlight. A commission of inquiry exposed a mess of deception and naivety. Information was doomed. But the significance of foreign policy failures ran deep: Foreign Affairs could not be trusted to deliver. And under the hand of the former Prime Minister, B. J. Vorster, the ship of state had been steered into stagnant waters. The former Minister of Defence, P. W. Botha, became Prime Minister in 1979 in the wake of the Information Scandal. He said he valued above all else the need for 'clean' government coupled with 'teamwork'.8 The part of the state classified as the public service was now his jurisdiction. In 1976 the public

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service had shifted from the Department of Internal Affairs to the Office of the Prime Minister. Another series of investigations was launched. They remain classified. In public statements, however, came an indication of what they contained. At an appropriate time, those associated with the SADF produced a superior understanding of the threats facing the government, and the best ideas about how these should be countered. Comparisons of departmental responsibilities led to the view that the SADF was efficient and prepared, with serious wrongs being attributed to civilian agencies.9 Just before the NSMS came into official existence in late 1979, a series of deliberations in Simons town generated a mode of state decision-making that would become very influential. The Simonstown deliberations included specific orders about the gathering of information and cross-border operations which, in the interests of countering revolution, were prepared to be 'abnormal'. Subsequently such orders were issued, by direct and implied authority. A task force identified targets involved with the armed struggle. The SADF and SAP would be in the forefront of the counter-revolutionary efforts, with the National Intelligence Service and Department of Foreign Affairs providing backup.10 The NSMS, 1980 to 1986 Examination of the SSC's efficiency ended in August 1979 with an announcement that a National Security Management System (NSMS) had become fully operational. The NSMS was going beyond coordinating information; its interest was in coordinating the implementation of policy.11 The SSC itself was strengthened by additional staff. A Working Committee was created, consisting of all the heads of state departments and staff from other Cabinet committees. A survey of all the state's duties identified 15 functions, each requiring a coordinating inter-departmental committee (IDC). But the rest of the bureaucracy functioned on a geographical basis — region, subregion, and so on - and for each a coordinating body was created. Joint Management Centres (JMC) coordinated government activities in each of South Africa's 12 official regions, as did a Sub-JMC in each of the 60 subregions, and a Mini-JMC in each of the 450 or so mini-regions, while a Local Management Centre (LMC) was created for every city and designated town. These bodies were intended to shorten and simplify the chain of command: LMCs reported to Mini-JMCs, these in turn to Sub-JMCs, to JMCs and these, finally, to the SSC.12 Perceptions of military leadership were soon underscored by the post-1983 revival of violent resistance to the state. In comparing the performance of departments, the conclusion was again that the civilian component had failed, not least because of their own shaken confidence in the ability to maintain services in areas where violence was most intense. Even worse, some local government institutions were reported to have covertly sought to establish a modus vivendi with resistance groups so as to continue services. When a state of

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emergency was first introduced and later extended and renewed, the collapse of services formed part of the justification.13 As was the case with the events of the 1960s and 1970s, perceptions were partly based on fact. It could be shown that some civilian departments had again failed to meet their own goals. Most attention in the 1980s focused on the Department of Constitutional Development and Planning, whose responsibilities included the black town councils of which, by October 1985, only a fraction remained intact and operational.14 Initially the government issued strong denials about the SADF's entry into previously civilian jurisdictions, but later statements made a case for the benefits derived from such intervention. 15 South African bureaucrats would have had plenty of food for thought if they had studied the depressing record of attempted military cleanups elsewhere, but they were not encouraged to examine critically the claims that civilian ways of doing things needed to be changed, if not ended. On the contrary, the seductive power of the ideas about military competence was enhanced when advocates could cite facts about happenings within government during the last twenty years, as proof of the wisdom and practicability of their ideas. And then they set forth to educate others to accept their diagnosis. All over the state the NSMS's administrative staff offered courses to bureaucrats, gave lectures, and awarded qualifications in how a bureaucrat is supposed to work. Doing one's job properly meant acquiring the right motivation, best inculcated when the person(s) concerned realized that inefficiency - disregarding instructions, putting departmental/personal interests before the national good, or sloppiness - might lead to a Communist takeover and revolution.16 For the upwardly mobile, training assumed a more select, secretive character. Besides the NSMS, training abroad was available at places like the Taiwanese School of Political and Military Warfare. Trust hinged on security clearance by the security agencies. The ideas, images, and words of Total Onslaught initially served to legitimate the NSMS. It emerged during the late 1960s, and found full elaboration by the early 1980s. Early in the 1980s, however, state ideologues abandoned Total for Revolutionary Onslaught. Instead of Communist-inspired subversion directed by the Soviet Union, the new slogan was calculated to focus attention on a state located in a developmental context. Being part of the Third World justified state violence and rationalized the white electorate's fears of lowered standards. But just as its predecessor, Revolutionary Onslaught legitimated work within the state. The NSMS's form of administration needed to be justified by 'military things are better'-arguments, a 'can-do' enthusiasm, unqualified commitment to a job, the shortest possible distance between a problem and its solution, control by command, and institutional simplicity. Chaotic and incapable of natural order, a Third World society permanently needed vigorous management in the form of militaristic admin-

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The messages heard by state employees promoted the value of uncritically submitting to authority, of being aggressive against those violating conventional norms, of de-emphazizing concern for individual human beings, and of encouraging thinking in rigid conventional terms. Hence the growth of cynicism, the preoccupation with the outwardly strong, and the belief that unregulated things are dangerous and wild. After the post-1980 revival of violent resistance, NSMS forms and functions were clarified. At regional and local levels, many boundaries were redrawn as, for example, when a Mini-JMC was redefined to become a Sub-JMC. At the top level, the depth and scope of violence initiated by opposition to the 1983 constitution led to an important alteration. The IDC for Security was selected to monitor and manage events on a daily basis, and was renamed the National Joint Management Centre (NJMC). Described as the operational headquarters of the NSMS by those who ought to know,18 this became the body to which all subordinate bodies reported. Meetings were chaired by the Deputy Minister of Law and Order.19 The institutional origins of the NSMS thus stem from the poor advice given to Cabinet in the 1960s. The diagnosis of what was wrong led to the creation of the SSC by a swift stroke of the legislative pen. Later judgements that civilian departments had failed required a more comprehensive cure written by the power of administrative discretion. The goal now was to coordinate executive—bureaucratic functions at every level. From its humble beginnings of providing advice to the Cabinet, the SSC ended astride a hierarchy of institutions intended to lead the whole state to efficiency. On a comparative note, the NSMS ironically bears great similarity to the Soviet commissar system. Two hierarchies were in effect. One hierarchy consisted of an ordinary state bureaucracy with a chain of command, specialization, delegation and so on. Alongside it operated another, far more important bureaucracy of oversight: the Communist Party. In the interests of Communist correctness, the Party's commissars enjoyed superior status at every level of the state bureaucracy. They could overrule any proposal, even the battle plans of the Soviet Army. Similarly, in the South African case, the NSMS effectively also created two hierarchies for the state. It was not the Communist Party that did the oversight, however, but the security agencies. They may not have enjoyed legal powers to overrule decisions, but their rectitude of efficiency - backed by the threat of revolution - could be as powerful as Marxian dreams. Who's In and Out? It did not take long for the SSC to dominate Cabinet. One cause of its power was its statutory status, paving the legal ground for the emergence of an inner cabinet. SSC meetings were chaired by the State President, P. W. Botha. Although it was not empowered to make decisions, the SSC met just before Cabinet did,

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creating a decision-making momentum Cabinet found impossible to stop. It may also have been unwilling to do so. Many in the state's senior leadership corps were convinced that South Africa was effectively at war. Under the additional influence of P. W. Botha's combative personality, they would not oppose the SSC or its methods.20 Personnel from the SADF, however, did not dominate the SSC's supporting Secretariat. In 1983 for example, 56 per cent of the Secretariat was drawn from the National Intelligence Service (NIS); 11 per cent from the SAP Security Branch; 5 per cent from the Railway Police; and 10 per cent from the SADF or Department of Defence.21 Thus it was the security agencies generally that dominated the SSC. Except for the SSC, the jurisdictional boundaries of the NSMS were mainly geographic. A JMC was responsible for the co-ordination of a region (for example, Eastern Province), as was a Sub-JMC for a subregion (Port Elizabeth), and a Mini-JMC for a mini-region (Port Elizabeth North). We know that the internal design of these entities compelled the involvement of all government departments. But which bureaucrats participated, and how was the work divided? Each NSMS entity had the following: (1) a committee for security, known by its Afrikaans acronym Veikom, required participation by the Department of Defence, National Intelligence Service, SADF and SAP and the chief civil defence officer of the region.22 (2) A committee for constitutional, economic, and social affairs, known as Semkom, was composed of bureaucrats from relevant civilian agencies. (3) A committee for communication, known as Komkom, was attended by public-relations officers from the Bureau for Information, the Combined Operations section of the South African Army. Finally, the chairmen of the Komkom, Semkom, and Veikom formed (4) an Uitvoerende Komitee or executive

committee. Its members elected an overall chairman and made use of a secretary. A four-part division of labour thus prevailed, with the Veikom dominating security duties, the Semkom developmental progress, and the Komkom in charge of public relations, with the Uitvoerende Komitee providing necessary links in the chain of command. Every state institution had to participate in one or another committee of the NSMS on national, regional, subregional, mini-regional and municipal levels. If the most senior officials were unable to attend - as, indeed, required - they were represented by other bureaucrats. However, there were at least two areas where participation was not, strictly speaking, so restricted. The NSMS's concern with preventing a 'revolutionary climate* meant that most actions were focused on black communities where administration, since the mid 1970s, had been problematical for a variety of reasons. But criticisms were frequently made about black people who became municipal officers either by little (or even no) explained appointment, or by election on the basis of an often ludicrously low turnout. Self-promotion and government patronage similarly produced a number of coloured officials. Given

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such participants, the NSMS in most areas, and in a very obvious way, clung to the letter but not the spirit of the officials-only claim. In the second instance, NSMS entities were required to liaise with the local community. Links with developmental associations were promoted at all levels; these associations were organized according the country's development regions. Thus the JMC of, for example, Northern Natal, liaised with the chairman of the Regional Development Advisory Committee of Kwazulu, Northern Natal and Northern Transkei (Development Region E).23 In addition, formal liaison forums were established in order to bring together prominent members of the community, including leaders in business, education and religion. Participation in the NSMS thus primarily took the form of compulsory attendance at meetings of committees at each level by representatives of all the relevant institutions of the state. But participation was not always confined to those required to attend because some non-officials were also involved, by either self-promotion or invitation. Naturally the four committees of the 12 JMCs, 60 Sub-JMCs, approximately 448 Mini-JMCs, and the myriad LMCs were not at all times equally and fully operational. Hence the need to describe some of the conditions affecting their functions. Despite being described as neither secret nor sinister, the NSMS lived under the umbrella provided by strict statutory constraints on the dissemination of information about the security forces and their actions. This cover was drastically enlarged by emergency regulations.24 But what of the confidential matters discussed inside committees? Even for the governmental members, information came only on a need-toknow or too-late basis, and generally flowed vertically upwards to the NJMC and the SSC from Veikoms. The activities of these executive committees often surpassed those of Komkoms and Semkoms, not surprisingly because of successive states of emergency,25 but their closed-shop habits offended civilian bureaucrats. In addition, the latter's image of standing aloof from government repression was damaged by state repression via intense Veikom activity. Co-ordination seemed to consist of supporting unpleasant elements of state business. Civilian agencies were drawn into a network where co-ordination consisted of supplying the repressive apparatus with information, but receiving word of Veikom actions only after the event . Civilian officials in black communities tended to hold the NSMS and Veikom actions in high regard. But for those not spurred by immediate problems and accompanying violence, participation was an unrewarded burden. The system demanded an additional layer of bureaucratic work with extra meetings, reports, and travel. Yet NSMS trainers insisted that even enthusiastic participation would not lead to substantial personal or departmental reward. The incentive was the ecstasy of knowing you were efficient. Many officials justified their indifference to the NSMS by arguing that although it was undoubtedly appropriate for black areas, the new search for efficiency added to their own workloads, failed to rid

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Table 5.1

The NSMS in Outline

National level

Cabinet SSC

National Regional Development Advisory Council

Parliament

JMC*

Regional Development Advisory Committees

Provincial Administration

Sub-JMC*

Regional Development Associations

Regional Services Councils

Local organization for community development

Local authorities

NJMC* Regional level Sub-regional level

Mini-JMC* Local level

Local Management Centres*

Note: * JMCs, Sub-JMCs, Mini-JMCs and Local Management Centres are internally divided into four committees: the executive committee, Komkom, Semkom and Veikom. At the NJMC level, the nomenclature of these committees vary. In functional terms, the Veikom headed security goals, the Semkom the 'welvaart' (progress/welfare) and the Komkom the public-relations goals of the state.

the bureaucracy of its appetite for red tape, and fuelled local feuds and jealousies.26 Since the origins, internal language and justification of the NSMS were couched in military terms, many observers believed that the NSMS was in fact driven by military assertions and personnel. Most of the Veikoms, however, at levels below JMCs were headed by SAP officers. Only at the higher levels were SADF officers, usually the highest-ranking officers of the various SADF commands roughly coinciding with development region-boundaries, more prominent. The extent of SAP-influence over the NSMS was also reflected at the top levels of the command structure, with the Deputy Minister of Law and Order (that is, of the SAP) chairing meetings of the National JMC and the system resorting under the legal authority of the Minister of Law and Order. Interest and participation in the NSMS thus varied across time and place but was usually related to the presence or prospect of violence, as well as the selfmotivation of bureaucrats. Many not so threatened or moved remained skeptical about unrewarded additions to their daily routine, not least because the perpetrators of unpleasantness were getting too close (see Table 5.1). Because the NSMSs drew together in committees those already employed by the state and/or seconded personnel, its staffing and running costs were said to be low. In addition, it was not presented as the vehicle by which hidden slush funds were distributed. State expenditure remained as approved by Parliament.

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Financial line allocations were left unaltered. Upsets in existing bureaucratic habits arose mainly from formal accusations on NSMS committees about weakness or incompetence, but those criticized could at least console themselves with the knowledge that their budgets were exempt from interference. The NSMS nevertheless generated intense disputes about money within the state. Its domestic outlook favoured increased spending on the SAP or other policemen. Municipal police, for example, were recruited by the Department of Manpower, partially trained by the SAP, and finally came under the authority of the Department of Constitutional Development and Planning.27 The Military and the Executive Branch Perhaps because of his fondness of blunt action, limited interest in collegiality and long association with the military, many observers considered P. W. Botha to be a militarist.28 He both reflected and advanced the military's interests. And since he stood at the top, how could the military not be there, too? Yet Botha also relied on the advice of three associates: the head of the Office of the State President or OSP (Jannie Roux), his press secretary (Jack Viviers) and a personal friend (Boet Troskie).29 The department most consistently favoured was the Office of the State President. From here Botha kept an eye on all central state authorities, including the military. The authorized establishment of the OSP was 200 employees who, through planning branches, influenced policy-making.30 Although Botha's political base was leading the majority party in Parliament, the 1983 Constitution combined the powers of the Prime Minister and State President into one new office, the State President. As chief executive, Botha now enjoyed the best of both worlds, the parliamentary and presidential systems.31 In the same process, the Cabinet lost chunks of its legislative and administrative jurisdictions. According to the 1983 Constitution, central state departments were classified in terms of general or own functions. General affairs went to Cabinet. Own affairs resorted under the ministers' councils of the three chambers of Parliament. In addition, Cabinet committees other than the SSC also became powerful.32 The Cabinet thus was once removed from many scenes of action. The effect was to weaken Cabinet. Its ability to pressure the State President over matters of policy was drastically curtailed. Cabinet became more obviously an expression of the State President's political will. When the NSMS is considered in this context, it is obvious that it was not a vehicle for the simple expansion of military influence in the central state but one vehicle of the rise of a state dominated by the Chief Executive.33 Significantly, the executive branch had the judiciary still in tow. After 1972, one legal scholar after another concluded that the judiciary's Appellate Division had become executive-minded.34 Judges that did not share in this predisposition were bypassed in selections for security cases.35 On the infrequent occasions that the courts invalidated state action, the executive simply remedied the defect

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through an Act of Parliament, often preceded by a commission of inquiry. The severe Internal Security Act of 1982, for example, came after an investigation into security legislation led by the Chief Justice. The more relevant purpose of the statute, however, was to amend and consolidate previous security legislation.36 The will of legislators (beholden to the executive) was still supreme. The courts were generally happy with the status quo including, after 1986, emergency rule. In 1986 some judges, however, started to visit detainees held under ministerial regulations. The Natal Supreme Court tried to widen this track by saying detainees had right of access to lawyers. In 1987 the legislature closed the loophole. The Appellate Division supported them by striking down the Natal ruling. The majority in Omar vs Minister of Law and Order (1987) said that the courts were not at liberty to question the will of Parliament.37 Onward with Afrikanerization In previous chapters much was made of Republicanization. Its result was a state—Afrikanerdom link in key parts of the state. The dominance of Afrikaans speakers inevitably created a style of management that was extremely important. It was evident in the NSMS. First, and perhaps the most prominent feature, was the stress on seeking agreement at all times and everywhere. Participation in the NSMS was not a matter of choice or volunteering and, while coordinating mechanisms are not unusual to state administration, it is exceptional to compel co-ordination down to the local level. The desire for agreement was expressed in, for example: spanwerk (teamwork), samewerking (co-operation), and various references to the extremely popular game of rugby football (like dinkskrum, or robust meeting of minds). Second, the NSMS departed from the typical bureaucratic practice of accountability to one authority by making state employees accountable to two superior bodies. Hence the need to stress deference to authority as a general good. The good bureaucrat is one with no fixed mindset [die regte gesindheid or an oop kop], who clears decisions with superiors [die saak eers uitklaar] and then submits to authority [berus by die beslui^. A good bureaucrat does not secondguess or inhibit instructions with personal views. Good managers are tough [onverbiddelik and stren^ men who inspire loyalty by sticking to the rules. Superiors are invested with all-knowing, all-seeing powers.38 Third, the group, and especially the dynamics of small groups, were glorified. This is unusual, as many bureaucrats recognize the warped consensus - the 'climate of cozy, implicit agreement on fundamentals ... [where never] is heard a discouraging word'39 - bred by small groups. Via the NSMS, employees who could not function in a team were castigated as recalcitrants (dwarstrekker). There were frequent descriptions of enthusiasm, but the descriptions entailed tireless group effort rather than individualistic innovation.

