FROM THE NEW YORK TIMES ARCHIVES NELSON MANDELA: SOUTH AFRICA’S LIBERATOR TBook Collections Copyright © 2014 The New York Times Company. All rights reserved. Cover photograph of Nelson Mandela by Ozier Muhammad/The New York Times This ebook was created using Vook. All of the articles in this work originally appeared in The New York Times. eISBN: 9781681052571 The New York Times Company New York, NY www.nytimes.com www.nytimes.com/tbooks Someday, African National Congress May Hit The Target By JOSEPH LELYVELD August 16, 1981 JOHANNESBURG — Elsie Sekanka, a black domestic servant on a military base just outside Pretoria, received a message last week that was meant for white South Africa. It was a 122-millimeter Soviet-made rocket and it came crashing through the roof of her room in the servants’ quarters behind an officer’s house, exploding near her bed without causing her any injury. If that rocket or three others that fell on the base without exploding had struck anything of military significance, the message would have been that the outlawed African National Congress, the main movement fighting white rule, had developed the capacity to operate effectively near the South African capital. Instead, the message was ambiguous: that the movement’s sabotage campaign is still hampered by ineptitude and that South Africa, because of the prevalence of blacks as laborers in areas officially deemed to be “white,” offers few targets that don’t put black lives at risk. Incidents of sabotage have been occurring almost weekly in the past few months, but the cost to the white state is probably less than what it loses when the price of gold dips by a couple of dollars an ounce. Yet the attacks serve as a form of political graffiti, reminding whites and blacks alike of the existence of a resistance movement and of the industrial state’s vulnerability to well-conceived assaults on its infrastructure. The African National Congress is certainly more than the sum of its efforts underground or in exile, where it has been reasonably effective on the diplomatic front, spurring boycotts and keeping opposition to white rule at the top of the continent’s agenda. It is also a political tradition, serving as the main vehicle for the aspirations of those South African blacks — as far as anyone can tell, a majority — who think the solution to the country’s conflicts is simply to make whites share power with the country’s black majority wherever they wield it. The banning of the A.N.C. in 1960 climaxed half a century of consistently peaceful, and futile, protest by the organization, which was influenced at its inception in 1912 by Gandhi’s civil disobedience campaigns among Indians here. Only after it was forced underground did its military arm, Umkonto we Sizwe or “Spear of the Nation,” surface. The government calls its members “terrorists,” but the military branch has sought to avoid actions that jeopardize civilians of any hue. The explosions this month in downtown East London and a Port Elizabeth shopping center were so out of keeping with its recent tactics that the question was raised of whether another group had come on the scene, perhaps the rival Pan-Africanist Congress, which has been paralyzed in recent years by dissension in its exile wing and nearly invisible within South Africa. Some blacks who acknowledge privately that they are close to the African National Congress (belonging to or supporting the aims of a banned organization is a crime), contend that its tactics will inevitably become harsher when the black masses understand the necessity for violent struggle and the underground is strong enough to sustain it. The greatest restraint now isn’t doctrine but the effectiveness of the state security apparatus, which has consistently managed to penetrate the movement, lacing its ranks with black and white spies and agents provocateurs. Armed with sweeping powers, the police are able to detain people without trial and without even having to acknowledge that they are holding them. The authorities are regularly accused of torture, but they also have been able to use material incentives to gain the cooperation of blacks. In these circumstances, the African National Congress cannot launch widespread operations without putting its relatively few trained insurgents at severe risk. Indications are that the military arm is holding down recruitment to try to deal with infiltration. According to South African estimates, fewer than 1,500 men are trained or in training in Angola, East Germany or the Soviet Union. Most of these left South Africa after the black revolts in Soweto and other centers in 1976 and 1977. The movement’s greatest weakness is its lack of a reliable clandestine structure within South Africa. It has a network of sympathizers, blacks and even a few whites who are ready to take chances for it. But its operations almost invariably involve sending agents into the country across a border — the usual route is from Mozambique via Swaziland — and getting them out as