THE SIEGE OF
SOUTHERN AFRICA

by

Douglas Reed

*

To

LORELEI and LORELLE

*

Published 1974

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Foreword

In 1948-9, when this was written, it was a very long shot even for a man of my experience.[2] In 1948-9 Africa was a minuscule dot on the outer periphery of the radar screen of international affairs and events. It was not present in the mind of the public masses at all. Africa was for them a large place far away which they knew nothing about (as Mr. Neville Chamberlain might have said).

That was to be radically changed in the 1960's when, by obvious preconcerting at the super-national or behind the scenes level, a propaganda campaign equivalent in its noise and intensity to a barrage on the Somme in 1916 or a thousand-bomber raid on Hamburg in 1944 was suddenly opened against the remnant of White-ruled Africa because it did not lie down and let the tidal wave of massacre, one-man-dictatorship and terrorist police sweep over it from the north, where one newly "emergent" state after another demonstrated the abiding validity of old Tippu Tib's dictum that "the man with the gun will always rule Africa".

I also discovered in those far-off days of the Forties, when the word "Africa" was not present at all in the mind of the masses at large (today it preponderates in the screaming daily headlines and violent opinions about it are loud on the lips of every initiated conspirator or imbecilic infatuate in the world), very large plans for Africa were already shaped in those secret places "behind the scenes whence the world is truly governed" (Disraeli).

Thus a Mr. Truman from Missouri, having ascended the Democratic elevator from the Vice-Presidential to the Presidential floor at the close of Mr. Roosevelt's catastrophic fourteen years, was soon prompted to announce a programme for "saving the world from Communism" which contained a "Fourth Point", "a defence master plan to open up Africa South of the Sahara". This envisaged a "huge project" for building roads and railways between the African possessions of Britain and those of other countries, and establishing "new airways and modernizing scores of new ports". (Long before any of these blessings could accrue, Britain had been bereft of all "possessions in Africa".)

Intrigued by the discovery of this stupendous scheme for developing Africa, I pursued my researches and found that a similarly stupendous scheme had already been outlined in a book by the then American Communist leader, Mr. Earl Browder. Mr. Browder's vision (or his masters'; Communist leaders in countries outside the Soviet area do not have such ideas of their own) was that America should underwrite "a gigantic programme for the industrialization of Africa ... large-scale plans for railroad and highway building ... all-round modernization ... in undeveloped areas".

Fine and fair words, but all that came of them in the next twenty years was bloodshed, of Black men by Black men, on a scale probably greater than that of the Second World War. They revealed, however, the continued collusion of American and Communist strategy "behind the scenes", the earliest public sign of which was given by the words of the first of the puppet Presidents, Woodrow Wilson, to Congress in 1917 on the occasion of the Bolshevist Revolution: "Does not every American feel that assurance has been added to our hope for the future peace of the world by the wonderful and heartening things that have happened in the last ten weeks in Russia ... here is a fit partner for a league of honour".

A straight line runs from this early revelation through the fourteen Roosevelt years. President Roosevelt told a penitent Communist defector to "go jump in the lake" when informed with proof that his right hand "adviser" was a Soviet agent: the same who was the dying President's right hand adviser at Yalta when the decision was taken to transfer half of Europe from the Hitlerist to the Stalinist curse, and to drive out the Allies' Chinese allies from China and establish the Communists in their place. These are all matters of authentic and verifiable record. Some day a competent dramatist might take the Yalta Conference for his theme. The scene showing Stalin gazing sardonically at the dying President opposite him, surrounded by men whom Stalin well knew to be his (Stalin's) own men has all the stuff of high drama.

This shadow policy of parallelism with Communism in deeds while publicly professing inflexible antagonism to Communism continued through the presidencies of Truman and Eisenhower. Under President Nixon there was a recoil from it.

As far as Africa is concerned, at any rate, President Nixon took off the heat. He did not send "Special Emissaries for Africa", like the egregious Mr. Mennen "Soapy" Williams, to go round Africa calling for the South African Government to be "brought to its knees". Neither did he send members of his family to harangue students of South African universities about the evils of South Africa.

President Nixon, indeed, showed a sense of responsibility in world affairs: and because of that the termites in his administration, and those in other countries who also work "behind the scenes" under the cover-name of "liberalism", will break him if they can. The reader will be able to judge of that for himself by 1976. If this president can survive the international onslaught against him and can halt his country in doing the Communist revolution's work for it, which is what his predecessors did, the outlook for Africa, and for much else, would greatly improve. If the next President is of the Wilson-Roosevelt school, the world can, in my opinion, say goodbye to the United States it has known, and should watch out for its own survival.