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Fourth, one might infer from the above that a good bureaucrat was preeminently a loyal one. But an inference that work is never merely work but a cause can also be inferred. Top NSMS participants were indeed required to have security clearance and were encouraged to attend relevant courses. Technical qualifications suggested that the bureaucrats knew their work was part of a global battle between the forces of darkness and light. Colossal stakes were involved. Those who served the NSMS in the smallest imaginable town were heroes of a great cause. Finally, despite some deference to sound techniques, what ought to be done was most often explained in terms of power or flatly asserted. Almost wholly absent were descriptions of situations grounded in the abstract and general, like the realities of human nature or the tendencies of governments everywhere. One heard a great deal of past and present particulars, in heavily anecdotal style. The origins of this Afrikanerized style of management lie far in the past. Most of the formative political experiences of Afrikanerdom were haunted by internal divisions. The Great Trek was, in fact, different treks that remained unreconciled. The Boer Wars were plagued by fundamental disagreements over how to fight. Religious life split into different churches, divided to this day. Abundant evidence exists for concluding that Afrikaners view kin in the spirit of radical egalitarianism. Among themselves, they are a collection of dwarstrekkers. Dwarstrekkery coexists with unifying influences. One critical factor is family dynamics, favouring patriarchy, strong but domesticated women, and extension through armies of aunts and uncles and their offspring. Another factor is rhetoric, which is prone to emotional exaggeration and extremism. A highly inegalitarian educational system, in the sense of all-knowing and all-powerful teachers, creates order. And a style of leadership mainly developed in the Dutch Reformed Church has been bequeathed to the state. The vast majority of top state employees and politicians acquired at least some of these cultural habits on their journey through church, family, school, and university. Another mechanism is to make decisions in a way that produces unity. No effort is spared to encourage inclusiveness. When unity is obviously threatened, a decision will be postponed or diluted; but if, after long effort, actions have to be taken in the face of disagreement, those opposing are cast out and crushed. Organizations were shaped by mechanisms of decision-making that included strict chains of command that institutionalized deference to authority, although the latter is likely to be a group and not an individual. Since large gatherings invite divisions, power goes to groups that are as small as possible. And superiors do not lead by command. Successful management of the like-minded demands consultation.40 The state elite's habits created patterns of inclusion and exclusion which did not always coincide with race or sex. Black people, as such, are not consistently excluded. Mastery of the Afrikaans language in the platteland (countryside),41 a firm but non-assertive personal style, explaining yourself as someone who is

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basically persuadable, and acceptance of group authority are examples of attributes which lead at worst to understanding by the powerful and at best to inclusion. A woman's structural position is more difficult, but women can carve out positions for themselves, if only because they exploit the absence of mechanisms to dismiss them, or find patrons. Relating the state to culture is an exercise resembling a stroll through a minefield, especially since recent academic doctrine decrees that culture, in the sense of people sharing common beliefs and practices, does not exist. Even so, cultural properties are obvious in the NSMS. The stress on teamwork, deference to authority, decision-making by small groups, a consensual style of management, and the view of bureaucratic work as heroic labour cannot be understood in general bureaucratic or military terms. Impact: Race and Function Like many other national security agencies, the NSMS derived from competition among departments of the first tier of the state. Self-interested dramatizations showed that bureaucrats were as likely to be influenced by what they did to, and what was done to them by, other bureaucrats as by anything else. Bureaucratic memory was long, vivid and utterly self-serving. Yet national security agencies usually stay on the first tier of the state. Why did the NSMS seek security by coordinating state actions at all levels? A sizeable portion of the state's troubles after the 1960s came about because bureaucratic coherence was deliberately broken into pieces before the 1970s and 1980s. Vertical divisions between the central, provincial, and municipal levels of government were not that unusual. The state also, however, divided horizontally in, for example, separate education departments. Another horizontal division created homelands.42 These divisions threatened efficiency and coherence. Many state functions, especially those involving internal security, transport, and communications, simply could not be split ethnically and/or territorially. Horizontal divisions also tangled jurisdictional lines, compounded by competition and self-interestedness, even among security agencies. For as long as racial reasoning stayed in place, the pieces in the administrative jigsaw could not come together - except on the basis of co-ordination induced by the threat of revolution. The much-vaunted rationalization of the mid 1970s addressed the problems of a fractured state by reducing the number of departments, but improvements were predominantly confined to the first tier,43 and affected vertical more than horizontal divisions. Given that the state had enslaved itself to racially determined organization, the design of new development regions in the early 1970s was a breakthrough. Economic development strategy of the time recognized that homelands were unable to generate the requisite growth. Therefore spatial zones were created which would allow for cross-jurisdictional stimuli of growth. 44 The NSMS

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accepted the development regions as basic units. On this base it compelled participation, established one all-important chain of command, and sanctioned the crossing of ethnically based jurisdictional boundaries. But the NSMS hierarchy by itself simply could not rationalize the state's administrative format. The NSMS nevertheless sustained an impetus towards rationalization by placing function (security, welfare and communication) above race. Development regions' divisions, the SADF command boundaries, and the SAP's regions - all reflected in the NSMS - overruled old racial lines. In this sense, the NSMS represented the death of Racial Utopia and the birth of a different administrative state. Campaigns and Methods, 1980-86 Although there are figures on arrests and detentions in the 1980s, a big slice of the evidence about who coerced whom and for what reasons remains hidden. The clandestine nature of the NSMS also pushed the issue of security expenditures deeper into the recesses of the state. Secrecy formerly mainly concerned events related to central government. But the NSMS created undisclosed spending on the regional, sub- and mini-regional, and local levels. Since all the relevant evidence simply is not available, this discussion of campaigns and methods is selective. The following issues are considered: the SAP's ability to control the streets; the military's help, the state's ability to acquire support among the disenfranchised; the habit of 'turning' opponents; imitation of the central state's actions by the homelands and non-statutory groups; and the reaction of the enfranchised to the foregoing. The resistance of the 1980s is the subject of several outstanding studies that cannot even be summarized here. One way of understanding it is through a political spectrum. Enemy Number One was still the ANC, but it was in exile. The major domestic opponent of the state was the United Democratic Front (UDF), which grew out of opposition to the 1983 Constitution. Drawing on the experience of preceding resistance campaigns, the UDF organized itself as a small federal body linking organizations promoting the interests of (for example) community, trade, students, teachers, and youth.45 Beyond acceptance of a unitary, non-racial democratic South Africa, support of foreign pressure on the Government, and support of bottom-up local organizations, the UDF's ideological positions were diverse. To the left of the UDF was the National Forum, including organizations like AZAPO and the PAC46 Another way of making sense of the resistance is by sector, (i) The UDF would be an example of political and constitutional resistance, (ii) In the homelands, several revolts were in motion, Lebowa and Kwandebele being the most prominent examples, (iii) With the exception of most white educational institutions, schools and universities were in turmoil, (iv) Finally, there is the challenge

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of the trade unions, affecting private management but also the state, the author of labour legislation. The approach here is to select features of resistance that tested or were important to the state. International issues are discussed in the next chapter. Operational Priorities: The ANC In 1976, two years after the Portuguese coup, the South African state's view of its oldest enemy, the ANC, was being reviewed. The state had just come through a bout with Black Consciousness in the SASO/BPC trial and the Soweto riots. The ANC was not in the forefront of opposition in 1976. Yet, as noted, the socalled children of Soweto were streaming across the border to join the ANC and return as guerrillas. The outflow of potential guerrillas worried the security agencies as much as their return. Perhaps for this reason Prime Minister Vorster, acting on the advice of the SAP's security police, was not that reluctant to withdraw support for the Smith government in 1976. The aid directed at events inside Rhodesia, under the codename Operation Polo, had to stop. A demilitarized zone (DMZ) along South African borders served security purposes better than a distant buffer zone. A DMZ had the advantage of serving two purposes: it caught the outflow as much as the inflow. The same could not be achieved if policemen were traipsing about vast territory in neighbouring countries.47 In operations very similar to the DMZ in northern Namibia, land was cleared along South Africa's borders. The SAP's COIN units were authorized to patrol these areas, paying close attention to known exit points on the border with Botswana and Swaziland. COIN-units were assisted by regional offices of Security Branch.48 One of the problems created by the traffic across the borders was what to do with captured would-be or fully-fledged guerrillas. They were all subject to the provisions of the Terrorism Act of 1967. Here the SAP had no doubts. Security Branch and the COIN-units returned from Operation Polo told them about the success of turning - that is, giving captured guerrillas the chance to switch sides. A portion of the captives would resist turning. They would end up on death row or Robben Island. The rest stayed behind, included in small but active groups of security policemen and special forces operators operating in the DMZ, for example, out of towns like Ermelo.49 Judging from the statistics and character of some incidents between 1976 and 1986, the SAP's DMZ and its other methods could not stop guerrillas' entry or exit. Equally worrisome were the guerrillas' arms and equipment. Although arms caches were discovered, the kind of weaponry they often contained — explosives - suggested that the state was losing its monopoly over the means of violence. The detonators, fuses, and TNT discovered indicated that the Station bomb was now potentially everywhere. The odd RPG-7 rocket launcher enabled even more dramatic attacks - for example, in August 1981 on a military base at Voortrekker-

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Table 5.2 ANC Guerrilla Activity 1977-86 Year

1978

Annual no. of incidents

30

1980

19

1981

55

1982

39

1983

56

1984

44

1985

136

1986*

118

Note * To 30 June. Source: Tom Lodge, 'State of Exile: The African National Congress of South Africa, 1976-1986', in Philip Frankel, Noam Pines and Mark Swilling (eds), State, Resistance and Change in South Africa (Johannesburg: Southern, 1988), p. 230.

hoogte - as did hand grenades.50 Responsibility for attacks, of course, is problematical but one of the most reliable scholars provides the data in Table 5.2. In exile the ANC grew in all respects. It acquired a complex and extensive civilian bureaucracy and representation in many countries. In 1985 it held a highly successful consultative conference at Kabwe. By 1985 its military wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe (or MK), was the largest part of the organization, with a membership estimated at between 2,000 and io,ooo.51 MK was drawn into the conflict in Angola. Instruction in Tanzania was offered prior to 1977, but afterwards five training camps were created in Angola. Some guerrillas participated in the fighting against the SADF and its allies. Other recruits went abroad, usually to the Soviet Union or the German Democratic Republic (GDR). Most of the command of MK operated out of Maputo until the Nkomati Accord of 1984, subsequently shifting to Lusaka (in Zambia) or somewhere in Angola.52 Besides violence, the struggle between the state and the ANC after 1976 accumulated other dimensions. Total Onslaught, for example, argued that Communism operated indirectly, attacking the West through valuable targets in the Third World like South Africa. In Southern Africa, the Communist assault was delivered in two ways. The Soviet Union and its allies provided arms and ammunition to pro-Communist governments. They in turn acted as patrons of the ANC.53

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Table 5.3

AFRICA

Increase in Criminal Offences, 1981 to 1989

Period

% increase

1981-82 1982-83 1983—84

3.74 1.64 6.71

1985-86 1988-89

7.06 3.49

Note: In each of the years cited, the SAP was able to solve less than 60 per cent of the offences. Sources: South Africa, Annual Report of the Commissioner of the South African Police (Pretoria: Government Printer), from 1981 to 1989.

Not all of Total Onslaught could be dismissed as errant political cosmology. The ANC's official policies stated that a nationalist phase of the revolution would lead to a socialist phase. Documents and presentation often resembled the political discourse of the Socialist International, regarded by many opponents of Racial Utopia as the touchstone of political extremism and insanity.54 Adding to the ANCs problems were the — at times - quite fanciful claims of its patrons in the region. In particular, the association with the FRELIMO government in the heyday of its commitment to scientific socialism and human rights abuses could not have helped. Until early 1986, the ANC was publicly depicted by the South African state as the next best thing to the devil. It was full of Communists, allied to Communists, and after the Kabwe Conference of 1985 officially not opposed to attacking soft targets. Methods: policing the streets

In the field of crime, the SAP reported a rising tide of crime and its inability to stem it (see Table 5.3). To these figures must be added people arrested and charged or simply detained for offences relating to the political resistance after October 1983 (Table 5.4). The state's response was twofold: use the backup system by deploying SADF troops, and expand the existing policing forces. The backup system came into effect in October 1984. During the previous year, the adoption of the 1983 Constitution, which created a tricameral Parliament while excluding the black population from national political representation, saw the first general challenge to the state since Soweto. By late 1984 the challenge included sustained violence. SADF troops were deployed in the Witwatersrand and later more generally elsewhere. The decision to use the SADF did not take sufficient account of the fact that troops were mainly conscripts,

REPUBLICAN STATE AND OPPOSITION Table 5.4 Year 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986

177

Increase in Detentions, 1981-86 Total no. of detentions 772 246 453 1,129 7,992 29,132

Source: SAIRR, Race Relations Survey 1986 (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1986), p. 517.

nor the possibility that political resistance was unlikely to end soon. In time legal action revealed that SADF commanders were forced to accommodate (white) soldiers who resisted assignments on political grounds by, for example, refusing to serve in the townships.55 Other opposition to conscription developed into an organization called the End Conscription Campaign (ECC). The ECC was not a conventional pacifist organization. It condemned conscription on the grounds that it served the needs of an unjust political order.56 At first anti-conscription activities were criminalized by the Defence Amendment Act of 1974, but in 1986 opposition to conscription was accommodated with the introduction of alternative service grounded in religious conscience, not secular political beliefs.57 Between February 1984 and September 1989, 1,890 conscripts applied for alternative service; in 1989 alone, 286 conscripts applied.58 Since men who fail to report for military duties seldom declare their reasons for doing so, especially given the criminalization of anti-conscription activities and the harsh penalties, the extent of opposition to military duty is hard to measure. Yet opposition did increase, and the authorities were alarmed. Previously available figures on conscription ceased to be made public on the grounds that their release would aid South Africa's enemies. The ECC was declared a banned organization, and a secret war against it commenced. Beyond attacking the ECC, the SADF showed itself acutely conscious of the public-relations implications of township deployment. Residents were encouraged to report abuses to SADF authorities. Few such complaints were received: instead, complaints came in the form of an increasing number of lawsuits, many of which were settled out of court.59 The SADF could not escape recognition that the demands of a mainly conscripted military and domestic deployment in contentious political terrain were contradictory. Even in the formerly safe waters of white politics, general compliance with conscription could no longer be presumed, and worse, some conscripts, once in uniform, resisted instructions on political grounds. The SADF

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 5.5 SAP Establishment and Strength, 1980-89 Year

Establishment

Actual numerical strength Total White

Non-white

White

Total

Non-white

1980

17,642

25,55i 25,540

58,945 45,526 44,000 44,004

18,370

20,222 20,469 20,464

21,503 25,504

15,901

1981 1982 1983

16,968 18,824

17,505 18,302 22,152

1984

22,564

22,997

1985 1986

2 5,994 25,167

24,997 30,067

1987

2

29,546

5 5,899

n/a

80,334

1988 1989

6,555 n/a

45,56i 48,991 55,254

20,375 21,490 21,567 22,458

n/a

23,206 24,192

26,463

n/a

54,27i 54,271 37,126 42,527 44,696 45,559 48,921

74,976

Source?. South Africa, Annual Reports of the Commissioner of the South African Police (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1980 to 1989).

