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Tuesday, 4 April 2017

A remarkable man (Part 4)

By Herbert Beukes
Parliament
Pik Botha was seldom criticised for matters related to foreign affairs, but although popular among the voters and even among segments of the disenfranchised, he often gave the impression of not belonging in the Party structures. Unlike some of his colleagues of the time, he could never relish intra-Party squabbles across the aisle. To the observer in the gallery he appeared ill-at-ease and uncomfortable in that role. The same could not be said of Pik’s performance as a public speaker in parliament. Addressing the House on a foreign policy matter, he was eloquent and skilled in delivery, particularly when he was dealing with his budget vote.

In defending his government against local critics and hoping to gain a receptive ear, Pik Botha was fond of cataloguing his own exertions - his long and late hours at work and frequent absences from home and family, being in the firing line of the UN for his country’s sake, taking on the moribund Organisation of African Unity in forceful reprimands, etc and casting them as efforts to fend off foreign hostility toward the South African nation and the country’s interests. Whatever the intent, the outcome was mostly effective and because he had always enjoyed a good relationship with the press, the public was kept aware of these doings.

But, alas, the Hansard editor! Pik was his annoyer-in-chief, a serial “infringer” of Hansard protocol. Hansard was the official record of all verbal proceedings in parliament. The way things worked was that the Hansard office would let the speaker in a debate have a draft copy of the text within 48 hours of delivery, as a courtesy for technical clean up, i.e. dotting i’s and crossing t’s. Unlike newspaper copy, substantive changes to Hansard texts were not allowed lest the meaning was changed, which would defeat the purpose of accurate record keeping. Pik’s edited drafts were returned to the Hansard office as pieces worthy of poetry. As accomplices in the editing, we viewed the sparring with the Hansard office good naturally.

His Party’s whips had their hands full in getting Pik Botha to grace the debating chambers with his presence more regularly. He was spoiled with a cabinet portfolio that provided good reasons for staying above the fray of Party politics and attending to his primary functions of managing the country’s foreign relations. Dealing with the affairs of State vis-à-vis foreign governments yielded benefits of a different nature to the government than humdrum Party politics. Ironically, parliament was also the arena where Pik was at his most vulnerable because of the rigid system of seniority, hierarchy, its unending caucusing and political and professional jealousies. 

He experienced several low blows in the House but nothing as painful as when he was forced by president PW Botha to apologise in a packed chamber, in the full glare of the media, for a spontaneous and prescient statement that he would be prepared to serve in a future government under a black president.

It was customary for ministers to submit contributions for the president’s (formerly the prime minister’s) annual statement at the opening of parliament. Between assignments at the embassy in Washington during the late 70s and early 80s, I caused some uncomfortable moments for Mr Botha with remarks that I prepared for possible use by then prime minister PW Botha. One particular phrase had unintended consequences when the leader of the Progressive Federal Party, Dr Van Zyl Slabbert needled the prime minister because of its political ambiguity.

When Pik got back from a “courtesy” session in parliament where he had listened to the official Opposition’s opening salvo against the prime minister’s address, he wanted to see me right away. PW Botha had used the phrase “participatory democracy” as an idea for South Africa’s divided society and the PFP leader in his rebuttal speech had put Mr Botha on the spot for his use and understanding of the phrase. The sharp-witted Slabbert explained that he had done some research on the phrase in context and found one of the earliest references traceable to the Communist Party in France! This was a full-blooded quandary and unforeseen. PW wanted to know from Pik how best to explain the dilemma.

Pik Botha made for his office and summoned me. “ Kyk nou in watter gemors het jy die eerste minister laat beland!” (See what a mess you have landed the prime minister in!) “By the way, what exactly did you have in mind with ‘participatory democracy’?” I did the best I could and even went back to my notes. Eventually it was not really a big problem for the prime minister, although the moment understandably annoyed Pik.

It was a continuing challenge to Pik’s conscience of which he was often reminded in and around his office to respect Party loyalty and at the same time not to compromise the belief in the principle of fairness which had inspired so many of us when he took office. It was not always easy and sometimes his complicity in failure was disappointing. I recall one such incident with sadness for its ungenerous spirit.

The topic was what was then commonly referred to as “the South West Africa case” and it cropped up as part of the annual department of foreign affairs budget vote. The debate soon lost its structure and became something of a political brawl, but it was the means of combat that was unfortunate. The two main combatants were Pik and Colin Eglin, the principal spokesman on foreign affairs for the opposition Progressive Federal Party. The contentious point related to criticism of the South African government and its foreign minister by then US ambassador at the United Nations, Don McHenry. In the debate Mr Eglin recounted this criticism. Now there was nothing wrong with Mr Eglin bringing this to parliament’s attention but the emphasis soon shifted to impugnment that lost touch with the logic of the debate.

Relying on his superior information resources office staff at the UNPik Botha was able to disclose to the House, with just a touch of hauteur, that Colin Eglin had elicited the criticism from McHenry in a telephone call to the ambassador, in order to use it against the government. Pik Botha was now more interested in emphasising how Mr Eglin had acquired the criticism than what McHenry had or had not said. The message was clear: a foreign government official had been employed as an accomplice against his own government. Mr Eglin’s motives and loyalties stood implicated as Pik Botha delivered to the Party. He was clinical. He had the whip hand. Colin Eglin had been delivered for the fall.

But in the context of the minister’s signature appeals for change and fairness, it was not a proud moment. This was not the same foreign minister who had chosen to save the black man from extradition to the Matanzimas nor the Pik Botha who acknowledged the wrong in the justice system’s conviction of John Matisson for speaking the truth in the To the Point scandal nor the man who would later stand up for Beyers Naudé in a prejudiced political climate.


The best way of convincing men of error is not so much to denounce the error as to proclaim the truth more clearly. Anon

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