And now, to Southern Africa and its beleaguerment.

Douglas Reed
South Africa, South West Africa,
Angola, Rhodesia, Lesotho,
Mozambique, Swaziland, Botswana,
1973-4.

Author's Note

I spent nearly a year between 1973 and 1974 travelling the immense area which contains these territories, and covered some 30,000 miles by jeep, landrover, military or civilian aircraft, army convoy, military or private car, and rail. My thanks are particularly due to the South African, Portuguese and Rhodesian authorities, who enabled me to go anywhere and to see whatever I wished in the terrorist-infested and other areas.

"Southern Africa", in the meaning of this book, is of course the part of Africa which so far has been spared the régime of massacre and gun-rule bequeathed to the remaining northern part by "the wind of change", and the words "The Siege" allude to the intense campaign waged from the outside world, and supported by arms, money and the most poisonous propaganda this writer has ever known, with the purpose of spreading the area of massacre and gun-rule to those parts which as yet have resisted the infection.

May 1974

D.R.

Chapter One

THE SIEGE

Siege: Operations of encamped attacking force to take or compel surrender of fortified place (Concise Oxford Dictionary); The investiture of a town or fortress by hostile troops in order to induce it to surrender either by starvation or by attack at a suitable juncture (Chambers Encyclopaedia); The "sitting down" of an army or military force before a fortified place for the purpose of taking it, either by direct military operations or by starving it into submission (Encyclopaedia Britannica).

This, in short, is a siege of a kind never before known in recorded history: but then, this century is like none in recorded history. To those inside the area of beleaguerment the noise from without is like that of the incessant howling of a pack of hyenas. The countries under this siege have offended none and threaten none. The siege began within a few years of the Second World War, which ended with the abandonment of half Europe to the Communist tyranny of which Hitler's was but a carbon copy.

These achievements bequeathed to the remaining "free world" a sense of moral rectitude which expressed itself in a sudden outburst of fury and menace against South Africa, Rhodesia, Angola and Mozambique on account of the treatment of the Black peoples in those territories. This, was the general clamour, was not to be borne.

Some of the contributions to this cacophony of hatred and contempt may provide the future historian with scope for humorous comment. A leading part in the threats and money gifts to the murder gangs was played by a body of mysterious origin, but obvious political bent, which called itself "the World Council of Churches". I deem the part played by this body to be worse than that of Judas: I have seen the results at the other end, and would like to take the members of this organization severally by the nose and lead them through the wards where Black babies lie, their feet blown off by Chinese and Russian mines.

Then there was a Mr. Harold Wilson, who used the oldest trick in the busker's book (raising the eyes to the gallery as the punchline is spoken) to gain the maximum applause for his undertaking to lend "British Labour's" support to "the freedom fighters". In announcing his party's "unconditional" gift of money to the "liberation movements" (at Blackpool in October 1973), Mr. Wilson upcast his eyes to the gallery, where sat the representatives of these "liberation movements", and reaped the expected storm of applause from there. At almost the same time Queen Elizabeth, in the speech from the Throne prepared by her Ministers, was saying, "The British Government remains committed to encouraging peaceful change in Southern Africa, but condemns the use of violence". Mr. Wilson, when he addressed his words to the gallery at Blackpool, was hoping to become British Prime Minister again.

Politicians the world over outdid each other in the venom of their attacks and feared not to make themselves ridiculous. The chief of these was a Mr. Gough Whitlam, who in resigning as Australian Foreign Minister described himself as "the greatest we've had", and aligned himself with forgotten Mr. "Soapy" Williams from Washington in calling for the South African Government to be brought to its knees. He also said that Mr. Ian Smith of Rhodesia was "as bad as Hitler".

This irresistibly put me in mind of another Prime Minister, one whose vanity and ignorance led my native country into a disastrous war, and in my private album I classified Mr. Gough Whitlam, from remote Australia, as "worse than Chamberlain". I never thought to be able to say that of any politician, but the twentieth century knows only the change from bad to worse.