as a military organization was on the brink of a deteriorating slide if the integrity of command could not be sustained under political pressure. In any case, the backup system was not an easy one to operate because it offended corporate sensitivities. While the veneer of mutual respect and willingness to co-operate was publicly maintained, closer examination could reveal pungent views. The SAP was often perceived by other sectors of the security establishment, as a closed institution with poor habits of internal discipline, compounded by a manipulative posture vis-a-vis society. In turn, in its domestic backup role, the SADF was perceived as domineering and appearing, but not really being, efficient. Indeed, the SADF was legally deployed when the SAP had lost control, which no institution, and certainly not the SAP, liked to admit. The SAP could be backed up, however, by newly created police forces, of which two kinds came into existence. The SAP itself created a contingent of special constables in batches of 1,000 with an abbreviated training and for deployment in townships only. Besides the approximately 8,000 special policemen, another force of municipal police numbering eventually about 14,000 was created by the Department of Constitutional Development and Planning. After six weeks of training, these armed men and women were deployed, mostly to areas in the Witwatersrand. Although the municipal police were armed, they exercised only some of the powers of ordinary SAP constables.60 As the emergency dragged on, the use of municipal police and special constables turned out to be a double-edged sword. The government did point to a decrease in public violence, but simultaneously abuses against township residents

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Table 5.6 Estimates of State Spending, Selected Years 1979-88

Spending 1979/So

Education Defence Law and order Debt interest

(Rm) 1987/88

1979/80

1987/88

6.3

18.6

7,018

16.7

15.2

2,764 6,096

6.5

6.0

II.O

13.2

765

8,617

2,044 802

M43

% of total state expenditure

Source. SAIRR, Race Relations Survey 1987/88 (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1988), p. 423.

multiplied. Some municipal policemen went on strike against low wages; engaged in criminal activities (assault, murder, robbery, theft, and rape); contravened arms and ammunitions legislation; and refused to wear proper identification.61 Abuses did not all result from political mischief but also from patterns of recruitment (by labour bureaux in rural areas) and low standards of education and literacy, as well as poor command structures. The conduct of special constables was less controversial but here, too, the number of lawsuits increased: between 1987 and 1989, for example, compensation paid out to victims of police actions increased by 85 per cent.62 Problems experienced by the old and new backups for the SAP resulted in a decision to increase the size of the SAP (see Table 5.5). One of the first steps came with the incorporation of the South African Railway Police into the SAP in 1986. By the end of 1985, it was announced that the SAP was to be expanded from its 1985-authorized strength to a force of 93,600, giving a ratio of 2.79 for every 1,000 of the population.63 Although racial disparities were removed in 1988, salaries were not generally increased, contributing to the systematic drain of especially junior policemen to the security industry. In early 1990, substantial salary increases alleviated this situation. Within the SAP, command in central positions remained overwhelmingly white, yet the ceiling of white recruitment had been evident for decades. Enlarging the force naturally implied that the number of black policemen would increase. Albeit in the laborious SAP fashion, some would rise through the ranks unless deliberately blocked. The state would soon have to make up its mind about the openness of command positions. In addition, the decision to enlarge the force affected the state's policy about monopolizing the means of force. Although black policemen had been allowed to carry firearms since the early 1970s, their number had been limited. Now the state distributed arms to thousands of black policemen, some with only the briefest exposure to training. Without them, the original reasoning went, the state could not survive the challenge in the streets. But soon just about everybody lived to regret the easy access to arms.

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 5.7 Year

National Budget Items (Rm) Defence

Police

1985/86

4,^75

955

1986/87

5,124

1,072

1987/88

6,683 8,196

i,53o

1988/89

i,945

Sources-. SAIRR, Race Relations Survey 1986 Part 1 (Braamfontein: SAIRR, 1988), p. 73; SAIRR, Race Relations Survey 198//88 (Braamfontein: SAIRR, 1988), p. 422; and SAIRR, Race Relations Survey 1988/89 (Braamfontein: SAIRR, 1989), p. 335.

In terms of its share of the total state expenditure, the function of law and order stayed relatively stable in the 1980s. In the departmental cash-allocations, however, spending on policing rose steeply (see Table 5.6). Another way of looking at policing expenditure is to compare it with defence, both as itemized in the national budget (see Table 5.7). In other words, in less than five years the police budget more than doubled. Between 1987 and 1989, police spending grew by 27 per cent, while spending on defence for the same period grew by only 14.3 per cent.64 No matter how fast the SAP's budget grew, however, the 1980s showed the practical consequences of years of under funding. Although it covered only the events in Boipatong on 17 June 1992, the Waddington Report identified inadequate, inappropriate and insufficient equipment (besides poor command and control, ineffective intelligence and contingency planning, unstructured investigative procedures, and poor community relations with all sections of the community).65 In general, township residents' publicly expressed views tended to vary according to how people were affected by one security agency or another. Residents perforce made distinctions between the SADF's National Servicemen and the SAP's Uniform and Security Branches. In prevailing circumstances, residents regarded the SADF and the SAP's Uniform Branch as the lesser of two evils. Putting it mildly, the SAP's riot police and Security Branch were put in the lowest category of prestige and status.66 Part of the Waddington Report's persuasiveness rested in it repeating earlier inquiries' findings on policing methods. The Kannemeyer Report of the Langa shootings in 1985, for example, made similar points, particularly about poor and inappropriate equipment. With these supplies, the SAP (and presumably the training it provided to other local forces) were organizationally pushed into errors like equating strength with unilateralism, wilful behaviour, and the readiness to use force. Mass-action campaigns exposed participants to the worst features

REPUBLICAN Table 5.8

STATE A N D O P P O S I T I O N

l8l

Black Deaths through Political Violence

Year

Total

Shot by police

Burned bodies found

Other

1984 1985 1986

i75

879 1,298

n/a n/a

n/a n/a

n/a n/a

1987

661

1988

1,110

412

231

n/a

n/a

655 n/a

34

5

n/a

Joz/mr. Tom Lodge, 'Rebellion: The Turning of the Tide', in Tom Lodge and Bill Nasson (eds), All, Here, and Now: Black Politics in South Africa in the 1980s, p. 91.

of the SAP. Yet even when policemen came into collective motion after provocation by Whites, for example, in the case of AWB members in the second Klerksdorp incident of 1990, they apparently did not know how to stop.67 Challengers thus were likely to meet policemen and -women whose equipment encouraged brutality. They were not asked to develop conflict-resolving skills, nor were they given appropriate means to do so. On many an occasion, not even a loud-hailer could be found (see Table 5.8). Without emergency powers and more and more policemen (and women) and troops as backup, however, there seemed to be no end to violent urban challenge. On 9 June 1989, the nationwide emergency was renewed for its fourth successive year. Winning Hearts and Minds The state's concern with the causes of violence, expressed in Revolutionary Onslaught and COIN, officially exposed a long list of ugly realities in the lives of many people. A single visit to, say, a community once scheduled for removal told a horrible tale of what suspended municipal development had done over time to the provision of education, electricity, water, housing, roads, and other services. The costs of even small improvements were staggering. The question was whether the state had enough money to address such problems. Local financing was limited. Many communities could not afford upgrading because the residents themselves either resisted or were unable to pay rates and taxes. Income from property ownership was a trickle, and other sources of funding could not turn it into a flood. Although an impressive amount of money could be spent on one area, most dimensions of the local state remained untouched.68 The central authorities could help, for example, by using the State President's Housing Fund and by increasing departmental budgets. In 1988 the Secretary of the SSC, General C. J. Lloyd, indicated that upgrading did not take place on the

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THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

basis of human need.69 Projects were selected on a strategic basis. General Lloyd's views were supported by the fact that many communities in urgent need of socioeconomic assistance did not receive it. But local revenue remained vital. A way had to be found to transfer money from wealthy white municipalities to poorer areas. This was accomplished through the creation of Regional Services Councils (RSCs). These linked municipalities' revenue and distributed services according to functional criteria. Because of money, in other words, the state accepted the principle of the redistribution of wealth on a local basis. Scarce revenue helps to explain the NSMS's links with development associations and liaison forums. Private-sector interest in municipal projects made funds available and, more generally, contributed to a better economic climate. Investors once deterred by the presence of nearby slum-like communities saw upgrading as evidence of a government interested in developing infrastructure regardless of race. They also saw the potential of profit. Construction firms, for example, gained by successful tenders for housing projects.70 Concurrently, many companies realized they could promote an image of social awareness by visible concern with the surrounding community, or even gain a reputation for political sensitivity by opposing security agencies.71 But what did the state think of the political return on its new investment? At first it expected political obedience would follow the receipt of socioeconomic benefits. The state would thus buy legitimacy. This hope was dashed for various reasons. One of these is the critical difference between state intentions and impact. An electrification project in Alexandra is a case in point. ESCOM (the Electricity Supply Commission)'s work depended on cables, linking central points via streets and backyards through to houses. Many of these houses were owned by freehold since the time of the Second Boer War. The unpaved streets were dug up. Residents were obliged to move about on foot only. More than a year later the streets were still a muddy mess. Refuse could not be collected. Residents were asked: Why is the government doing this? The reply came: They are doing it to irritate/provoke us. The cause of the problem was quite plain. ESCOM could not lay cables through backyards because residents did not want to allow them. They had taken in renters in a phenomenon soon known as shackfarming. ESCOM had to negotiate individually with residents unwilling to give up rent paid by as many shackdwellers as could fit in their backyards. The state's efforts to buy political obedience had foundered on local detail. The state's shortage of revenue begs the question: would more money have helped? The homelands suggest that it would not have made much difference. Although homelands, since their creation, had absorbed vast portions of state resources, in the 1980s they fell like dominoes to military coups by cliques in homeland armies. The pride of Racial Utopia were subsequently ruled by the barrel of the gun.72 No pot of money could buy political obedience, certainly not the graffiti praising government leaders - *Viva Botha' being the most memorable.

REPUBLICAN STATE AND OPPOSITION

183

But could it function from the top down? That is, could rewards to selected individuals, groups and organizations among the disenfranchised help them to speak in support of the state? The NSMS's funds and committees could support such people. Support necessarily had to be covert. An acceptable front was provided by, among others, religion or opposition to radical youth groups. The latter's role during consumer boycotts was genuinely controversial. But not only the NSMS could assist allied representatives of the disenfranchised. Security Branch could still manipulate events through its informers. Methods: Policing for Results The challenges of the 1980s were far more complicated than a general opposition to the state. Various local battles were in progress, too. These did not have causes wholly separate from the country's basic political dynamics, but their shape and size were subject to local and regional forces. What made the violence of the decade so difficult to address was the conjuncture of local, regional and central disputes. In Natal a long-standing feud between the Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) and ANC supporters or, indeed, anyone who opposed the IFP was accelerating. Elsewhere Community Councils came under fire from Civic Associations over who represented the disenfranchised. Traders were threatened by consumer boycotts and allegations that they were collaborators. Hostel-dwellers and township residents clashed. An example of another type of conflict occurred in the Western Cape, which had recently lost its status as a coloured labour preference area. More black people from the Eastern Cape arrived, looked for shelter in squatter camps because other housing was unavailable, and ran into those who controlled plots of land.73 The NSMS did take on these issues. So did the winning-hearts-and-mindscampaign. Special Branch and Special Operations did too, as we shall see. But still the sheer variety could not possibly be addressed by statutory security agencies. Moving along the path cleared by the Simonstown Deliberations of 1979, other more informal coercive mechanisms were required.74 The result was armed groups, hit squads, vigilantes and warlords. On the one hand they disrupted the work of Civic Associations, attacked or intimidated activists, office-holders and supporters, and destroyed and damaged property. On the other hand, they organized themselves into units capable of self-protection by violent means. Their links to statutory security agencies were concealed but, nevertheless, transparent coincidence of interests and occasional revelation of meetings and links (for example, with SAP commanders and homeland authorities) revealed state support. Such support should not necessarily be understood as a centrally directed conspiracy — too many local figures and forces were involved - but the state's turning a blind eye could translate into immense local advantage.

184

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

At the time observers started to refer to this kind of action as constituting a Third Force. It had varied meanings, but centrally presumed the state to be implicated in fanning violence for its own ends. Anybody who named names ran the risk of legal action.75 After a while, two trials partially confirmed suspicions. In the State vs Jamile and Hlophe in 1990, a senior Minister of the Kwazulu Administration was found guilty of murder, attempted murder and incitement to murder. The murder of eleven people at Trust Feed in 1988 led to the second trial. Here the court found an SAP captain (and chairman of the local JMC) guilty, along with eleven accomplices. Their premeditated attack was later covered up by the SAP.76 Both these trials involved episodes in Natal after 1986, which remained marked by a high level of violence when violence in the rest of the country declined. To date the state's complicity in Third Force-activities has not been legally resolved to everybody's satisfaction. Yet this and the situation in Natal aside, mounting evidence could not be dismissed. Individuals, communities and groups were attacked (or saw attempted attacks) through abductions, assassinations, disappearances, disinformation, death threats and harassment. Buildings, offices, vehicles and other property were burgled, damaged or destroyed.77 The above operated simultaneously with legal methods. The latter turned especially on the Internal Security Act of 1982, which was used in conjunction with older statutes. The Public Safety Act of 1953, which dealt with states of emergency, was amended in 1986 to deal specifically with unrest areas. Under these statutes, individuals could be detained without trial, banned and restricted, arrested and tried for crimes possibly leading to capital punishment. Organizations, gatherings and publications could be banned, restricted, or suspended.78 Thus it was not as though legal methods were suspended; it was simply that the security forces felt themselves unable to meet opposition overtly. Since conventional methods did not produce the desired results, the security agencies felt frustrated. Although many observers said the status quo was held together by the strength of the security forces, these forces understood themselves to be the disadvantaged and weaker party in the conflict. They could not come to grips with their enemies in the open.79 Methods: From Security Branch to Special Operations The violence was taken by many within the state as evidence of serious problems in - if not the substantial ineffectiveness of - Security Branch's methods. The Branch clearly needed help. They found it not so far away. Between 1988 and 1990, three judicial proceedings indicated that the SADF had used methods very similar to those of the Security Branch. The first was a case in the Supreme Court in 1988, whereby the ECC sought an interdict preventing the SADF from 'unlawfully harassing or interfering with it'. The second was the Commission of Inquiry into Certain Alleged Cross-border

REPUBLICAN STATE AND OPPOSITION

185

Irregularities, appointed in February 1990 and headed by Justice Harms.80 The third entailed a judicial investigation into a spy ring in the Johannesburg City Council, appointed in March 1990 and headed by Justice Hiemstra.81 In the case of the ECC interdict, the SADF acknowledged that it had harassed the ECC but argued that the (civil) court had no jurisdiction over such actions because a de facto war existed in South Africa. The ECC won the case. In the Harms Commission's report the SADF admitted the existence of a Civil Cooperation Bureau, which formed part of the Department of Military Intelligence's Special Operations section. This Bureau recruited people with both SADF and SAP connections, was assigned the task of eliminating South Africa's enemies within South Africa, and had an annual budget of almost R 30 million. Because of Justice Harms's interpretation that the commission's brief did not include actions outside South Africa's borders, cross-border operations by the Bureau have yet to be investigated. The Hiemstra Commission's report revealed spying (for example, on local politicians and trade unions/unionists) and damage done to persons and property by persons connected to the SADF's Witwatersrand Command. How did the SADF get involved in these kinds of actions? The answer lies in the imitation of Security Branch habits by the SADF in the Operational Zone, and the subsequent carrying home of those methods. In the early 1970s, when the SADF started to participate in operations in the Operational Zone, senior officers were aware of the importance of information in COIN. Their teacher, Lieutenant-General Pop Fraser, had made this quite clear. The reigning information-gatherer was Security Branch, and for a while the SADF shared in their loot. When Security Branch left the Zone, the SADF devoted considerable attention to improving their intelligence capacities. One measure of their intention was the transferral of Army Intelligence officers from Windhoek to the north, where they were used as interrogators.82 Army Intelligence perforce relied on the network and methods created by Security Branch; indeed, the two agencies had previously conducted joint operations. Getting to be an intelligence operator was no mean feat. Most applicants were rejected by the Selection Board. High qualifying standards were set by two key officers in the Operational Zone, the Chief of the Army (Jannie Geldenhuys) and his right-hand man, Commandant Johann Saaiman.83 Army Intelligence was not the only employer in the Operational Zone. There was also the Department of Military Intelligence (DMI). Some of the intelligence operators were qualified special operators; their training included typical behind-the-lines-operations. From 1971 men who wanted to serve in the operational area could volunteer for selection in the Special Forces (Spesmagte, as they were commonly known). In the 1970s Special Forces were serviced with information by DMI. When the Portuguese colonies and Rhodesia became independent, the role and importance of DMI changed. DMI absorbed the Special Forces, which were now known as Special Operations [Spestake]. This unit was later responsible for