soon as possible. South Africa’s security system doesn’t stop at its borders. In January, its forces attacked congress buildings in Mozambique’s capital, Maputo. On July 31, a key figure in the movement and its chief representative in Zimbabwe, Joe Gqabi, was gunned down outside his house in Salisbury. Zimbabwe blamed South African agents. From the vantage point of South Africa, it is difficult to say whether the recent increase in underground activity is meant as reprisal or as part of a long-term strategy for seizing power. The indications have been that the African National Congress is hoping to serve as a catalyst for a mass rising, rather than to launch a conventional guerrilla war against Africa’s strongest power. For this reason, the battleground is often said to be the factory floor, where black trade unions have been allowed a tenuous legal existence in recent years. The attraction of the labor front for supporters of the congress is partly ideological: If the unions can be seen as key agents of change, then the revolution can be viewed as a class rather than as a racial struggle. In the complex South African setting, however, deciding who may belong to the revolution — more specifically, whether whites can play a role — is the main issue among blacks. The A.N.C., which has maintained a tactical alliance for years with South Africa’s small Communist Party, has traditionally resisted the Pan-Africanist line that the struggle is essentially, if not exclusively, for blacks. Many of the young blacks who went into exile five years ago came out of what was known as the Black Consciousness movement and were ideologically closer to the Pan- Africanist Congress than to the A.N.C. In choosing between the two, however, they put aside ideology and went for the movement that seemed most effective. Reports filtering out of Robben Island, where South Africa holds most of its black political prisoners, suggest that younger members of the African National Congress there sometimes get impatient with their putative leader, Nelson Mandela, on grounds that he is too moderate. But young blacks in the townships seem increasingly firm in their identification with the congress and with Mr. Mandela as its leader. “Students have high hopes because they know they will eventually see the liberation,” a young student activist remarked recently, explaining his readiness to face surveillance and arrest. “All of them feel it doesn’t matter when it is coming. They see it as if it is already here.” A few days later, the young man was jailed. In the seemingly endless cycle here of challenge and repression, he is being held without charge under the Terrorism Act. South African Woman ‘Banned’ But Unbowed By JOSEPH LELYVELD, Special to The New York Times January 7, 1982 BRANDFORT, South Africa, Jan. 4 — The police station on the main street of this small farming town in the Orange Free State has two entrances, one marked “white” and the other “nonwhite.” Winnie Mandela, wife of the imprisoned leader of the banned African National Conference, went through the one marked “white” today when she reported for the first time under a new order that banishes and confines her to Brandfort for another five years. The order requires her to report to the police weekly, which is pure formality because she is kept under daily and often nightly surveillance in the hope, she believes, that she will be caught in some infraction of what is known as her “ban.” Both sides recognize it as a contest of strong wills. Going through the wrong door at the police station — as Mrs. Mandela can be relied upon to do for the next 259 weeks — expresses more than the contempt of a vivid and sophisticated woman for the racial conventions imposed by the dominant Afrikaners on this provincial community, her place of exile since 1977. It is also a way of saying she expects no quarter and gives none. When the commander of the security police in the Free State turned up last week to serve her with her fifth banning order since 1962 — the year her husband, Nelson Mandela, was arrested — she tried not to look at him, she recalled this afternoon. “I just asked whether it was any different from the last one and told them to put it on the table,” she said. “You cannot pretend it is not painful, but you develop a type of immunity after having the same pain inflicted on you over and over again.” Like the banning order that was to expire two days after the new one was served, it not only confined her to Brandfort but placed her under house arrest every night and weekend in her three-room township house, which has neither electricity nor plumbing. It also forbade her to attend “gatherings” and made it a crime for her words to be published anywhere in South Africa. The only difference was a slight easing on the conditions under which she can receive visitors. This was not done for her convenience but that of the police, she contended, so they can keep tabs on whom she is seeing. Mrs. Mandela, who has been charged eight times