Thus politicians throughout the world fell over each other in the rush to get on the band-wagon of "aid to liberation movements". West Germany's Socialists, Norway, Sweden, Holland, Canada, even far New Zealand and, of course, Russia and China joined in the chorus, so violent was their urge to aid the victims of oppression anywhere except in Poland, the Baltic lands, Hungary, Rumania, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia and Arab Palestine.

Another body of Churchmen (ah, these men of peace and love!) joined with the World Council of Churches, and at Dublin in 1973 reaffirmed its support for the other body in the matter of giving financial aid to "liberation movements" against the counsel of two bishops from Southern Africa, one of whom, Bishop Burrough of Mashonaland, introduced an element of truth into the imbecilic debate by saying that the Council was in effect supporting "naked terrorism". He added, again with utter truth, "You are sending them to their certain deaths in a contest which they cannot win for a liberty which they cannot produce".

This is the whole truth of the matter, which everybody in Africa knows. In any chaos of the kind which these people outside Africa strive to produce inside Africa for their own ulterior purpose, the Black people would be the greatest sufferers and they would be less free than ever before: they would, in fact, return to the days of "darkest Africa". What has happened north of the Zambezi has already shown that, and Black leaders who as yet have been spared well know it.

One of the most notable Black Leaders to emerge from the contemporary South African scene, Chief Gatsha Buthelezi of Zululand, knows this and said so publicly to a hostile audience in America: "You must stop encouraging people to create a bloodbath for other people to bathe in." I have long wondered whence came this nauseating phrase, "bloodbath", to which, in Africa, politicking clerics seem particularly addicted. It has the sound of Teutonic fury and might have been the product of Hitler's or Goebbels's diseased minds, or for that matter of the greatest bloodshedder of all, Stalin. It could only have gained popular currency in this degraded century of the liberal death-wish.

A prominent Black leader in, South Africa, Chief Kaizer Matanzima of the Transkei, also warned African States supporting terrorism to "mind their own business", and all responsible Black men in Southern Africa, knowing well that they are the potential victims of "liberation", feel like this, and often say so. Chief Gatsha Buthelezi even made himself highly unpopular in Communist quarters by his remark and was the object of organized hostile student demonstrations when he visited Dar es Salaam, the Chinese headquarters in Africa and the base of Chinese arms supply.

In August 1974, a third Black political leader from one of the self-governing Black Homelands set up by the South African Government, Venda (the one nearest to the menace of "liberation" from the north) spelt out the same warning. This was Mr. Baldwin Mudau, who on returning from America said conversations with Black African delegates at a law conference in Texas had led him to change his mind about African "freedom fighters". They did not want to help their brothers. They meant to take control and they would hit the Black man and White man alike; and Vendaland would be the first battleground in the fight against armed insurgents.

It has been a remarkable experience living and moving inside the walls among men, Black and White, who get on alongside each other well enough, and to hear the tumult of menace and moral indignation from outside, with the voices of high clerics and vote-thirsty politicians leading the din, and to think, "Woe unto you, hypocrites, for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful without but are within full of dead men's bones and of all uncleanness".

Hypocrisy! The word is not big enough for this lying cacophony. Was it only yesterday that the Socialists of Britain preached that wars were made by bloated capitalists, or armament manufacturers? Was it but yesterday that they claimed the monopoly of peaceable intent?

And today they proudly announce, to the plaudits of the slave-raiders and murderers in the rogues' gallery, that they will give "unconditional aid" to these liberators. Shades of Uncle George Lansbury and Arthur Henderson, those patron saints of "disarmament". I see Uncle Arthur now, the very Father of Disarmament, being escorted by reverent French officials to his stateroom on the Geneva express. Those Socialist leaders of yesteryear achieved nothing but were at least honest men, who would have shamed themselves to send "aid" to the murderers in the Zambezi valley, in Angola, and in the Tete district.

In 1973 a "fact-finding delegation" of trade union officials from England came to South Africa. I would have liked to show them some facts in the hospital at Tete, but that would not have interested them, although they would there have seen the results of giving "unconditional aid" to assassins, and pretending that they are "liberators". They would have been able to see the amputated Black arms and legs. Instead, they collected "facts" of a nature more agreeable to a trade union congress, and, wearing almost visible haloes of moral superiority, returned to an England made desolate by strikes, short time and unemployment.