186

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

supporting and training the RENAMO and UNITA. DMFs budget came partly from the Secrets Accounts, but they also controlled their own equipment. Thus they largely escaped pressure from the Quartermaster-General. Another section of DMI was known as the Directorate of Covert Information [Direktoraat van Koverte Insameling or DKI].84 Its field offices created networks of informers in the operational area, attracting former officers of the Rhodesian military, Portuguese-speaking people, and even serving officers in neighbouring militaries. Many of their methods were conspicuously akin to those of the SAP's Security Branch. An officer, by appearance barely recognisable as such, would handle about five sources [bronne\. DKI also practised pseudo-operations, however, as teams dressed in SWAPO uniforms and armed with AK-47S would deploy in the operational area for up to 14 days. Should they seek justification for what they did, DMI needed to look no further than Total Onslaught. Its apocalyptic visions of a South Africa caught in deadly bipolar world struggle contributed to the belief that South Africa was indeed at war. Only extreme and unconventional measures could prevent political (and military) demise. The counter-revolutionary lessons the SADF embraced, too, focused on a stage-like, Maoist progression of revolutionary struggle, and how this could be reversed. Since the interpretation of Mao was that conventional war starts with a covert political war, it followed for many soldiers that all overt political actions have a hidden, revolutionary intent.85 Even if one believed in not one iota of Total Onslaught, the Operational Zone was a war zone. The SADF wanted to create a zone in southern Angola and northern Namibia where SWAPO could not live. SWAPO wanted to penetrate it. Both used non-lethal methods, but both used lethal force. In any case, the SADF's special operators were operating behind enemy lines. They preferred stealth, but it was combined with lethal capacities. During Operation Askari in 1983 the SADF tried to prevent the loss of air cover for its actions in the operational area, and failed to do so. Subsequently the open secret of the operational area, actually stated by the SAAF in its briefings, was that the SADF did not prevail in the air.86 In 1978 Namibia had its first election with universal franchise. Resolution 435 was accepted in principle by the SADF. From these simple facts came recognition that the SADF would eventually withdraw from Angola/Namibia. Simultaneously, the home front started to show signs of violence. Among others, DMI would soon go home. The project DMI devised for travel was called Operation Mayonnaise. Its early ideas were influenced by the arrival of former intelligence operators of the Rhodesian military, who had departed their professional home under a wide range of old and new covers. Started in 1983/84, Operation Mayonnaise effected the departure of the SADF's intelligence operators from Angola/Namibia and their establishment on South African soil.87 DMFs handlers and sources in Namibia had to be cleansed of any visible connection to DMI and its headquarters in the old Poynton Building in Pretoria.88 The Directorate of Covert

REPUBLICAN STATE AND OPPOSITION

187

Collection established a series of front organizations in a set number of areas or fronts, including the Eastern Front (Mozambique), the Western Front (Angola and Namibia), the TBVC Front, the Terrorism Front, the Home Front, and the Frontline States Front. Each front had headquarters, usually commanded by an officer at colonel level.89 What had been done from the DMI field office in Oshakati could now be done in, for example, Port Elizabeth. Those connected to the front organizations, of course, had legitimate jobs. But, often at night, they interpreted information, identified targets, ran safe houses, cultivated sources, and determined priorities. DMI's natural ally on the home front was the SAP's Security Branch. They conducted joint operations, such as Operation Orpheus, designed to remove alternative structures' leadership cadre down to the fourth level of organizations. The Port Elizabeth area was consistently the big winner in DMI's annual assessments of effectiveness.90 That something unusual was afoot in the SADF in the early 1980s was obvious from talk about the number of resignations by people regarded as career soldiers. Pensions probably tell the most reliable story of who went to work for whom. By the end of the 1980s, it did not take much to conclude that front organizations of many types and size were active in South Africa. The speed with which organizations established themselves, money, trips overseas, eccentric addresses and whispered warnings all pointed to them. From places like Port Elizabeth the SADF would face the same problems and attempt to resist the same temptations it had encountered in the Angola/Namibia area. The Army could introduce low-level psychological combined operations, with the population's hearts and minds as the means to change strategic equations, or one could fall back on a more reliable short cut: force. Such were the options debated by the old boys' network of the operational area. The Sincerest Form of Flattery: Homelands and Subordinates Although it was often used to make state departments shape up, or at least accept their assigned role in the state, Total/Revolutionary Onslaught was trumpeted so regularly and with such zeal by every state oracle that it could not fail to be acted out by individuals in security agencies. Did not the SAP say in 1988: I t is common knowledge that South Africa is today the target of the most serious revolutionary threat or onslaught in our entire history. It is only malicious or apathetic people who do not want to realize or accept this fact.'91 Every individual thus should act as though they were at war. Only extreme measures could prevent demise. Perhaps the best recent comparable case of this phenomenon (of imitation) was the My Lai massacre. Before 1968 the strategy of winning-hearts-and-minds produced some degree of restraint. Soldiers heard commands that implied the Vietnamese were worth being saved by persuasion. Later, however, commanders

188

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

required search-and-destroy missions. The latter's logical result was a body count. When Charlie Company of the Americal Division then entered My Lai in 1968, it generated bodies, even when they were not fired upon, and no condition justified the use of force. The incessant talk of generals had been translated into action by a lieutenant and a captain.92 Racial Utopia (and its predecessors) never gave policemen or soldiers wholesale licence. Total/Revolutionary Onslaught did so repeatedly. It bred fanaticism, within and outside designated channels. Among others, White Supremacy could be respectable again, and the beliefs of the White Right clearly imitated the endjustifies-any-means logic of Total/Revolutionary Onslaught. By 1993 about 200 fundamentalist and paramilitary organizations were in existence, with a combined membership of over 18,000. In 1979 the leader of the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging (AWB), for example, would say after an assault on an unarmed individual: 'I have no remorse about the incident. I am very proud of it. It effectively warded off the onslaught on our Day of Covenant.'93 Under normal circumstances it is difficult for any security agency to control coercion. Before the onset of modern or total warfare in the late eighteenth century, restraint was built into the nature of limited wars of manoeuvre. In the two centuries since, soldiers have fought as hard as they could. The point is to give them a reason or motive to refrain from some actions that are pracctically possible. Pacifism does not necessarily discharge this responsibility. Since it condemns war itself, it is at a loss in dealing with conduct during war. Yet conflict does occur. Lieber's work during the American Civil War, for example, sought to advance operational moderation during a fight marked by great selfrighteousness on both sides. Moderation — not doing what one can do — was intended to result in better treatment of prisoners.94 In the same vein, Liddell Hart's indirect strategy was aimed at preventing a repeat of World War I's slaughter. His argument was that it was bad generalship and strategy, let alone immoral.95 If moral responsibility is to survive, it can also come by finding reasons for restraint in the way we talk about enemies. When the South African state accepted Total Onslaught/strategy, however, warfare was presented as free from all restraint. Since policemen and soldiers are supposed to listen to their commanders, some people naturally followed their superiors' apocalyptic end-justifies-anymeans line. The avalanche of strategizing buried one critical question: What will we resemble when we win? Imitation was prevalent not only in the central state's security agencies. Inevitably the homelands' security agencies also imitated what the central state did. They copied security legislation, organizations, and functions. A police station commanded and exclusively manned by policemen other than white first appeared in 1951. Whereas the Bantuization, as the process was described, affected urban areas, the development of homelands required a more substantial involvement of the respective authorities in policing. At first buildings

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189

were transferred96 and, as homelands acquired independence, policing authority generally was transferred. This process did not amount to new police forces replacing the SAP. The SAP could still work in some homeland territory, and SAP officers often were seconded for duty. But homeland authorities acquired substantial policing powers in the respective areas. Independence also created the potential for homeland military forces. Homelands adopted defence acts, signed non-aggression treaties (with South Africa), and developed military organizations. The Transkei Defence Force (TDF) came into being in 1975, the Bophuthatswana Defence Force (BDF) in 1977, Venda Defence Force in 1979, and the Ciskei Defence Force in 1986. In addition, supporting staff components were created; intelligence, logistics and VIP protection sections, for example, were located in the various defence headquarters. Personnel were seconded from the SADF, equipment was donated, and training provided by both the SADF and the TBVC defence officers.97 In Bophuthatswana, for example, an Internal Intelligence Service Special Account came into effect in August 1984. It created a supply of secret money, backdated to 1982, when the homeland created for itself an intelligence service answerable only to the President of Bophuthatswana. Its Director said the service would work 'like the intelligence service in South Africa'.98 Bophuthatswana already had its own police, with a security branch attached. In 1979 the homeland acquired its own Internal Security Act. Under its provisions, a meeting of more than 20 people had to obtain the permission of the local magistrate. In 1984 the Act was amended to require permission from Bophuthatswana's Minister of Law and Order. Legislation and institutions were almost perfect replicas of South Africa's. The homeland soldier long flourished without too much attention by the press. Misconduct could not be hidden for ever, however, and bit by bit it came to light.99 Undoubtedly the best account was Hans Pienaar's 1991 study of KwaNdebele, which contained a devastating portrait of security forces in the 1980s.100 Other examples of misconduct of the poorest category were easy to come by. In 1986 Dr Sam Motsuenyane, President of NAFCOC,101 found his house near Winterveld (Bophuthatswana) firebombed. Two people died in the attack, which shattered the house's foundations. Dr Motsuenyane's political profile and beliefs hardly mattered in local politics, but his wife had participated in the Winterveld protest. At the subsequent trial, evidence was presented that four hit squads had been active in the area in the latter half of the 1980s. In March 1990, Lawyers for Human Rights stated that they possessed evidence of a hit squad operating out of the Bophuthatswana police force. In the same year, the Human Rights Commission counted 301 political prisoners being held in Bophuthatswana (see Table 5.9).102 The bulk of the 1983 figure was in the Ciskei (180). Soon it was the Transkei's turn; in 1985 it accounted for 51 per cent of all detainees under security legislation. Homelands' keenness to follow security examples was matched by their reluctance over reforms applying elsewhere in South Africa. Trade unions are a case

190

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Table 5.9

Detentions under Security Legislation*

Year

TBVC states

Rest of South Africa

1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 1987

83 215 532 1,95 3 520 286

181 238 597 1,684 2,320 408

Note". * Excluding emergency legislation. Sources: SAIRR, Survey of Race Relations in South Africa ip8j (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1984), pp. 549 and 760; SAIRR, Survey of Race Relations in South Africa 1984 (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1985), p. 288; SAIRR, Survey of Race Relations in South Africa I?8J (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1986), Part 2, pp. 823-824; SAIRR, Survey of Race Relations in South Africa 1987/88 (Johannesburg: SAIRR, 1988), p. 535.

in point. While Kwazulu tended to be more conciliatory, Bophuthatswana banned all South African-based unions from its territory in 1984. The Ciskei banned SAAWU (the Amalgamated Workers' Union) in 1983. It is not as though trade unions outside the homelands enjoyed an easy ride; far from it. The state guarded against unions developing links with political organizations, and regularly used the SAP to put down strikes. Union leaders were arrested in droves and the death in detention of Dr Neil Aggett (in 1981), as well as the hospitalization of two SAAWU leaders after detention, made for acrimonious relations. Yet the Industrial Conciliation Act of 1977, and even the Labour Relations Amendment Act of 1981, were advances of sorts. For the state it was better to deal with unions, not to destroy them. The homelands, however, did not have the strength to deal with unions. It was better to obliterate them. Methods: Turning As discussed earlier, captured members of some opposition organizations were at times given a choice: join your former enemies or face the legal proceedings which, in all probability, would end in capital punishment. The state did hang agents of various crimes at a steady rate (see Table 5.10). Of course the choice facing captured opponents of the state is not authentic. Because of their knowledge of former allies, turned fighters are assigned to units functioning by covert and special operations. These units often attract attention by their unusual enthusiasm. Their victims, for example, are shot not once but many times, even after the person is patently dead. Another victim would be

REPUBLICAN

Table 5.10

Year

STATE AND OPPOSITION

191

Capital Punishment in South Africa

South Africa

T V B C states

Total

1977

90

3

93

1978

132

0

X

J

33

5

*32 138

130

2

*32

979

1980 1981

95

5

100

1982

100

7

107

1983

90

3 16

93

1984

iM

1985

137

1986

121

1987

n/a

Source. SAIRR, Race Relations Survey I^SJ/SS

2

9 7 n/a

166 128

164

(Johannesburg: SAIRR, 198$), p . 551.

shot dead (repeatedly), but then also stabbed (repeatedly), mutilated, and then their car set on fire. One reason for this behaviour, of course, is that any identifying traces would be removed. But still, the actual duplication of killing is noteworthy.103 It is difficult to argue that this extremist behaviour flows from fanaticism; after all, turned fighters have switched sides (albeit under duress). Instead of fanatical devotion to a cause, the opposite prevails. That turnedfightersact beyond the call of duty could result from expecting little mercy from former compatriots, but it is the new masters who are the real problem. Since turned fighters have already switched sides once, they are under never-ending pressure to show that they will not switch sides again. The brutal and duplicated inflicting of death is as though all in the group need to show their devotion to a new cause. Trust me, so to speak, for I have killed for you. The worst nightmare for turned fighters is for the victim to survive somehow, and it is then proved that someone did not discharge his weapon. South Africa's security forces often claimed that they learned from others and then perfected lessons learnt through local practice. Upon reaching daylight, these lessons' presentation could fray the most technocratic mind. One technique followed another in deadly repetition in the belief that COIN was a science. Like water, a method would boil under any circumstance.104 British methods during the Kenyan Emergency, for example, would be lauded. But few noted that the British discouraged poison in their counter-insurgency by not connecting political opposition with capital punishment.105

192

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

The Enfranchised How did the state's closest supporters react to the 1980s? In earlier decades, and given the enormous, usually intensely personal cost involved, dissent was unlikely. Economists, clergymen, politicians and newspapermen were crushed for registering marginal, even minuscule, differences with state policy.106 Parliamentary opposition was small. Although few could have hoped to scale the cultural walls of the state, English speakers from the mid-1960s were inching electorally closer to the National Party. The 1966 election was a watershed in this regard. While only two of the National Party's parliamentary representatives were English speakers, the party won almost 58 per cent of all votes cast. In Natal, with a tiny Afrikaans-speaking minority, the NP share of the vote was almost 41 per cent, up from about 17 per cent in 1961. By any measure, the NP had won a landslide victory.107 If the voters in 1966 expected better economic times ahead, they did not have to wait long for disappointment. In the early 1970s, the economic boom of the 1960s was shattered by the oil crisis. A prolonged recession set in. Disinvestment from within South Africa and outside mounted, leaping forward with every controversial state action. The South African currency's exchange rate fell with every blow. Yet state spending continued at a rate higher than the acquisition of revenue. Spending also favoured the military establishment. The state was soon building a pile of international debt, ominously borrowing to pay for its own running costs. Consumers were battered by steadily rising prices. By the mid 1970s, the state conceded that counter-urbanization policies were ineffective. Black people's legal residence outside the homelands had to be accepted. Workers' right to some form of self-governing labour organization was accepted by the state. A powerful union of mineworkers emerged and, with other unions, created opposition to the state on the shop floor. Although it was not always intended as such, industrial action had wider political impact, particularly when it was combined with consumer boycotts. Because of its reformist reaction to these pressures, state strategy during the 1970s was often described as the modernization of racial domination.108 Modernization did not rest on white attitudinal change. One of the first empirical investigations of white attitudes and opinions, late in the decade, showed a strong relationship of trust between the state and its NP supporters: More than 60 per cent of supporters said they would follow the leadership, regardless of their understanding of issues or even possible reservations about the wisdom of actions.109 In the 1980s military and police acted on this trust, still demanding to be left alone with their expertise in fighting like with like.110 Parliamentarians met with defeat upon defeat if they wanted to inspect security affairs. The Minister of Defence, for example, refused to have a parliamentary committee specializing in defence affairs on the grounds that it would play into the hands of South Africa's

