attentively. The nineteen parties, with the exception of three right-wing parties and three left-wing splinter parties, which were absent, represented the full political spectrum.
The main political parties were all present – except Chief Minister Mangosuthu Buthelezi of the Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) and the Zulu monarch, King Goodwill Zwelithini, an early indication of the obstacles that were destined to surface from that quarter.
The Codesa negotiation process did not simply fall out of the sky.
Although these days he receives scant recognition for his role, the preliminary step towards the ‘new South Africa’ was taken by President PW Botha in 1988, when he agreed that secret, exploratory – and, later, groundbreaking – talks could take place between representatives of the white National Party (NP) government and the undisputed symbol of the black liberation struggle, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela.
In this, the National Intelligence Service (NI), which I headed from 1980 to 1992, played a cardinal role. In the course of the 48 rounds of talks held with Mandela, who was put in contact with the ANC leadership in Lusaka and his Rivonia comrades in prison, it became clear that there was sufficient common ground between these two nationalist organisations, the NP and ANC, to carve out a new political dispensation. This, despite the fact that Mandela and the ANC refused to renounce violence – which, for Botha, was a prerequisite for Mandela’s release.
Nevertheless, in July 1989, Botha agreed to meet Mandela secretly – an interaction, contrary to what both sides feared, that took place good-naturedly and cordially.
When Botha resigned and FW de Klerk took over shortly afterwards, Mandela’s release could clearly not be postponed for much longer. However, the external wing of the ANC first had to be won over to the idea of negotiation with the ‘racist white minority regime’. It would simply not do if radical elements outside the country began to suspect that Mandela was ‘selling out’ the liberation struggle.
In the end, these talks took place without Mandela’s full approval – despite concerted efforts at persuasion by me and my deputy, Mike Louw. Mandela was afraid that discussions between representatives of the government and the ANC’s external wing could divide the organisation. Even today, many individuals who wear revolutionary blinkers believe the absolute rubbish that it was our objective to weaken the ANC with divide-and-rule tactics.
There was no time to spare; the wheels were duly set in motion for Operation Flair. While any responsible intelligence service must, naturally, act within the law and with the necessary mandate, we could hardly inform the politicians of the details of the highly secret plan to make contact with the ANC.
With this in mind, the day after FW de Klerk’s election as state president on 15 August 1989, a carefully worded proposal was submitted to the State Security Council (SSC). It read:
It is imperative that more information be gained and processed on the ANC and on the aims, alliances and potential accessibility of its respective leaders and groupings. To realise these objectives, additional direct action will be necessary, in particular with the assistance of the functionaries of the National Intelligence Service.1
The SSC approved this unanimously. I must admit that I did not inform De Klerk about our secret, but well-meant, motives at this stage.
The most obvious member of the ANC leadership to contact overseas was the influential Thabo Mbeki, the organisation’s head of international affairs, who was based in London. There were many avenues for us to contact him and the external wing, but we had to use one that Mbeki trusted and considered credible. Such an avenue was the esteemed Stellenbosch academic and philosopher, Willie Esterhuyse, who had already built up a good personal relationship with Mbeki, thanks to a series of talks held at Mells Park House in England. Mbeki and the ANC’s external wing had to feel secure in the belief that this was not just another false alarm – that the government was serious about negotiating and would act honourably.
By this time, an assortment of self-appointed intermediaries between the government and the ANC had come to the fore. These communicated confusing and sometimes toadying messages to Lusaka.2 The government could simply not afford this. To complicate matters even further, representatives of the government and the ANC were being watched with eagle eyes, particularly by secret service agencies in America and Britain – the CIA and MI6 (Secret Intelligence Service, SIS) – and we could not allow them to manipulate the process from the outset, based on their information about developments.
We met Esterhuyse in a safe house, a flat in Somerset West. He agreed to communicate our intentions to Mbeki in London. After solemn assurances from Esterhuyse that it was not a trap, Mbeki agreed to a meeting with representatives of NI in Lucerne, Switzerland.
After many calls between Maritz Spaarwater (alias John Campbell), NI’s chief director of operations, and Thabo Mbeki (alias John Simelane), it was arranged that the two, each with a colleague, would meet on 12 September in the Palace Hotel in Lucerne.
Early that evening, Mike Louw and Spaarwater booked into the Palace in two adjoining rooms with a shared sitting area. Mbeki and Jacob Zuma (alias Jack Simelane) had landed at Geneva earlier that same day and travelled to Lucerne by car, unaware that they were being followed the entire way by NI agents. At the reception desk in the Palace, they were shown to rooms 338 and 339.
The men on both sides were tense and suspicious. Mbeki and Zuma had every reason to mistrust the situation. ‘It could have been a trap; on opening the door, they could have been mown down,’ Louw said later. So, they left the room door open.
Eventually the two ANC leaders arrived and, when they saw the two South Africans, they walked in.
‘Well, here we are … bloody terrorists and, for all you know, fucking communists as well,’ Mbeki said coolly.3
‘We all laughed. It broke the ice,’ said Louw.4
Four days after President De Klerk’s epoch-making speech in Parliament on 2 February 1990, Louw and Spaarwater were back in Lucerne. This time they met Mbeki and Aziz Pahad in the Palace Hotel. The NI men still travelled under false names and carried false passports to avoid attracting undue attention.
The atmosphere was relaxed and everyone was in high spirits in the afterglow of 2 February. But the time for getting to know one another had passed and there were serious issues on the agenda: how members of the ANC, the Pan Africanist Congress of Azania (PAC) and the South African Communist Party (SACP) – until a few days previously, still banned organisations – were to be brought back into the country; how to prevent the security forces from cracking down on the ‘terrorists’; how to prevent right-wing white extremists from taking the law into their own hands … procedures and structures had to be put in place to manage all these aspects.
The government’s representatives insisted that the ANC leadership at the highest level, preferably its National Executive Committee (NEC), should react positively to De Klerk’s announcements of 2 February; that the organisation should exercise greater discipline to control protest action inside the country; and that a procedure be agreed upon to end the armed struggle. The group decided to form four working committees to handle urgent matters: Mandela’s release; the release of political prisoners and those in detention; and facilitating structures for talks between the government and the ANC, and those between the NI and the ANC’s intelligence network.
Two weeks later, I was joined by Mike Louw and Fanie van der Merwe, the adviser