Yes, a rare experience indeed to live through this siege. History has seen so many sieges, from Troy to Paris and Stalingrad, but none like this. The only one that might be compared is the siege of Jericho, when the walls collapsed beneath the blare of rams' horns. Is that literally true, or are the rams' horns symbolic? Was the noise that of propaganda perhaps? Listening from within the Southern African perimeter to the shrieking din from outside, one could believe it.

What is it truly all about? The mob believes everything and ever did, since it clamoured for Barabbas to be released, but even the mob surely cannot believe the frenzied outburst of moral indignation against the White-governed countries to be genuine. What is really the game?

The game is world revolution and the world slave state. It is the next step of the world-state conspiracy to that end. The conspiracy is old and all whose lot has led them to the study of world history in our time are fully aware of it.

The "conspiratorial theory of history" has always been derided by those who serve it, but the Second World War brought it into the open and it cannot any longer be denied. The facts and the evidence are there. The governments of the great Western Powers were infested by agents of the revolution and in one country after another, as that war ended, these were exposed and convicted: in America, in Canada, in England. The stables were never cleansed, and all whose business it is to study these matters know that the foul infection is worse than ever now. Let those who care to consider whither that may lead in the future look back on the Second World War and the shape that "victory" was given at the Yalta Conference by agents secretly enlisted in the service of the world revolution.

The history of the world-revolution conspiracy is of absorbing interest to students. It is so old that its original root is hard to find, but the continuing development of the idea can be picked up at almost any period. In this century it has made great gains and the present ambition is evidently to complete the process during the remainder of the century: to this end the ruination of all law and order in Africa is obviously held to be a paramount necessity.

I quoted earlier the words of President Woodrow Wilson, who in 1917 became the praise-maker of the revolution and began the American involvement in it which bred the disasters of 1945 and after. He was a man picked for the job, and this process of selecting and "getting something on" a man who is to run for high office was described in an extraordinary novel published before the 1914 war by President Wilson's own mentor, "Colonel" House.

The novel was called Philip Dru, Administrator, and, strangely, was published in 1912 after Wilson's first election. It tells, in thinly veiled fictional form, the story of Woodrow Wilson's choice, and if that President read it, as he certainly must have, he can have had little doubt about his own humiliating place and function in the conspirators' scheme of things.

"Colonel" House (he had no military rank) described a "conspiracy" (his word) which succeeded in electing an American president by means of "deception regarding his real opinions and intentions". The conspiracy was to insinuate itself into the electoral process in such a way that "no candidate might be nominated whose views were not in accord with theirs".

The breakdown of President Wilson (also a dying man) threw the conspiracy temporarily out of gear, but in 1932 it made its greatest advance when Mr. Roosevelt, having been nominated Democratic candidate for the Presidency, hastened forthwith to discuss the future with "Colonel" House (alias Philip Dru) at his Massachusetts home. In 1938 House boasted to his biographer, "During the last fifteen years I have been close to the centre of things, though few people suspect it. No important foreigner has come to America without talking with me. I was close to the movement that nominated Roosevelt ... All the Ambassadors have reported to me frequently."

Here, then, the reader may perceive how the sorrows of our generation were made "behind the scenes". Here may be seen why Woodrow Wilson posed as praise-maker of the world revolution, and why Franklin Roosevelt at Yalta agreed to hand over half of Europe to it.

House's original notion, as propounded in Philip Dru, was for a world government founded on "Anglo-Saxon solidarity", but the results of his conspiratorial activity, as revealed by the deeds of the two marionette-presidents in supporting the world revolution, show that this phrase was but another example of his technique of "deception regarding his real opinions and intentions".

At the turn of the century another man, on the other side of the world, was pursuing this ambition of world government. Cecil Rhodes, in South Africa, thought to bring all the habitable portions of the globe under the control of "the English-speaking peoples", and being immensely rich was able to take practical steps (as he thought) towards the aim, stated in his first will, of "extending British rule throughout the world ... (and) the foundation of so great a power as to hereafter render wars impossible and promote the interests of humanity".

The method was to be conspiratorial and the model for the secret society he envisaged, and began to set up, was to be the Society of Jesus. Rhodes' last will established the Rhodes Scholarships, which provide for the bringing of "Rhodes Scholars" from the British Empire, Germany and America for schooling in internationalism at Oxford, with the aim, according to his co-conspirator William Stead, "that after thirty years there should be between two and three thousand men in the prime of life scattered all over the world, each one of whom would have impressed upon his mind in the most susceptible period of his life the dream of the Founder, each one of whom, moreover, would have been specially, mathematically, selected towards the Founder's purposes."