REPUBLICAN STATE AND OPPOSITION

193

enemies. The same reason was given for refusing to answer parliamentarians' questions about conscientious objection and reporting to camps. Special accounts restricted parliamentarians and even the Auditor-General's attempts to raise questions about financing the various security establishments. Suspicious deaths in police custody, including the death of Steve Biko in 1977, were either unexplained or led to callous ministerial remarks ('It leaves me cold'). Nothing, it seemed, could shake the belief that leaders knew best. Yet events, starting with the Portuguese coup in 1974 and ending with Soweto in 1976, had caused generational splits. Soweto saw thousands of young people leave the country in search of armed struggle. They were 'to provide Umkonto with a new army of highly motivated and well-educated (in contrast to the recruits of the early 1960s) saboteurs. By mid-1978 South African security police chiefs estimated that approximately 4,000 refugees were undergoing training in Angola, Libya and Tanzania, most of these under ANC-auspices.'111 Indeed, it could be argued that resistance after Soweto never completely died out. The Constitution of 1983 merely turned episodic challenges to the state into sustained resistance of considerable depth and scope. Less noticeable was a generational split opening within Afrikanerdom. By the early 1970s, some knew that Racial Utopia was unworkable and eroding. The implications of the Portuguese coup consolidated these beliefs, especially among the politically ambitious: one conducted one's political affairs so as to leave room for Racial Utopia's successor. Traditional associations, beliefs, memberships and organizations no longer led to promised lands. Just as the parents of this generation, economically-empowered by their service in the semi-state in the 1950s and 1960s, could see a world beyond their parents' devotion to radical nationalist populism in the 1930s and 1940s, so the elite born in the 1974-76 furnace saw a world beyond Racial Utopia.112 The broad question after 1974 naturally was: how should we rule? It had a myriad sub-questions. Those who differed with the NP route, first the HNP and later the Conservative Party (in 1982), were never to return to the fold.113 Yet by 1984 the NP and attendant Afrikanerdom had acquired a political language which made it difficult to blame all domestic troubles on outsiders. The Nkomati Accord in March made it very difficult to sustain Total Onslaught's insistence that the Frontline States (and the ANC in them) were to blame. To say so would be to acknowledge that the SADF had insufficiently destabilized neighbouring states. Thus Total Onslaught's successor, Revolutionary Onslaught, framed domestic turbulence as a combination of external and internal problems. But with the extension of the state of emergency in June 1986 it was difficult to argue, as did Revolutionary Onslaught, that a minority of radicals was to blame. Albeit by a meandering route, a reasonably practical framework of political rhetoric and thought had become available.114 The Dutch Reformed Church and the NP's Federal Congress, bolstered by the usual support organizations, were now critical. The two organizations faced

194

THE

MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

a critical decision. For the first time in the twentieth century, Afrikanerdom had to face the fact that it could not rule any part of the country without extraordinary uses of state violence. The renewals of the emergency in 1987, 1988 and 1989 were laden with ominous meaning. Despite the press clampdowns, Afrikanerdom could not fail to see brothers, husbands and sons were in the townships. The Dutch Reformed Church's General Synod of 1986 shifted its political morality by a quantum leap: apartheid was a scriptural error. God did not support Racial Utopia after all. Soon the Synod said racism was a sin, and apologized for its past support of apartheid. In 1987 the Kerkbode, the pastoral journal of the DRC, commented that while good reasons existed for the state of emergency, its necessity had to be regularly re-examined. A year later the journal warned that a state of emergency could not become the normal method of governance. In an atmosphere of lawlessness and revolution, the DRC's General Synod says simultaneously, it must work towards reconciliation. In 1989 the DRC Synod again urged the government to lift the state of emergency.115 The National Party's provincial congresses continued to adopt resolutions supporting the security forces and strong action against mischief-makers, but they would support the states of emergency only as a temporary measure. By 1989 the federal plan, grounded in principles, stated simply: 'Domination, of whatever nature, will bring bloodshed, poverty and misery.' In other words, inequality brought violence.116 To be sure, the new morality was not devoid of selfish interests. Yet Afrikanerdom had long seen that its material interests were not served by inequality and still it would not accept political equality. Only when it had to rule permanently by violence, did the reasoning shift. This was not a clique imposing its will. Both church and party-decisions were accepted by majority vote. Summary Neither the state nor its security forces are machines, discharging contents according to the severity of challenge. A much more complex reaction prevails between institutional development, on the one hand, and campaigns and methods on the other. Well before the 1980s, the NSMS originated in what happened in the minds of officials. They were preoccupied with efficiency, and who best could lead the state in this direction. How they would do so depended largely not only on the military but the state elite's ideas about what is best. Afrikanerization and themilitary-knows-best worked in tandem. But the military's rise did not turn only by the wheels of culture and perception. Structural relations in the central state's policy-making, statutes, and inter-personal alliances favoured increasing military influence via the SSC, its central position in administrative education, and at first imitation of the SSC's coordination and later its implementation lower down in

REPUBLICAN STATE AND OPPOSITION

I95

the state. Other departments' failures showed that the military (and its ideas) was the right team. They would shift aside at least two strong departments in their traditional areas of work. In the central state the military gained from and contributed to an imperial presidency. But the military had to contend with the State President's Office, P. W. Botha's political preferences, and other institutions claiming expertise. Leadership of the NSMS - at the top and below - passed into the hands of the Minister of Law and Order and the SAP. In a more structural sense, the military's rise cannot be understood without reference to a state fractured by Racial Utopia. Why else would the NSMS apply the logic of national security agencies - coordination - to every corner of the state? The NSMS further defined the work of the state as counter-revolution in both Total and Revolutionary Onslaught. After a period of saying that revolutions were wholly made by outsiders, revolutions were said to come from developmental problems. Thus the state's organization of its work came to rest on development regions. The development-revolution nexus even inspired acceptance of redistribution of wealth at a local level. Function was more important than race. The death duties of Racial Utopia, however, asked for centralization and dominance of the state by the executive branch. In the 1980s the security forces played a major part in the rise of the executive branch. In reacting to challengers, however, the state's response was diverse. Security forces multiplied and were subject to command on a decentralized basis, to the SAP's masters, certain sectors of the SADF, the central state, homeland authorities, community councillors, and NSMS bodies. From a structural perspective, the state of the 1980s was thus in a paradoxical condition. On the one hand, a process of centralization was in motion. On the other hand, the security forces' operations were undercentralized. The campaigns and methods of COIN were constrained by the small pot of available money. When it was thrown at targeted communities, it could have an impact on the local political balance of state opposition. Yet this balance was affected more by Veikom activity. It is highly doubtful whether more money would have resolved the question of state legitimacy. Despite all the money spent on it, some of the decade's most intense violence takes place in the homelands. Winning-hearts-and-minds was also tremendously difficult; local details easily lead residents to say the state did something just to provoke them. After all the effort, good intentions and carrying on about military virtues, the state was left with less than it started with. The state was not on the point of military surrender. But security agencies actually thought themselves disadvantaged, unable to come to grips with an enemy that simply would not go away. The SAP did not have the manpower, organizational mindset, or technology to deal with the opposition. Other conventional methods, despite augmentation, were counter-productive and insufficient. In any case, Total and Revolutionary Onslaught legitimated zealous

196

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

extremism. Of course it was taken seriously; after all, policemen and soldiers are supposed to listen to their commander-in-chief. And homelands' security agencies and operations followed the example of the creature that gave birth to them. Yet the most poisonous behaviour came in the shadows. The military accepted Security Branch's methods, first in the Angola/Namibia theatre and then later at home. Among the soldiers, it drew the oddballs and troublemakers. They are not necessarily fanatical ideologues. On the contrary, covert methods appeal to people who cannot bend themselves to military discipline. In special units (that is, outside the line in military and police) they make common cause with other people, the turned fighters, who are forced to the most violent of methods for sheer personal survival. How much damage they caused we may never know, but we surely can conclude poisonous state violence is associated with the least fanatical of supporters. The enfranchised's reaction to the state's campaigns and methods is best understood on a sectoral basis. Resistance to conscription drew its main support from English-speakers, whose churches and universities condemned the price asked of young men. Although it was not a mass movement, it opened a crack in the presumption of universal obedience to the state among the enfranchised. As such, it alarmed military authorities. The newly enfranchised literally would not authorize the price of security operations. Parliament's Houses of Delegates and Representatives would not collaborate with the cowed House of Assembly in legitimating secret military and police expenditure. The representatives of the newly enfranchised, in other words, would not go along with the Executive Branch. Those most closely associated with the state, Afrikanerdom, no longer consisted of the zealous Republicans of 1961. Decades of state support had enlarged its middle-class component. Racial Utopia had soothed thoughts about moral entitlement to minority rule. To younger generations of Afrikanerdom the Portuguese coup came as a shock, because they could envisage an end to Racial Utopia, regardless of whether it was morally defensible. Planning a political career thus had to take account of this possibility. In the 1970s they had to face up to the impracticality of Racial Utopia. It demanded modernization. In the 1980s they stared into a violent mirror. Ultimately, they realized, inequality was incapable of being modernized. That had already been tried and, in fact, made things go from bad to worse. No other method could cure racial inequality's ills. Minority rule would be rule by incessant violence — too costly in practical terms and offensive to one's moral propriety. Political equality had to be accepted in one form or another. Notes 1. The three dimensions are typical of a school of thought best represented by Theda Skocpol's States and Social Revolutions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979).

REPUBLICAN

STATE AND OPPOSITION

197

2. A selection can be found in Jackie Cock and Laurie Nathan (eds), War and Society: The Militarisation of South Africa (Cape Town and Johannesburg: David Philip, 1989). 3. Researchers all struggled to find reliable information about the NSMS. In its absence, assertions at times were not supported by evidence. Although the following discussion is based on such quotable and reliable information as I have been able to obtain, it does not detail all sources. For these, see Annette Seegers, 'Extending the Security Network to the Local Level: A Clarification and Some Further Comments', Politeia, vol. 7, no. 2 (1988), pp. 50-67; Local Government: State Strategy - The National Security Management System and the Joint Management Centres, The Urban Foundation (Johannesburg, 1988); and 'South Africa's National Security Management System, 1972-90', The Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 29, no. 2 (1991), pp. 253-73 4. Frederik Johannes Burger, Teeninsurgensie in Namibie: Die Rol van die Polisie, unpublished MA thesis (UNISA, 1992), pp. 228-9. 5. Information supplied by a member of the Durban-based TIKwho wishes to remain anonymous. 6. Interview with Mr J. J. Venter, 22 November 1989, Pretoria. 7. See Deon Geldenhuys, The Diplomacy of Isolation (Johannesburg: Macmillan/South African Institute for International Affairs, 1984), pp. 118-19. 8. Deon Geldenhuys, The Diplomacy of Isolation, pp. 84-9. 9. As in the following: any post-1975 South Africa, White Papers on Defence and Armaments Supplies; South Africa, Report of the Office of the Prime Minister 1980 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1980); and General A. J. Van Deventer's Briefing to the Press on 21 September ip8j by the Secretary of the State Security Council (Pretoria: Government Printer 1983). See also Magnus Malan, 'Die Aanslag Teen Suid-Afrika'. ISSUP Strategic Review (Pretoria), November 1984, pp. 3-16. 10. Later the Division for Strategic Communication, a substructure of the SSC, continued the Simonstown Deliberations' mode of decision-making. See the testimony of the SAP regarding the desirability and implications of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission by General Van der Merwe, 17 October 1994. 11. South Africa, 1980 Report of the Office of the Prime Minister (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1980). 12. Ibid., pp. 1-11; General A. J. Van Deventer, Briefing to the Press on 21 September by the Secretary of the State Security Council (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1983). 13. The first state of emergency (21 July 1985) applied to 36 magisterial districts. Eight districts were added in October 1985. Subsequently emergency regulations applied nationally. 14. Constitutional Development and Planning was the architect of the 1983 Constitution, but when (and not as promised by its Minister) the Coloured and Indian chambers refused to co-operate with the White chamber on defence budgets, the wrath of the military rose. 15. Perhaps the most strongly worded attack on those who identified and were critical of military influence in government came during the opening (or No Confidence) parliamentary debate of 1984. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1984), Cols 29-106. 16. The administrative section of the NSMS was located in Pretoria, and headed by Mr A. P. Stemmet (formerly of the Department of Justice). Mr Stemmet provided me with the information about the training offered by this section. 17. When the legacy of the past was raised, bureaucrats responded with the qualification that South Africa was a third world society that had made mistakes. See Annette Seegers, 'The Government's Perception and Handling of South Africa's Security Needs', in D. J. van Vuuren et al. (eds), South Africa: The Challenge of Reform (Pinetown: Owen Burgess 1988), pp. 414-24.

198

T H E MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH A F R I C A

18. Including R. P. Meyer, former Deputy Minister of Law and Order. 19. The NJMC came into effect towards the end of 1986 and its existence was publicly acknowledged. Confusion did, however, arise in nomenclature, as the old IDC was known as the Gesamentlike Veiligheidskomitee (or GVK) and some officials referred to this body by its older name and not as the NJMC. See Hennie Kotze, 'Aspects of the Public Policy Process in South Africa', in Albert Venter (ed.), South African Government and Politics (Johannesburg: Southern Book Publishers, 1989), pp. 170—200. 20. See Deon Geldenhuys and Hennie Kotze, 'Aspects of Political Decision-making in South Africa' Politikon, vol. 10, no. 1 (June 1983), pp. 53-45; Deon Geldenhuys, The Diplomacy of Isolation (Johannesburg: Macmillan/South African Institute for International Affairs, 1984); Kenneth W. Grundy, The Militarisation of South African Politics (London: I.B. Tauris, 1986); James Selfe, The Total Onslaught and the Total Strategy: Adaptations to the Security Intelligence Decision-making Structures under P W. Botha's Administration, unpublished MA thesis (University of Cape Town, 1987). 21. South Africa, Debates of the House of Assembly (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1984), Col. 5241. 22. This committee divided its activity between a Joint Intelligence Committee (Afrikaans acronym GIK) and a Joint Operational Committee (Afrikaans acronym GOS). The latter functioned when a security operation was in progress. 2 3. Within this region and on a town level, the LMC of Empangeni-Richards Bay, for example, liaised with the chairman of the 'Lower Umfolozi Community Chest'. 24. The cover under which the NSMS operated was demonstrated in the legal action instituted against the Minister of Law and Order over action in the Crossroads area during 1986. Information supplied by the Legal Resources Centre in Cape Town. 25. The number of arrests and detentions suggests this interpretation. The selectivity of upgrading programmes further supports it. 26. Feuds and jealousies were usually hidden behind cliche, but could burst into the open. Sebokeng (Lekoa) is a case in point. Here the the apparent reluctance of the SAP to accede to the deployment of the SADF during an upsurge of violence led to substantial damage to the city council's property. 27. As from 1990, the SAP resumed command over municipal police forces. 28. See J. J. J. Scholtz (ed.), Vegter en Hervormer: Grepe uit die Toesprake van P. W. Botha (Cape Town: Tafelberg, 1988); Dirk and Johanna de Villiers, P. W. (Cape Town: Tafelberg, 1984); and Koos van Wyk and Deon Geldenhuj'S, Die Groepsgebod in P. W. Botha se Politieke Oortuigings (Johannesburg: Randse Afrikaanse Universiteit, 1987). 29. Deon Geldenhuys and Hennie Kotze, 'P. W. Botha as Decisionmaker: A Preliminary Study of Personality and Polities', Politikon, vol. 12, no. 1 (June 1985), pp. 30-42; Brian Pottinger, The Imperial Presidency (Johannesburg: Southern, 1988). 30. See Mark Swilling and Mark Phillips, 'The Powers of the Thunderbird', in Centre for Policy Studies, South Africa At the End of the Eighties (Johannesburg: Centre for Policy Studies, University of the Witwatersrand, 1989), pp. 43-73; Fanie Cloete, 'Die Bedryf van Staatkundige Hervorming', Politeiay vol. 7, no. 1 (1988). 31. L. J. Boulle, Constitutional Reform and the Apartheid State (New York: St Martin's Press, 1984), pp. 204-5. 32. A total of four were created, each with its own working group. The Cabinet also acquired a secretariat. 33. See Annette Seegers, 'The Head of Government and the Executive' in Robert Schrire (ed.), Leadership in the Apartheid State (Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 1994), pp. 60—62. 34. For example, Hugh Corder, fudges at. Work (Cape Town: Juta, 1984); C. J. R. Dugard, Human Rights and the South African Legal Order (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978);