with breaking her various banning orders and convicted twice, takes the latest as signifying the unyielding quality of Afrikaner domination. And so she talks about the way the Afrikaners think, much the way many Afrikaners tend to talk about the way blacks think. “No, the Afrikaner is not prepared for change; not even Reagan can deceive himself into believing that,” she said, writing off the possibility of a negotiated settlement on the protracted issue of South-West Africa. “That’s just not the Afrikaner. He knows only one language.” She meant, of course, the language of force. And yet she was able to laugh richly, the way a woman might laugh over an extravagant compliment, at the implied tribute in her ban. “Why should an insignificant woman in the backveld of the Free State be a threat to the Afrikaner’s kingdom?” she asked in tones of deepening irony and pleasure. “You know, they are God’s chosen people. They are so strong. The country is so rich, so stable. Why be afraid of a little ‘Communist’ who belongs to an organization they have wiped out?” Still speaking in an ironic vein, Mrs. Mandela returned to the subject of President Reagan. How was it, she asked, that the Reagan Administration could resort to economic sanctions against Poland but reject them against South Africa? Weren’t sanctions “taboo”? The situations in the two countries were now “exactly the same,” she contended, with Solidarity experiencing in Poland the fate the African National Congress has experienced here for two decades. In the last months, she has twice been given restricted furloughs from Brandfort. The first time was to travel — by a route determined by the security police — to a brother’s funeral in Transkei. On the way back, the car in which she was being driven was forced off a bridge by a truck. Mrs. Mandela emerged with a broken arm and several cracked ribs. When she recovered enough to travel again, she was permitted to go to Robben Island off Cape Town, the jail that is her husband’s Elba. She saw him on Christmas and the day after, each time for 45 minutes, which was 15 minutes longer than any previous visit. They were not allowed to discuss anything political, including her ban, but it was plain, she said, “he assumed I would still be in Brandfort for a very long time.” This premonition was confirmed two days after she returned, with the delivery of her new ban. Mrs. Mandela, who is 47 years old, expects no leniency from the authorities but, she said, she also does not expect to be banned forever. “We consider ourselves very lucky to belong to a generation that will actually see the liberation of our country,” she declared in a tone that was firm but not insistent, as if she were merely expressing an obvious fact. Jailed South Africa Rebel Gives Truce Terms By ALAN COWELL, Special to The New York Times January 27, 1985 JOHANNESBURG, Jan. 26 — Nelson Mandela, South Africa’s most prominent jailed nationalist, was quoted today in a rare interview as saying his armed followers would call a truce in their war against white rule if the authorities would “legalize us, treat us like a political party and negotiate with us.” “Until they do, we will have to live with the armed struggle,” said Mr. Mandela, who is regarded by many blacks here as their true leader. He was quoted by Lord Bethell, a British member of the European Parliament, who talked with Mr. Mandela earlier this month at Pollsmoor prison in Cape Town. The interview is to appear Sunday in a London newspaper, The Mail on Sunday. The nationalist, who has been in jail for over two decades and who has been permitted to give a newspaper interview in prison only once before, in the 1960’s, said his organization, the African National Congress, would not halt its campaign of sabotage “unconditionally.” The South African government demands that it abandon violence before any negotiations can take place. The interview gave rare insights into Mr. Mandela’s prison life and into his political and personal attitudes toward the whites who imprisoned him. It presented a picture of a thoughtful, studious man who regretted violence but felt forced to advocate it by the policies of the white government, and of a man who has lost no defiance or commitment to his cause during imprisonment. It seemed also to offer a further indication of the terms on which the African National Congress would engage in negotiations with the country’s white rulers. The idea of a truce has seemed unlikely in the sustained confrontation between Mr. Mandela’s African National Congress and the authorities. The prospect of discussions seems remote, since the authorities regard the Congress as a severe and Soviet-inspired threat to their continued supremacy and rule out its other conditions for negotiations, such as demands for the release of Mr. Mandela and other political prisoners. South African authorities have not said why they agreed to permit Mr. Mandela to be interviewed by Lord Bethell. A request by Senator Edward M. Kennedy to meet with