The British Empire dissolved, and the great body of English-speaking peoples disintegrated and deteriorated long before Rhodes' dream could be realized, but his method of planting trained conspirators in all the high places of the world was taken over intact by Communism and used to great effect as the results of the Second War, and the exposures which followed it in Washington, Ottawa and London showed: indeed, the method was used to such effect that the old morbid ambition of world government at last came within perceptible prospect of success in the remainder of this century.

Still pursuing "Colonel" House's technique of "deceiving" the public masses about "real intentions and opinions" and planting agents of the world revolution in all governments of the world, the conspiracy at that point (during and after the Second World War) adopted the benevolent-sounding name, Liberalism, as a cover for its fell designs.

Under the bloodstained banners of "liberalism" and "the United Nations" the conspiracy prepared for the third act in the Twentieth Century drama: the attempt to set up the World State through carnage and chaos in Africa.

The remaining area of law and order, Southern Africa, was a major obstacle to the completion of this grand design: hence The Siege of Southern Africa. This brings the story to the present epoch of "liberalism", which I call that of the ravening wolves, for as Jesus said (Matthew 7, XV), "beware of false prophets which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves".

Chapter Two

THE RAVENING WOLVES

Liberalism will be seen historically as the great destructive force of our time: much more so than communism, fascism, nazism, or any other of the lunatic creeds which make such immediate havoc. Compared with the long-term consequences of a Gilbert Murray, a Bertrand Russell, a Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, Hitler was an ineffective dreamer, Stalin a Father Christmas, and Mussolini an Arcadian shepherd.[3]

His phrase, "the imbecilic foreign admirers", brings back to me vivid pictures of some of those weird travellers, whom we foreign correspondents in Berlin saw on their way through to Moscow, and others whom I encountered when I went to Moscow in 1935. How comic and ineffably stupid they seemed then: how little we could foresee the havoc they would wreak in the world, the Lady Astors, the Mrs. Roosevelts, the Webbs, the Bernard Shaws and many more.

We who knew the truth of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat watched these characters pass and return with ill-placed mirth, little realizing the power for evil that resided in them: they seemed figures of ridicule. Most of them, in fact, were infatuates rather than initiates of the great conspiracy, but as the years went by and the Second World War approached they bred around them a great band of true initiates, men in governments and administrations who were able to warp and distort actions of State, particularly in America, to the service of the World Revolution.

Some of these were the creatures exposed in Washington, Ottawa, and London when the War ended, but their exposure led to no general clearance: today, as all students of power politics know, they are more strongly and more numerously esconced in places where they can do the most damage than they were in 1945. The Siege of Southern Africa is the proof of what they have been able to achieve in the name of "liberalism".

"What a ghastly charade that was! In those days Moscow was the Mecca for every liberal mind, whatever its particular complexion. They flocked there in an unending procession, from the great ones like Shaw and Gide and Barbusse and Julian Huxley and Harold Laski and the Webbs down to poor little teachers, crazed clergymen and millionaires, and drivelling dons, all utterly convinced that under the aegis of the great Stalin a new dawn was breaking in which the human race would at last be united in liberty, equality and fraternity for evermore....

"Stalin himself, to do him justice, never troubled to hide his contempt for them and everything they stood for and mercilessly suppressed any like tendencies among his own people. This, however, in no wise deterred them. They were prepared to believe anything, however preposterous, to overlook anything, however villainous, to approve anything, however obscurantist and brutally authoritarian, in order to be able to preserve intact the confident expectation that one of the most thoroughgoing, ruthless and bloody tyrannies ever to exist on earth could be relied on to champion human freedom, the brotherhood of man, and all the other good liberal causes to which they had dedicated their lives.

"It is true that many of them subsequently retracted; that incidents like the Stalinist purges, the Nazi-Soviet Pact, the debunking of Stalin, the Hungarian and Czech risings, each caused a certain leakage among liberal well-wishers. Yet when the dust settles the same old bias is clearly discernible.