REPUBLICAN STATE AND O P P O S I T I O N

I99

Christopher Forsyth, In Danger for Their Talents (Cape Town: Juta, 1985). 35. See E. Cameron, 'Legal Chauvinism, Executive-mindedness and Justice - L. C. Steyn's Impact on South African Law', South African Law Journal, vol. 99 (1982), pp. 38-75. 36. See South Africa, Report of the Commission of Inquiry Into Security Legislation (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1981). 37. Hugh Corder, 'The Judicial Eye: Change and the Courts, 1985-1987'; Lourens M. du Plessis, 'The Position of Human Rights in South Africa', in D. J. van Vuuren et al. (eds), South Africa: The Challenge of Reform, pp. 203-44. 38. See Madeleine van Biljon, *Vir Baas Jannie kan jy nie lieg', Die Kat (July 1986), pp. 46-7. 39. T. Hoopes as quoted in Irving L. Janis, Victims of Groupthink (Boston: HoughtonMifflin, 1972), p. 134. 40. For a full discussion, see Annette Seegers, 'Towards an Understanding of the Afrikanerisation of the South African State', Africa, vol. 63, no. 4 (1993), pp. 477—97. 41. Charles Van Onselen puts it as follows: 'that white-black behavior on the platteland transcended the restrictive dynamic of master-serf interaction has long been known and appreciated in the countryside, where the dominant language, Afrikaans, is well-endowed with words that are better able than English to capture the complex nuances of social relations on the land.' 'Race and Class in the South African Countryside', American Historical Review, vol. 95, no. 1 (1990), p. 101. 42. J. A. Lombard, 'Fiskale Beleid in Suid-Afrika', The South African Journal of Economics, vol. 47, no. 4 (1979), pp. 359-66, discusses the effects of the state's horizontal and vertical divisions on fiscal policy. 43. See Paul S. Botes, 'Die Sentrale Administrasie', in Charles F. Nieuwoudt et al. (eds), Die Politieke Stelsel van Suid-Afrikaanse (Pretoria: HAUM, 1981). 44. For further discussion, see W Cobbet et al., 'South Africa's Regional Political Economy: A Critical Analysis of Reform Strategy in the 1980s', South African Review 3 (Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1986), pp. 137-68. 45. At the UDF's launch in April 1983, 575 organizations were present. 46. Tom Lodge and Bill Nasson (eds), All, Here, and Now: Black Politics in South Africa in the 1980s (Cape Town: David Philip, 1991); Steven Mufson, Fighting Years: Black Resistance and the Struggle for A New South Africa (Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 1990); Jeremy Seekings, The UDF: a History of the United Democratic Front 1983-1991 (Johannesburg: Ravan, Forthcoming), Chapters 2-4 47. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1915-1988 (Silverton: Promedia Publications, 1988), p. 534-5. 48. Ibid., p. 535. 49. The Ermelo group is discussed in Jacques Pauw, In the Heart of the Whore (Johannesburg: Southern Book Publishers, 1991). 50. Marius de Witt Dippenaar, The History of the South African Police 1913-1988, pp. 628-9. 51. Tom Lodge, 'State of Exile: The African National Congress of South Africa, 19761986', in Philip Frankel, Noam Pines and Mark Swilling (eds), State, Resistance and Change in South Africa (Johannesburg: Southern Book Publishers, 1988), pp. 232-3. 52. For more detail, see ibid., pp. 233-58. 5 3. South Africa, The White Paper on Defence and Armaments Supply 1984 (Pretoria: Government Printer, 1984), pp. ii, 1-2; South Africa, The White Paper on Defence and Armaments Supply /? J 54 communism, 51, 74, 75, 126, 132, 134, 164, 175, 212, 215, 218, 236, 250, 251, 3 1 3

Communist Party: of Great Britain, 51; of South Africa see South African Communist Party; of USSR, 165 compensation to victims of police actions, *79 concentration camps, 10 Concerned South African Group (COSAG), 282

Congress Alliance, 149 conscientious objection, 193 conscription, 2, 18, 103, 147, 154, 176, 177, 268, 285, 304, 310; of whites, 147; procedures for, 29; resistance to, 148, 177, 196 Conservative Party (CP), 193, 281, 314 Constructive Engagement, 235, 237, 259 consumer boycotts, 183, 192 containment, concept of, 134 Convention for a Democratic South Africa (CODESA), 275; CODESA I, 276, 281; CODESA II, 276

INDEX Cooper, F.W., 60 corruption, 23, 162 Council of Defence, 112 council of war (krygsrad), 3 counter-insurgency (COIN), 135-43, 154, 161, 174, 181, 185, 195, 214, 220, 221, 225, 227, 238, 239, 249, 252, 263, 264, 265, 303, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 314; as science, 191; training in, 137, 150, 151 Counter-Insurgency Committees (GTK), 141, 142, 162 counter-sabotage, 137 counter-terrorism, 238 counter-urbanization, 300 covert operations, 186, 311 crime, as way of coping, 270; increase in, 176 Criminal Investigation Branch, 272 Criminal Law Amendment Acts: (1914), 27; Cristina, Orlando, 226 Crocker, Chester, 235, 253 Cronje, Rowan, 282 Cuba, 134, 211, 261, 309; presence in Angola, 212, 215, 220, 228, 231, 232, 250, 254, 256, 257, 258, 310, 316 (construction of radar network, 230); withdrawal from Angola, 253, 260, 285 Cuban missile crisis, 74 Cuito Canavale, battle of, 254, 256-8, 261, 284, 316, 317 Curzon, Viceroy, 15 customs, 18; revenue from, 292 cutting weapons, 47, 143, 234, 291, 295 de Klerk, F.W., 207, 245, 246, 251, 266, 267, 271, 272, 273, 274, 281, 285, 316, 317 de Kock, Eugene, 275, 317 de Lange, Pieter, 250 De Villiers, Dawie, 148 De Villiers, I.P., 60, 70, 98 de Wet, Card, 206 de Wet, Christiaan, 17, 21 De Witt Commission, 272, 275, 286 death penalty, 174 deaths by political violence, 181 deaths in police detention, 190, 193, 321 decolonization, 107, 108, 210 Defence Acts: (1912), 19, 21, 29, 95, 96, 320; (1957), 112, 147, 212 (Amendment (1922), 31, 52, 59; (1952), m ; (1974), 177; (i97Q, 212, 306 Defence Act Select Committee, 22 Defence Command Council, 271 Defence Ministry (UK), 105 Defence Planning Committee, 217

345

defence spending, 143, 180; statistics for, 145 Defiance Campaign, 121 demilitarized zone (DMZ), 174, 222, 232, 303, 308, 310 demobilization, problems of, 31 Demobilization Council, 31 demonstrations, 119, 149; of school pupils, 148 Department of Bantu Affairs, 124 Department of Correctional Services, 280 Department of Defence, 25, 35, 36, 53, 55, n o , 114, 132, 140, 141, 142, 143, 154, 166, 192, 195, 217 Department of Foreign Affairs, 162, 163, 214, 238, 258, 265, 309, 317 Department of Information, 208, 210 Department of Intelligence and Security, 280 Department of Military Intelligence (DMI), 63, 69, 94, 97, 130, 131, 142, 153, 185, 186, 187, 210, 213, 215, 216, 250, 272, 273, 275, 281, 282, 285, 299, 304, 307, 3"> 3I3> 3*7 Department of National Security, 209 Department of Constitutional Development and Planning, 164, 178, 248, 249, 311, 314 desertion of troops, 2, 256 Detective Branch of SAP, 54, 60, 70, 77, 121 detectives, 51; black people as, 51 detention, 190; figures for, 246; increases in, 177; of opposition leaders, 248; suicide during, 302; without trial, 126, 127 Development Associations, 182 diamonds: discovery of, 6; growing value of, 71; illicit trade in, 51; industry, 11; revenue from, 7; smuggling of, 24 Die Burger youth leadership conference, 148 Directorate of Covert Operations, 186 disappearances of people, 184 disarmament, 12, 19, 143, 291; of black people, 11; of white people, 33 disenfranchised population, 34, 49, 56, 68, 76, 77, 79, 88, 109, H I , 119, 124, 130, 149, 151, 152, 183, 251, 270, 294, 296, 305; legislation governing, 49-54; representation of, 183 dissent, political, 4, 33, 38, 75; criminalization of, 27, 28; outlawed in military, 53 do Nascimento, Lopo, 215 Driefontein incident, 32 drought in South Africa, 71 drug trafficking, 320 du Plooy, H.J., 77, 125 du Toit, Christiaan L. de W, 109

346

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

du Toit, Wynand, capture of, 232—3 Dubow, Saul, 87, 90 Dutch East India Company, 1, 23 Dutch Reformed Church (DRC), 99, 171, 193, 261, 314, 315; Synod of, 194 dwarstrekkery, 171

East Rand, 270, 271 Eastern Caprivi, 221 economic growth: of South Africa, 71, 104, 146, 154, 192, 297; of Angola, 228 education, 91, 150, 270 Edward VII, King of England, 15 Eenbeidskomitee, 282

Egypt, 3°, 66 Eisenhower, Dwight D , 101 elections, 62, 295, 297, 315; in 1943, 56-9; in Bophuthatswana, 283; in Namibia, 186; preference for, 33; Provincial Council, 57; soldiers' vote, 58, 59; system of, 56 Electoral Laws Amendment Act (1940), 58 Emergency Powers Act (1920) (UK), 28 Eminent Persons Group (EPG), 214 enclosures, tactic of, 10 End Conscription Campaign (ECC), 177, 184, 260, 313; banning of, 177, 185 English speakers, 49, 93, 95, 96, 99, 109, 128, 192, 196, 293, 299 Erasmus, E C , 58, 59, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 104, 105, 107, 108, 109, n o , i n , 112, 114, 125, 143, 152, 153, 299, 315 ESCOM, 70, 182 Esselen, Louis, 64, 94 Europe Bank, 209 eviction of populations, 124 explosives: in hands of guerrillas, 174; manufacture of, 72, 78, 145, 318 FAPLA, 223, 230, 231, 232, 233, 239, 252, 253, 254> 256, 257, 258, 259, 285, 309, 310, 316 Fernandez, Evo, 226 fields of fire, creation of, 5, 7, 12 fingerprint system, development of, 51, 70 First Bank of Bisho, 209 Fischer, Bram, 126 FNLA (Frente Nacional de Libertacao de Angola), 210, 211, 219, 220, 228, 234, Z36 force, monopoly of, 291, 321 Ford, Gerald, 211 47 Battalion, 256 Fouche, J.J., 131, 143, 144, 217 Fourie, Brand, 215, 232, 310 Fourie, Deon, 133

Fourie, Jopie, 36, 65 France, 214, 218, 298, 321; strategic thinking of, 133 Franco—Prussian War, 13 Fraser, C.A., 133, 185, 221 Freedom Day, 121 Freedom of Speech Convention, 120 FRELIMO see Frente de Libertacao de Mozambique Frente de Liberta^ao de Mozambique (FRELIMO), 176, 210, 218, 219, 226, 227, 228, 234, 237, 238, 308 Frontier Armed and Mounted Police, 23 frontier warfare, 7, 309, 310 Fuchs spy scandal, 205 Gandhi, Mahatma, 26 gauleiters^ 64

Geldenhuys, Jannie, 185, 262 Geldenhuys, M.C.W., 127, 263, 264 General Law Amendment Act (1962), 125, 126, 138 General Staff, 35—7 Geneva Protocol, 253 German nationals in South Africa, 61; internment of, 65 Germany, 13, 14, 17, 19, 21, 30, 37, 57, 62, 64, 66y 73, 94, 292, 298; declares war on USA, 67; East, 175; surrender of, 70, 74; war with, 66; West, 206, 214; see also South West Africa GMR company, 209 gold, 10, 37, 55; discovery of, 13, 86; importance to Britain, 67; production of, 14, 71, 72; reserves of, 73; revenue from, 7> 70, " 3 gold standard, 52, 70, 71 Goldstone, Richard J., 273 Goldstone Commission, 273, 274, 279 Goniwe Murders, 312 Goniwe, Matthew, 312 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 212, 216, 253, 259 Graaff Reinet, 16; rebellion, 3 Great Trek, 171; 1938 re-enactment of, 57 Griqualand West, incorporation of, 7 Groenewald, Tienie, 282 Groenewoud Commission of Inquiry, 143 Groot Karoo Regiment, 257 Groote Schuur Minute, 272, 277, 280, 285, 3i7 Group Areas Act, 124, 249 guerrilla warfare, 9, 30, 139, 175, 246, 247, 304; tactics, 11 guerrillas, 118, 137, 140, 174, 223, 259 Gulf War, 319 Gurr, Ted Robert, 15 2

INDEX hand grenades, 175 Hani, Chris, 277 Harms, Justice, 185 Harms Commission, 185, 273 Harris, John, 126, 130 Havenga, N.C., 104, n o hearts and minds campaign, 148—51, 181—3, 195, 222, 226, 227, 265,

312

Heilbron Commando, 26 helicopters, 218, 308; supply of, i n , 145 Herbst, Professor Das, 250 Hertzog, J.B.M, 27, 52, 56, 57, 73, 297 Hiemstra Commission, 185 hit squads, 189; development of, 183 Hitler, Adolf, 67, 74, 297; support for, 60,

347

International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), 206, 207 International Commission of Jurists, 321 International Court of Justice, 136 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 228, 3*9 internment, 64—5, 126 Iraq, arms trade with, 236 Iron and Steel Industrial Corporation (ISCOR), 70, 72, 92, 100, 297 ironclad shipping, development of, 13 Isandhlwana, massacre at, 7 Israel, 207, 208, 237 'Israelites* gathering at Bulhoek, 47 Italy, 66, 218; war with, 67

297

Hobhouse, Emily, 9 Hoffman, Josias, 5 Holomisa, Bantu, 278 homelands, 87, 89, 90, 91, 92, 173, 182, 187—90, 195, 196, 273, 283, 292, 300, 311, 313; residence outside, 192 hostel-dwellers, 270 hot-pursuit operations, 210, 221, 226, 252 Hottentots, 1, 2, 4 Housing Fund, 181 Human Rights Commission, 270

Illegal/Unlawful Organizations Act (i960), 152

Immigration Regulation Act (1913), 77 Imperial Conferences: (1911), 20, 28; (1921), 52

Indemnity Act, 26, 27 India, 102, 103 (Army, 3; reorganization of, 15) Indians, 91, 120, 268, 310; as police, 22 Industrial and Commercial Workers' Union (ICU), 47 industrial campaign (1913), 25-6 Industrial Conciliation Act (1977), 190 infantry, 2, 5, 69, 145, 153, 255, 256, 284, 292, 303

influx control, policing of, 124 Infoplan, 216 Information Scandal, 162 informers, 51, 127, 183, 225 Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP), 183, 252, 273, 274, 275, 276, 282, 285, 317 Institute of Race Relations, 150 intelligence services, 189, 321; recruitment of operators, 185 Inter-Colonial Defence Conference, 18 Internal Security Acts: (1976), 127; (1982), 170, 184

Jameson Raid, 8 Japan, 74 Joint Management Centres (JMC), 167, 307 Jordan, 218 Jorge, Paulo, 215, 253 Joubert, General, 6, 8 judges, visiting of detainees, 170 judiciary, 27; role of, 26 Kadalie, Clemens, 48 Kahn, Sam, 77 Kannemeyer Report, 180 Katanga, 229 Katima Mulilo base, attack on, 223 Kavango, 221, 222 Kemp, J.C.G., 21, 29 Kennan, George, 134, 216, 250, 299 Kentron Electro company, 217 khaki, adoption of, 21, 52 Kim II Sung, 74 Kimberley Police, 24 King's African Rifles, 103 Kissinger, Henry, 211, 308, 309 Kitchener, H.H., 9, 10, 15, 16, 17, 22, 37, 38, 103, 292, 293, 294 Kito, Alexander Rodrigues, 215, 232, 238, 240, 310 Klerksdorp incidents, 181 Koevoet unit, 225, 226, 227, 235, 239, 263, 310, 313, 317; numbers of, 225 komkom, 166, 167 kommandanty 2, 94

kommando (commandos), 1 kopge/d, 225

Korea, 113, 299 Korean War, 205 Kruger, J.T., 149 Kruger, Paul, 7, 8 KwaNdebele, 189; revolt, 173 Kwazulu, 190, 274, 275, 276; Administration,

348

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

184, 282, 285, 317; elections in, 276 Kwazulu Police (KZP), 275, 276, 318 Labour Party, 32, 33, 52, 57, 129, 260, 261 Labour Party (UK), 203, 204 Labour Relations Amendment Act (1981), 190 Landsdown Commission, 48, 49, 50, 54 Langa, 123; clashes at, 119, 180, 124 lawfulness, habituation of, 125 Lawrence, Harry, 65 Lawyers for Human Rights, 189 le Grange, Louis, 249 League of Nations, 135, 136 Lebowa revolt, 173 Leftwich, Adrian, 129; arrest of, 130 Leibbrandt, Robey, 61 Lenton, H.J., 62 Libya, 151 Liddell Hart, B.H, 188 Liebenberg, Rowland, 233 Lincoln, Abraham, 59 liquor violation, 47; raids, 119 literacy, of black population, 150 Lloyd, C.J., 181, 182 Lloyd, John, 130 Lloyd, Koos, 162 Local Board Police Forces, 24 Local Government Ordinance (1912), 9 Loginof, Yuri, 127 Lomba River, battle for, 254-6, 284, 316 Louw, Eric, 106, n o , 205 Louw, Mike, 250, 274 Lukin, H.T., 12, 16, 21 Lusaka Agreement (1984), 215, 232, 252, Lyttelton Engineering Works, 217 Machel, Samora, 213, 228 machine guns, 5, 6, 32, 46, 47, 48, 143, 145, 153, 218, 308 Mahan, Alfred, 13, 14, 17, 292 Malan, 'Sailor', 93 Malan, D.F., 61, 63, 97, 104, 105, 106, 107, no Malan, Magnus, 133, 223, 237, 249, 272 Maleoskop base, 151 Malherbe, E.G., 62, 64 Mandela, Nelson, 120, 126, 245, 251, 281, 283 Mangope, Lucas, 282 manpower, needs of military, 15, 16, 20, 37, 65, 66, 103, 147—8 Manualfor the South African Corps, 18 Mao Zedong, 140, 186 Mapoch, war with, 6, 24 Mapumulo, battle of, 11

