A remarkable man (Part 2)

By Herbert Beukes

Office philosophy

If we escape punishment for our vices, why should we complain if we are not rewarded for our virtues? John C Collins

He would often remind his staff that they should not expect a hello or goodbye every time they saw him enter or leave the office. In our office relationships, he often explained, we did not have the luxury of being diplomatic with one another. If we were overly sensitive about politeness and “good manners”, we would end up just being nice to each other all day long and not getting through the day’s work. It was his way of saying that staff members should not feel offended if he appeared not to acknowledge a “good morning” at first sight, something that he was known for and seemed to be aware of. It was not a display of a particular mood about anyone or anything.

An illustrative example was the day when Alwyn Schlebusch was at the receiving end of proving Pik’s maxim. On the particular occasion I had accompanied Mr Botha to the Houses of Parliament from his 17th floor office across the street. As we were entering the buildings, I noticed the justice minister approaching. Pik Botha was talking to me and it became clear that either he was not registering in his mind or that he was simply going to ignore his approaching colleague. 

By now I was more focused on the snub to the justice minister than listening to what the foreign minister was telling me. As the two were just about an arm’s length away from each other, Mr Schlebusch hesitated for a moment, expecting Mr Botha to pause for a brief collegial conversation. It happened all the time.

Pik did not so much as look up towards his colleague. And on went Mr Schlebusch. I broke into Pik’s animated monologue to remind him that the minister of justice had actually tried to get his attention as they were crossing. Mr Botha doubled back abruptly and at a lively pace set off after his colleague. He went into Mr Schlebusch’s parliamentary office and spent the next full hour inside! 

Pik Botha developed his own, home-brand mechanism for dealing with political disappointments and setbacks at the hands of both his domineering president and mean and spiteful Party colleagues. Certainly, he had his detractors, though most of the criticism was fuelled by personal considerations. 

He seldom showed himself revengeful against anyone who had wronged him politically. In politics that is a rarity. He was philosophical about unreasonable indignities. He often mused that he had got off scot-free when he had actually deserved punishment, so when he suffered unfairness, or unjust treatment, he simply absorbed it and moved on. On balance, he felt the odds had still favoured him. There was no self-pity in the man’s life!

A truly admirable trait in Pik Botha was his concern for the underdog. It was especially in the early years of his tenure as foreign minister that this sensitivity was revealed. I often remembered his being troubled by the dilemma that political loyalties posed for ethical rightness. One such outcome, where he clearly responded to his conscience, was his support of an unknown black man from the Transkei who was no more than a file name to him. The man’s extradition was sought by the Matanzimas but Pik Botha resisted the claims and also the pressure of his colleague, the justice minister. It was a case of justice winning out over a legality.

Pik’s aversion to arbitrary unfairness also explained his opposition to the  government’s plan to deny a South African passport to the Reverend Beyers Naudé when his lengthy banning order was due to expire. Mr Botha saw it as unduly harsh and counselled against it in cabinet. It was not popular but it was right. A pure hand needs no glove to cover it.

Without a natural constituency in domestic politics for his portfolio, Mr Botha made it his business to make the department of foreign affairs relevant in the public mind. One year the local Cape Town paper, Die Burger, published a large picture on the front page of the foreign ministry’s offices in the Verwoerd building, as seen from the Houses of Parliament. What made the picture newsworthy was that it was taken at night, with the offices brightly illuminated, and it was the night before Christmas. The message was unmistakable: Pik’s staff were still at work after hours on Christmas Eve. He treasured this kind of good press and so he should have. 

Pik had drawn more than a fair proportion of adherents and devotees over the years and decidedly more so during the earlier part of his political career. Even his harshest critics would agree that Pik Botha had been a crowd puller at rallies for his Party. At the risk of over-stating the case, public support for the National Party, especially at election times, showed a strong correlation with his popularity at large. And yet the Party’s office bearers – the MP caucus – persistently refused him appropriate recognition.

The typical follower defied profiling. They were young – as young as at primary school; they were elderly tannies who no longer minded disclosing their age; they came from the platteland and from the big cities. He appealed to the sparsely educated as well as to the professionals. He spoke their language at whatever level was appropriate and he did so with an appearance of sincerity and contagious enthusiasm for his belief in what he wanted his country to be. They loved him for it. The flow of personal letters of appreciation and admiration was a steady stream and in quantities any politician would welcome.

Over the years a special bond developed by correspondence between Pik and an elderly tant Hannie of Boksburg on Johannesburg’s East Rand. Without ever meeting him in person, she had become one of Pik Botha’s most loyal admirers. Her letters were proof that Pik’s popularity spanned the age and class divide. It brightened her life just to let him know she was praying for him and was grateful for what he was doing for the country. She would always end the letter with an appropriate Bible verse. Pik insisted that the letters be answered and when he signed a typed letter he would always 

personalise it by adding a note in longhand at the bottom. When she died, Frans Stroebel, Pik Botha’s private secretary attended the funeral. Years after the event he still spoke movingly of the recognition given there of their special relationship and of  Pik Botha’s kind gesture in honouring the relationship by sending his private secretary to represent him at the funeral.

At another tier, Pik Botha enjoyed and inspired loyalty and support from the ranks of the younger generation of National Party members in parliament. No wonder they regarded it as a natural progression for him to present himself as a candidate for the leadership of the National Party, and consequently as a future prime minister of the country at some stage. That he did it so soon after being elevated to the Vorster cabinet was perhaps an early sign of impatience with the glacial progress of politics as opposed to the perceived urgency that was required. Unfortunately it proved a touch overly ambitious and premature for the time.

The interest of admirers and dispassionate observers alike was often displayed in a curiosity about the persona of Pik Botha. What did Pik Botha talk about when he unwired himself from government work? I ran into this question in both the US and in South Africa from people who knew about him but had never met him in person. The reason why they were interested in something as mundane was that he had a different image from the stereotyped Afrikaner politician. 

He was from a new breed of politician and he was charismatic. The little they had seen or heard had triggered their curiosity enough for them to want to know what moved this man’s mind, other than government business.

A friend related an anecdote about a meeting – a national prayer breakfast – in Lusaka before the 1994 elections, when Pik Botha gave a talk with several leaders from black African states in attendance. The person telling the story was accompanying Mr Thabo Mbeki, who was then still ANC head of international affairs, and two other ranking office bearers in a small private aircraft from South Africa. Mr Botha’s address at the Lusaka meeting was of the stirring kind and at the end of his remarks he had the audience on their feet applauding him.

On the way back to South Africa, they were talking about the day’s events and Pik’s speech, when an Mbeki ally volunteered complimentary remarks about the speech. Mr Mbeki, however, was less than appreciative of it, to the point of being officious and dismissive. A prominent black leader from the ANC’s internal wing, who was later included in Mr Mandela’s cabinet, turned to Mr Mbeki: “Thabo, you may not agree with what Pik said, but you’ve got to admit that the man gave a masterful performance. He was good. The audience, including those African leaders, were eating out of his hand!” That’s what set the man apart from journeyman politicians.