Maritz, S.G., 21, 26, 30, 69 Marquard, Leo, 93 Martial Law, 26, 32 Martins, Harper, 99 Masons' Union, 27 mass production, 73 Master's and Servant's Act, 50 Mbeki, Govan, 126 McCuen, J.J., 140, 141, 153, 251 McLellan, General, 59 mechanized transport, use of, 48, 296 Meiring, George, 261, 262 Merriman, John X., 19, 22, 27 Methuen, Lord, 12, 14, 16, 19, 21, 37 Methuen, Treaty of, 105 Metropolitan Police (UK), 23 Meyer, Roelf, 249 Mhlauli, Sicelo, 312 Middle East, conflict in, 102, 103, 104, 105, 108 migrant labour, 135, 219 militarization see police, military style military, 51-4; and police, 23-5; loyalty to state, 38; political ownership of, 37; profile of, 34—7; role in state, 20 Military College, 63, 93, 95, 261 Military Council, 5 3 military equipment, 216—18 military funding, secret, 15 4 military intelligence, 62—5 see also Department of Military Intelligence Military School, Bloemfontein, 36 military spending, 147; cuts in, 285; of Angola, 228 militia, role of, 18 minefields: clearing of, 257; laying of, 228 mineworkers: recruiting of, 210, 218; union of, 192 mining industry, 51, 71, 297 missiles, 252; G-5, 255, 318; G-6y 318; Valkyrie, 255, 316 missionaries, 4, 5, 12 MK see Umkhonto we Sizwe Mkhonto, Sparrow, 312 Modderfontein Training Depot, 122 Modise, Joe, 278 Modjaji, Queen, 6 money: laundering of, 209; transfer to poorer communities, 182 Motsuenyane, Sam, 189 Mount Etjo Agreement, 263 Movimento Popular de Libertac,ao de Angola (MPLA), 136, 210, 211, 212, 215, 219, 227, 229, 232, 236, 239, 253, 261, 309, 316; as government of Angola, 220 Mozambique, 133, 187, 208, 210, 213, 214,

INDEX 218, 220, 226, 228, 234, 238, 240; migrant labour from, 72 Mozambique—Transvaal Convention, 218 MPLA see Movimento Popular de Libertagao de Angola Multi-Party Negotiation Process, 276, 281 multipartyism, 251, 261 municipal development, suspension of, 181 municipal self-government, 8 Musgrave Manufacturers and Distributors, 217

mutilation of detainees, 191 Mutual Defence Association Act, 104 Muzorewa, Abel, 162 My Lai massacre, 187, 188 Namibia, 118, 127, 131, 133, 135, 137, 138, 141, 150, 154, 161, 186, 187, 195, 214, 215, 224, 225, 229, 235, 238, 239, 252, 253, 254, 256, 261, 262, 265, 301, 304, 305, 309, 313, 315, 317; as buffer zone, 216; elections in, 186, 262; incorporation of, 136; independence of, 223, 240, 259, 260, 263; policing in, 135; pressure of presence of soldiers, 222; South African troops leave, 263 Namibianization, 221, 228, 239, 256 Natal, 6, 8, 9, 16, 48, 167, 183, 184, 269, 270, 274, 278; 1906—8 rebellion, 11; strikes in, 26 Natal Indian Congress, 77 Natal Mounted Police, 24 Natal Municipal Ordinance (1854), 8 National Committee for Liberation (NCL), National Coordinating Mechanism, 266 National Forum, 173 National Intelligence Service, 163, 166, 208, 248, 249, 250, 262, 267, 274, 278, 280, 281, 284, 285, 307, 314, 317; development of, 250 National Joint Management Centre (NJMC), 165, 314 national liberation movements, 134 National Party (NP), 26, 46, 33, 52, 56, 58, 59, 61, 62, 63, 65, 68, 78, 85, 92, 93, 97, 98, 105, 108, 112, 143, 155, 192, 194, 212, 252, 281, 307, 315; 1945 Congress, 60 National Party ('Purified') (PNP), 56, 57 National Peacekeeping Force (NPKF), 279 national security, 305; concept of, 132, 133, 154 National Security Management System, 152, 161—3, 163—5, 182, 183, 194, 195, 196, 248, 249, 250, 251, 261, 267, 271, 272,

349

284, 285, 305, 306, 307, 311, 313, 314, 315; as heroes, 171; campaigns of, 173—4; ethos of, 170, 172; jurisdictional boundaries of, 166; outline of, 168; replaced by National Coordinating Mechanism, 266 National Union of South African Students (NUSAS), 129 National Voluntary Brigade, 70 Native Administration Act (1927), 49 Native Affairs Department (NAD), 87, 300 Native Commissioners, 86 Native Labour Regulation Act (1911), 49, 50 Native Uprising, 6, 10, 11, 12, 19, 25, 28, 32, 37, 46, 48, 76—8, 296 Natives Land Act (1913), 49 Nazis, 60, 135, 301, 313; hunt for, 77, 79; in South West Africa, 61 Ndzundza-Ndebele people, 5 Neschem company, 217 New York Principles, 253, 254, 260 New Zealand, 15, 16, 31, 101, 104 Nhlanhla, Joe, 281 Nicaragua, 236 Nicol, William, 64 night-fighting, 218 Nixon, Richard, 211, 308, 309 Nkandla, battle of, 11 Nkomati Accord, 175, 193, 213, 215, 308 non-violence, 119, 121 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 101 Notcutt, Bernard, 97 nuclear explosives production, 206 Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), 206; South African membership of, 206, 207; nuclear power, development of, 205 nuclear weapons, 207, 308 Nyanda, Siphiwe, 278 Nyasaland, 107 Office of the State President (OSP), 169, 195, 213, 238, 248, 267, 274, 284, 317 Office of War Supplies, 72 officer corps: educational qualifications for, 55; entry into, 53 officers, electing of, 17 Official Secrets Amendment Act (1965), 127 oil crisis, effects of, 192 oil supplies, 228, 236; embargo on, 143; round Cape, 203 Okinawa, battle for, 74 101 Battalion, 226, 255, 256, 263 102 Battalion, 263 Ongulumbashe action, 303 Ooorlogsdagboek, 162

35O

T H E M I L I T A R Y I N T H E M A K I N G OF S O U T H

Operations: Agree, 265; Askari, 186, 226, 230, 231-2, 240, 245, 255; Boswilger, 252; Carnation, 230; Daisy, 226, 231; Hooper, 253-4, 264; K, 224-6; Magneto, 252; Mayibuyi, 126; Mayonnaise, 186; Mebos, 226; Modular, 252, 253-4, 264; Orpheus, 187; Packer, 253-5, 264; Phoenix, 226; Polo, 174; Protea, 226, 230-1, 240, 245, 259; Reindeer, 224; Saffraan, 224; Savannah, 210, 212, 219, 220, 222, 227, 239, 259; Sceptic, 226, 227, 230; Super, 226; Thunder Chariot, 264; Wallpaper, 252 O p e r a t i o n a l Z o n e , 185, 1 8 6 , 2 1 0 , 213, 2 1 6 , 218—20, 2 2 1 , 2 2 5 , 2 2 9 , 235, 2 3 7 , 2 3 8 , 2 3 9 , 252, 2 6 2 , 2 8 4 , 285, 3 0 3 , 3 0 4 , 313

Orange Free State, 2, 4, 8, 9, 16, 24, 48, 307 Orange Free State Border Police, 24 Orange River Colony Police, 24 Organization of African Unity (OAU), 136, Ossewa-Brandwag (OB) organization, 60, 61, 63, 64, 75, 99, 135, 143, 315 O v a m b o , 135, 2 1 0 , 2 2 0 , 2 2 1 , 2 2 2 , 2 2 3 , 2 2 4 , ,

22

5 > 2 3 0 , 2 3 5 , 2 3 8 , 2 5 6 , 2 5 9 , 3 1 0 , 313;

bombing in, 135; declaration as selfgoverning territory, 138; state of emergency in, 141, 161 Ovambo People's Organization (OPO), 137 Pakistan, 102 Palazzolo, Vito, 209 Palmer, R.J., 67, 70, 99 Pan-African Congress (PAC), 119, 125, 139, 173, 238, 278 Panama, invasion of, 320 paramilitary forces, 321 pass laws, 121, 124, 135; campaign against, 1 1 9 , 123

Pearce Commission, 139 Pearl Harbor, 67 Pedi; subjugation of, 7; war with, 5, 6 People's Liberation Army of Namibia ( P L A N ) , 216, 223, 224, 230, 231, 232,

263; operational strength of, 224 Permanent Force (PF), 21, 22, 29, 32, 36, 38, 294, 296 Pienaar, G.D., 120 Pienaar, Hans, 189 Pilkington Jordan, R.D., 58 Pirow, O., 63 platinum, mining of, 71 poison, use of, in conflict, 191 police, 29, 34, 51—4, 275; action against strikers, 26, 32; and relations with military, 18, 23—5; arming of, 56; as

AFRICA

career, 129; as percentage of population, 46, 56, 91, 94, 129, 249, 295, 314; behaving like infantry, 153; black people as, 49, 50, 56; blurred with role of soldier, 23; British, 51; British extraction of, 38; brutality of, 49, 50, 54, 125, 130; casualties of, 122; coup d'etaty 61; demonstration by, 280; habit of respect for, 125; involved in criminal activities, 179; issued with side arms, 46; military discipline of, 47, 295; military style of, 54, 55; multiple roles of, 22, 49; municipal, 312; non-white membership of, 188; part-time, 70; plunder of stations, 37; profile of, 34—7; recruitment of, 99, 169, 179; reorganization of, 122; secret spending of, 196; shortage of, 101; special constables, 225; spending on, 147 (rise of, 180); strike by, 36 Police (South West Africa) Act (1939), 155 Police Acts: (1912), 24; (1958), 125 Police and Prisons Civil Rights Union (POPCRU), 280 police dogs, use of, 143 police stations, construction of, 70 policing: minimum force principle of, 25; of streets, 176-81 political prisoners, 189 Poole, Evered, 97, 109 Population Registration Act (1950), 93, 268 population removals, 120 Poqo organization, 129 Port Elizabeth strike killings, 46, 47 Portugal, 14, 105, 136, 137, 219, 234; coup in, 154, 162, 174, 193, 196, 210, 237, 308 Post Office, surveillance by, 62 Potgieter Commission, 132, 304 POW experiences of South African soldiers, 69,78 Powell, Colonel, 94 President Steyn Gold Mine, 274 press, 142, 143, 151 prisoners, long-term, release of, 270 professionalism of military, 67-9, 103 Progressive Reform Party, 212 proletarianization, 72 promotion, in South African Police, 36, 123, 129 Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Bill (1994), 321—2 Prussia, 13; as military model, 3 pseudo-operations, 138, 186, 225 Public Safety Act (1953), 184 Public Service Act (1984), 95, 280 Public Service Commission, 52, 53, 96, 128, 162

INDEX quartermasters, corruption of, 3 Qulusi incident, 11 racial policy, 8, 11, 23, 49, 56, 63, 68, 85, 86, 106, 107, 112, 204, 295, 296, 298

(modernization of, 192) see also apartheid Racial Utopia, 85-92, 106, 112, 113, 118, 119, 121, 124, 125, 149, 153, 176, 182, 188, 193, 194, 195, 196, 251, 282, 300, 301, 302, 303, 306, 312; death of, 173; failure of, 305; requiring modernization, 196 Rademeyer, C.I., 99 rates, resistance to paying, 181 Reagan Doctrine, 236, 237, 240, 245 Reconnaissance Commandos, 213 Record o f Understanding, 276, 278, 285 Red Oath, 59, 60, 69; refusal to take, 99 Red Tab: issue of, i n ; removal of, 95 Reddingsdaadbond, 63 Regional Services Councils (RSC), 182 registration o f voters, compulsory, 5 8 Reitz, Deneys, 21 R E N A M O see Resistencia Nacional de Mo9ambique rent strikes, 312 Republican Uprising, 29-30, 36, 78, 293 Republicanism, 107, i n Republicanization, 92—8, 98—100, 100—1, 113, 299, 301 Republicans, 3, 4, 21, 27, 33, 38, 63, 69, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 297, 298, 299, 306 Reservation o f Separate Amenities Act

Reserve Bank, 52 Reserve Territory Carbineers, 24 resignations: from armed forces, 96, 98, 113 (from SAAF, 95; from SADF, 187); from SAP, 99 Resistencia Nacional de Mo9ambique (RENAMO), 186, 208, 226, 227, 228, 234, 237; savagery of, 234; South African support for, 213 Revolutionary Onslaught, 164, 181, 187, 188, 193, 195, 248, 313 Rhodesia, 99, 127, 133, 138, 141, 150, 174, 185, 225, 226, 228, 234, 240, 308, 309,

310, 313; penetration of Mozambique, 219; Southern, 20, 103, 105, 106, 108, 113 (declaration of U D I , 204) Rhoodie, Eschel, 209 Rifle Associations, 16, 17, 35, 69, 96, i n ,

113, 135, 220, 293, 299 Rifle Commandos, 112 rifles, 4, 11, 291; .303 model, i n , 120; assault, 218; automatic, 47, 153, 308, 311;

351

breech-loading, 5; calling-in of, 65; F N series, 111, 145; manufacture of, 79; Mausers, 8; R-i, 145; rapid-firing, 46 rifling: development of, 5; machine, manufacture of, 72 Riga Principles, 74, 216, 250 riot control, 152 riot police, 137, 150, 151, 180, 249, 275, 303, 311 Riotous Assemblies Act (1914), 27, 28, 33, 77, 121, 322 riots, 148; in Bophuthatswana, 282; in Durban, 120; in Johannesburg, 60; in Soweto, 302; in Transkei, 124 Rivonia: arrests, 126, 129, 131, 152, 153; trial, 132, 150, 301

Robben Island, 174 Roberto, Holden, 136 Rommel, tactics of, 69 Roux, Jannie, 169 Royal Navy, 9, 13, 14, 18, 29, 67, 97, 103, 109, n o , 204, 292 Royal Navy Reserve, 103 RPG-7 rocket launchers, 174, 255 Ruacana-Calueque hydroelectric scheme, 219, 220 Saaiman, Johann, 185

sabotage, 125, 132, 140, 142, 149, 151, 153 Sabotage Act, 15 5 Sachs, Albie, 92, 93 SAFARI I reactor, 206 Salisbury, Lord, 13 San (Bushmen), 1, 221; displacement of, 222

SAS&H company, 214, 218 Savimbi, Jonas, 136, 226, 232, 236, 256 School of Political and Military Warfare (Taiwan), 164 schools: closing of, 148; stay-aways from, 149; turmoil in, 173 scorched-earth policy, 11 search-and-destroy missions, 225 Seaward Defence Force, 103 Second Division, retreat from Tobruk, 69 Second Transvaal Scottish Regiment, 60 security agencies, 67—70; location and employment figures, 269 Security Branch, 118, 132, 138, 140, 142, 150, 152, 153, 154, 174, 180, 183, 184-7, l9h 209, 238, 249, 272, 275, 301, 302, 303, 306, 307, 311, 313, 315; attention to British campuses, 130; failure of, 152, 154; funding of Inkatha Freedom Party, 273; rise of, 125—9 security expenditure, 173; secret, 196

352

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

Security Intelligence and State Security Council Act (1972), 132, 134 sedition, 121, 152; legislation, 27, 28, 294 (British, 28) segregation, 85, 88; opposition to, 93 Selborne, Lord, 20 Select Committees: on the Police Bill, 22; on the Defence Bill, 19 self-reliance in military procurement, 144 Selous Scouts, 219, 225 Semkom, 166, 167, 261 separate development, 89-92 Sexwale, Tokyo, 277 Seychelles, 236; as offshore base, 209 Shaba, 229 shackfarming, 182 Sharpeville, 114, 118—24, 123, 143, 144, 152, 217, 301, 303 shipping, repair of, 72, 78, 102 siege tactics, 5 Simonstown, Agreement, 107, 108, 109, n o , i n , 204 Simonstown base, 14, 103, 104, 203 Sisulu, Walter, 126 Six Day War, 203 Sixth Armoured Division, 66 61 Mechanized Infantry Battalion, 257 Slagtersnek rebellion, 3 Smith, Jan, 174, 204, 218, 308 smuggling routes, 209 Smuts, J.C., 8, 12, 16, 18, 19, 22, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 32, 33, 51, 56, 57, 58, 59, 63, 64, 66, 68, 69, 71, 73, 77, 94, 97, 98, 106, 109, 204, 294, 295, 297, 298; 1943 victory of, 64; Anglophilia of, 20 Smuts Amendment, 62 Somchem company, 217 Sotho people, 5, 6, 307 South Africa: armaments of, 102; as British ally in WWII, 56; as gateway to Africa, 104—5; a s naval repair base, 102; as part of African context, 203; as term, 105; ceasefire with Angola, 240; contribution to Allied war effort, 78; contribution to Britain's wars, 30; foreign policy of, 105; formation of, 1-38; population of, 21; possible choice of neutrality (in WWI, 28; in WWII, 57, 297); refusal to sign nuclear non-proliferation treaty, 206 (rescinded, 207); strategic significance of, 105, 237 (for Britain, 13, 14, 17, 37); withdrawal from Angola, 215, 232, 253, 263 South Africa Defence Bill, 12 South Africa Native Congress, 34 South African Air Force (SAAF), 35, 36, 52,

66, 67, 96, 98, 104, 105, 109, i n , 135, 138, 141, 186, 224, 225, 231, 239, 259, 296; strike in, 280

South African Airways (SAA), 96 South African Amalgamated Workers' Union (SAAWU), 190 South African Communist Party (SACP), 47, 76, 77, 121, 125, 126, 127, 129, 142, 153, 301, 316; banning of, 120 South African Constabulary, 24 South African Defence Force (SADF), 92, 131, 148, 168, 212, 227, 239, 256, 265, 284, 308,

133, 152, 175, 213, 228, 240, 257, 271, 285, 309,

134, 139, 140, 141, 142, 147, 154, 155, 161, 162, 163, 166, 176, 180, 184, 193, 196, 210, 216, 219, 220, 224, 225, 226, 229, 230, 232, 234, 235, 238, 249, 250, 251, 252, 254, 255, 258, 259, 261, 262, 263, 264, 274, 277, 278, 279, 282, 283, 286, 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 316,

317; as civilian support, 265; as close to centre of state, 154; base attacked, 223; budget of, 269, 270, 304; capture of arms, 237; casualties of, 228; command boundaries of, 173; composition of, 268, 280; conflict within, 214; criticized by de Klerk, 267; entry into civilian jurisdictions, 164; hidden funding of, 146; invasion of Angola, 210, 211, 219; patronage of UNITA, 208; professionalism of, 271, 272; racial composition of, 269; resistance to assignments, 177; seen as domineering, 178; valuation of, 147; withdrawal from Angola, 265

SADF Communications Operations Section (COMOPS), 222, 225 South African Indian Congress, 121 South African Mounted Riflemen (SAMR), 22, 25, 33, 36, 46, 52, 53, 54, 291, 293, 295, 296 South African National Defence Force (SANDF), 279, 280, 320, 321 South African Native National Congress, 34 South African Navy, 35, 67, 92, 104, i n , 2

59 South African Party, 56 South African Police (SAP), 22, 25, 32, $4, 36, 37, 38, 48, 51, 52, 53, 55, 61, 70, 76, 78, 79, 90, 93, 98—100, 119, 121, 123, 124, 125, 127, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 150, 151, 152, 154, 161, 163, 166, 168, 174, 180, 183, 184, 186, 187, 189, 195, 196, 209, 213, 214, 218, 220, 225, 238, 249, 266, 268, 272, 274, 283, 285, 286,

353

INDEX 293,295,296,297,299,300,301,302, 303, 304, 305, 306,308,309, 311,312; and control of streets, 173; as closed institution, 178; bought discharges from, 98, 100, 123; composition of, 280; crisis of Sharpeville, 120; establishment strength of, 25, 46, 47, 91, 92, 121, 122, 128, 178, 179; hidden funding of, 146; inappropriate equipment of, 180; internees, 99; loss of control, 178; manpower problems of, 76; military aspect of, 124; non-European recruits, 121, 122, 123; poor development of arsenal, 146; promotion in, 129; racial policy of, 121; resignations from, 113; shortage of recruits, 101; soldiers recruited to, 54; symbols of, 99; training in, 128; white officers in, 179; White Paper on reorganization of, 266; withdrawn from Namibia, 162 South African Police Service (SAPS), 320; legitimacy of, 320 South African Railway Police, 179 South African Students' Organization (SASO), 149, 151, 152; trial of, 174 South Korea, 207 South West Africa, 17, 19, 28, 29, 30, 31, 34, 52, 60, 61, 77, 78, 294, 298; as mandate, 31; campaign, 30; German interest in, 21 South West African Command, 135 South West African People's Organization (SWAPO), 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 154, 186, 215, 219, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 230, 231, 238, 240, 252, 258, 259, 260, 262, 263, 264, 285, 303, 304, 309, 310, 316, 317; guerrillas turned, 235; Tanga conference, 216 South West African Police Force (SWAPOL), 225, 263 South West African Territory Force (SWATF), 220, 221, 232, 239, 256, 263,

284, 310 Southeast Asia Treaty Organization

154, 161, 163, 181, 194, 251, 267, 271, 304, 305, 307; creation of, 165; domination of Cabinet, 165, 166; inquiry into, 162 Station bomb, in Johannesburg, 126, 130, 131, 143, 153, 174, 302, 304 steel industry, 297; growth of, 71 Steyn, Colin, 64 Steyn, Pierre, 274 Stormjaer organization, 61, 65, 99 strategic studies, 250 strategy, indirect, 133, 188 street policing tactics, 154, 176-81 street violence, 144, 303 Strijdom, J.G., 205 strikes, 25, 119, 120, 294, 303; by black workers, banned, 76; by Indians, 26; by miners, 25, 26 (in 1922, 32—3; crushing of, 25); by police, 36, 179; general, in Witwatersrand, 76; imitation of commando practices, 32; in 1922, 38; in Durban, 47, 155, 246; in Namibia, 136, 138; in Natal, 150; in Port Elizabeth, 46; SAP used against, 190 Suez Canal, 298, 299; closing of, 203 (possibility of, 102) suffrage, adult, 38, 276, 284, 310 Suppression of Communism Act (1950), 107, 120,

( S E A T O ) , 101 Soweto, 118, 148—51, 152, 153, 154, 155, 176, 193, 247, 270, 271, 302, 303, 305; riots in, 174 Spain, 218, 321 Special Branch, 183 special constables, creation of, 178 Special Forces, 185, 232 Special Operations, 183, 184—7, 2I3> Spestake, 214 Spoornet company, 214 Springbok Legion, 58, 60, 93 squatters, 183; policing of, 124

staff system, development of, 3 Stalin-Ribbentrop Pact (1939), 73 Standard Bank, 51 state: interventionism of, 89—92; rationalization of, 172; safety of, as supreme law, 27; shortage o f revenue, 182 state employment, 93; statistics, 34, 55, 88, 89, 146, 147, 268 (by function, 90) states o f emergency, 64, 70, 163-4; in Ovambo, 210, 238; renewals of, 194 State Security Advisory Council (SSAC), 131, 304 State Security Council (SSC), 132, 133, 134,

121, 127,

152

SWAPO see South West African People's Organization Swartklip Products company, 217 Swazi territory, annexation of, 7

Swaziland, 20, 31, 106, 174 Swellendam rebellion, 3

1

Swiss scheme, 13, 16, 18, 22, 37, 54, 292 2I

4

Taiwan, 207, 237 tanks, 69, 239, 254, 255, 256; Centurion, 217; Olifant, 257; sale of, 144, 145, 153, 217; scarcity of, 229; Sherman, 69; supply of, 3o8;T-5j, 255; T-34, 223

354

T H E M I L I T A R Y I N T H E M A K I N G OF S O U T H

Tanzania, 139, 151, 175, 228 tapping of telephones, 62 taxation, 8; laws, 50; resistance to paying, 181

taxi wars, 274 Te Water, Charles, 106, 107, n o Techipa, 258—60, 261, 285, 317 technology, military, 12, 23, 37 Telcast company, 216 television, introduction of, 148 Territorial Army, formation of, in Britain, 15 terrorism, 127, 132, 140, 212, 238 Terrorism Act (1967), 127, 129, 138, 149, 152, 155, 174, 225 Thatcher, Margaret, 213 Theron, General, 64 Third Division, 69 Third Force, 184, 273, 274 32 Battalion, 226, 234, 255, 256, 257 Thokoza, deployment of NPKF, 279 Thwaites, B.W., 62-3 tobacco, 106 Tobruk: capture of Second Division, 66, 67; siege of, 68 Tomlinson Commission (1955)* ll%

torture, 149, 302, 321 Total Onslaught, 164, 175, 176, 186, 187, 188, 195, 216, 237, 249, 250, 251, 306, townships, 180; raids on, 47 trade unions, 27, 28, 155, 173, 174, 185, 189, 190, 192, 293, 294; surveillance of, 51 Transitional Executive Council (TEC) 281, 283, 285; Act (1993), 278, 279 Transkei, 124, 189 Transkei Defence Force (TDF), 189, 278 Transkei Territorial Authority, 118 Transvaal, 2, 4, 11, 16, 25, 61, 72, 73, 86, 105 Transvaal Police, 24 Transvaal Volunteer Association, 16 Trapido, Stanley, 93 trekboere (trekking farmers), 2, 3, 4 trials of agitators, as public education, 149-50 Troskie, Boet, 169 Truman, Harry S., 74, 75 Trust Feed killings, 184 Truter, Colonel, 24 Truter, Theodore, 65 Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 321-2 turning of guerrillas, 173, 190— 1, 225, 235 201 Battalion, 221 202 Battalion, 256 Typographical Union, 27

AFRICA

Uitvoerende Komitee, 166

Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK), 151, 175, 193, 271, 275, 276, 277 Undesirables Special Deportation Act, 27 Uniao das Populacoes de Angola (UPA), 136 Uniao Nacional para a Independencia Total de Angola (UNITA), 136, 186, 208, 210, 211, 215, 219, 223, 226, 227, 228, 231, 232, 236, 240, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 258, 259, 261, 284, 309, 316 Union Defence Force (UDF), 21, 22, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 53, 54, 55, 60, 62, 69, 76, 78, 79, 91, 92—8, 99, 104, 105, n o , i n , 112, 135, 293, 296, 299; as white army, 294; composition of, 69; employment in, i n ; reorganization of, 96; resignations from, 113; size of establishment, 52; statistics for, 35 UDF Mounted Riflemen, 26 Union defence scheme, 16—17 Union of South Africa Act, 20 Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), 73, 74, 77, I O 2 , I O 7, 164, 175, 203, 204, 211, 216, 220, 228, 231, 232, 236, 250, 253, 257, 259, 284, 299, 301, 309, 316; collapse of, 245, 254; diplomatic relations with, 76 UNITA see Uniao Nacional para a Independencia Total de Angola United Democratic Front (UDF), 173, 246, 247, 248, 283 United Kingdom (UK), 2, 4, 5, n , 12, 14, 15, 37, 52, 56, 65, 97, 101, 103, 104, 108, 109, 112, 113, 139, 144, 153, 191, 203, 204, 205, 213, 214, 279, 296, 297, 298, 299, 308, 310; flight of capital from South Africa, 107; military, 3, 7 (operational practices taken as standard, 18); military needs of, 292, 293; military weakness of, 102; strategic interest in South Africa, 107; strategic problems of, 17 United Nations, 77, 136, 144, 145, 218, 236, 309; Resolution no. 276, 136; Resolution no. 435, 186, 240, 259, 262, 263; Security Council, 206 United Party, 57, 58, 59, 62, 63, 64, 65, 212 United South African National Party, 56 United States of America (USA), 67, 71, 74, 102, 1 0 4 , 1 0 6 , 133, 1 4 0 , 2 0 7 , 2 0 8 , 2 1 1 , 214, 2 2 0 , 2 2 9 , 2 3 7 , 2 4 0 , 252, 2 5 8 , 2 6 0 ,

261, 298, 308, 319, 320; and nuclear issue, 205; interest in South African uranium, 204, 205; policy on South Africa, 235-7 universities, turmoil in, 173

355

INDEX University of Potchefstroom Regiment, 257 UPA see Uniao das Populates de Angola upgrading of communities, 181, 182 uranium, 206, 298; deal with US, 308; discovery of, 204; sale of, 299 Urban Areas Act (1923), 49 urbanization, 73, 87, 297, 300; control of, 112

Uruguay, 134 utilitarianism of state, 86, 87 Valindaba nuclear plant, 206 Van Breda, Louis, 233 van den Bergh, Hendrik, 126, 127, 130, 131, 1 5h X54, 307, 3M van den Bos, Willem, 95, 96 Van der Bijl, H.J., 70 Van der Merwe, C.J., 152 Van der Waals, C.J.J., 141 van Dunem, Afonse, 215, 253 Van Rensburg, Commandant-General, 60, 63 Van Ryneveld, Pierre, 60, 69, 94, 97, 109 vaskyk operations, 222 veikoms, 166, 167, 168, 195, 248, 250, 272, 311, 314 veldkommandant (field commandant), 1 veldkornet (field cornet), 2, 24 veldkorpomal (field corporal), 1 Venda, 5; subjugation of, 7 Venda Defence Forces, 189 Venter Report, 162 Versailles, Treaty of, 31, 298 Verwoerd, H.F., 87, 91, 118, 119, 135, 140, 205

veterans, assistance for, 31 Vietnam, 134, 187 Viljoen, Constand, 224, 282 violence, 121, 194, 270, 271, 273, 274, 283, 301; acceptance of, 120; against black people, 48; against state property, 247, 248; and the state, 246-8; as legitimate means of opposition, 301; 'black on black', 246; conspiratorial, 155; in resistance to state, 163, 165; legitimacy of, 127; monopoly of means of, 4—7; on the streets, 245, 249; reasons for, 314; role of, 313; use of, 3 Visible Policing Division, 275 Viviers, Jack, 169 Vlok, Adriaan, 249, 273 volunteerism, 1, 15, 16, 17, 29, 62, 99, 103, 104, 261, 293, 298 volunteers, 68, 97; police as, 24; size of contingents, 31 Von Lettow Vorbeck, General, 30

voorsprong operations, 224, 226, 227 Voortrekkerhoogte incident, 311 Vorster, B.J., 65, 125, 126, 130, 131, 132, 135, 153, 154, 155, 162, 174, 206, 207, 210, 218, 219, 220, 223, 238, 304, 305, 308, 309

Waddington Report, 180 wage labour, 100; creation of, 89 wages, 26, 36, 73, 92, 179; of ACF, 52; of informers, 51; of police, 99, 129, 179; of soldiers, 58, 59 Wankie disaster, 138, 139 war: as form of political culture, 6; total, 23

War Measure 145, 76 War Measures Amendment Act (1940), 65 War Office (UK), 19; search for manpower, 20 see also manpower War Veterans Torch Commando, 93, 94 Water Police, 24 Watergate, 211 Wessels, Leon, 251 What the Soldier Thinks?, 59, 97 white people, 47, 71, 87, 89, 91, 94, 113, 229, 295, 296, 300, 301, 314; access to land and labour, 295; and conscription, 147; arming of, 292; as officers, 121; as percentage of state employment, 268; as police, 54, 99, 123, 138, 188; as radicals, 130; as soldiers, 2, 18, 30, 66y 138, 177, 230, 294, 304, 310 (casualties among, 258 (unacceptable, 261)); conscription of, 260; educational establishments, 173; employed by state, 93; in command of South African Police, 179; in commandos, 1; population of, 31; provocation by, 181 White Right, 188, 245, 251, 281, 282, 318 White supremacy, 49, 85-92, 188, 300 Windhoek, taken by SAP, 61 Winning Hearts and Minds (WHAM) see hearts and minds Witwatersrand, 17, 23, 33, 77, 142, 151, 176, 178, 185, 204, 218; strikes in, 25, 26, 32, 76 women: character of, 171; structural position of, 172 World Bank, 228, 319 World War I, 28; South African participation in, 29, 30 World War II, 56, 65-7, 68, 73, 88, 89-92, 9 3 , 9 7 , 1 0 1 , 1 0 3 , 1 0 6 , 1 0 8 , 1 0 9 , 113, 1 1 9 ,

126, 135, 300; impact on Africa, 296—8 Xhosa, conquest of, 7

356

THE MILITARY IN THE MAKING OF SOUTH AFRICA

young people in townships, behaviour of, 277

Zaire, 211, 229, 236, 256, 316 Zambia, 139, 175, 303 Zimbabwe, 138, 139, 162, 212, 213, 214, 218, 234, 235, 238, 239

Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU), 138, 219, 226, 309, 310

Zimbabwe African People's Union (ZAPU), 139, 219, 238 Zululand, 6, 24; invasion of, 8 Zulus, 5, 6, 7, 11, 300; subjugation of, 7