"It is an addiction, like alcoholism, to which the liberal mind is intrinsically susceptible - to grovel before any Beelzebub who claims, however implausibly, to be a prince of liberals. Why? After all, the individuals concerned are ostensibly the shining lights of the Western world; scholars, philosophers, artists, scientists and the like ... held in respect as being sages who know all the answers; sought after by governments and international agencies; holding forth in the press and on the air. The glory of faculties and campuses; beating a path between Harvard and Princeton and Washington, D.C.; swarming like migrant birds from the London School of Economics, Oxford and Cambridge into Whitehall. Yet I have seen their prototypes - and I can never forget it - in the role of credulous buffoons capable of being taken in by grotesquely obvious deceptions. Swallowing unquestioningly statistics and other purported data whose falsity was immediately evident to the meanest intelligence. Full of idiot delight when Stalin or one of his henchmen yet again denounced the corrupt, cowardly intelligentsia of the capitalist West - viz., themselves. I detect in their like today the same impulse. They pass on from one to another, like a torch held upside down, the same death wish ..."

I have reproduced these paragraphs, again with grateful acknowledgment to that unique authority on the subject, Mr. Malcolm Muggeridge, who included them in an unforgettable denunciation, The Decade of the Great Liberal Death Wish, published in December 1970 by Esquire, New York. This magnificent diatribe was of particular fascination for me because I knew from my own experience the Moscow-bound pilgrims he describes, was involved in the events of that period, and watched the emergence after the Second War of a great throng of their proselytes in the governments of the world, and particularly in the central headquarters of death-wish liberalism, the place of the ravening wolves, on the East River, called "The United Nations". The building which houses it is tombstone-like, and the masons might very well prepare to incise on its walls, "Here lie the remains of Western civilization, of the once-United States, and of once-Great Britain."

Founded on a deed of arrant racism, the expulsion of the Semitic Arabs from their ancient Palestinian homeland to make way for non-Semitic Jews from Russia and Poland, it devotes all its energies (and would like to start a war) to attacking "racism" in Southern Africa. Again, Mr. Muggeridge comments, "In a world full of oppressive régimes and terrorist practices, in England the venom and fury of the liberal mind picks on the White South Africans with particular spleen."

Seldom does an honest word come out of this place, where all men are helots, enserfed to the liberal policies of their governments "which do not govern, but merely control the machinery of government, being themselves controlled by the hidden hand" (Disraeli). In 1973, for instance, the helots were marching towards the General Assembly to give the inevitable rubber-stamp vote of approval to a typically hidden-hand resolution "welcoming the accession to independence of the people of Guinea-Bissau", (a Portuguese West African territory), "condemning Portugal for its illegal occupation of certain sectors of the Republic" and inviting other states to give "the new republic" all assistance.

The facts of the matter were that they themselves had invented "this new republic" and "welcomed it" for the purpose of swelling the clamour for war against Portugal which was in legal possession of this region. No "new republic" had been established there; the local terrorists had merely sent agents to report that they had conquered the territory, knowing that such a claim would be accepted by the General Assembly without question.

Before the General Assembly could impress its rubber stamp on this resolution, the helots, in their delegation-dens, found on their desks the following alternative resolution:

The General Assembly

confused by the situation reportedly prevailing in Guinea-Bissau
deeply concerned at its inability to find the newly independent state
puzzled by the conflicting and confusing geographical references given by the parties concerned; having lost a fact-finding mission sent to the area; disregarding such facts as are available

1. Welcomes the accession to independence of the people of Guinea-Bissau
(a) Whomever they maybe

2. Hopes to be able to find the newly independent state

3. Decides to despatch a second fact-finding mission to be composed of 135 members of the General Assembly to be selected by themselves to
(a) Find the first mission
(b) Implement paragraph 2 above

4. Invites all member states, the specialized agencies and other organizations within the U.N. system to join in the search

5. Condemns the Government of Portugal for whatever it may be doing

6. Calls on the Government of Portugal to desist forthwith

7. Decides to keep the situation under continuous review.

While this extraordinary pantomime was being enacted, I was already engaged in my long journey around the beleaguered areas of Southern Africa.

I began with Angola.

Chapter Three

ANGOLAN ORDEAL

When I first saw Luanda, it was abustle with building activity, like all the other cities I have seen in this decade, and the streets were thronged with people of every shade of complexion between black and white, all getting on alongside each other very well. Yet twelve years before this hardly a being in the place would have given Portugal more than two years in Angola. That was after the terrible initial shock of the attack of drugged and drunken assassins from across the Congolese border.

Angola has been a Portuguese possession for five hundred years. One of the great Portuguese navigators, Diege Cam, first landed there in 1482 and left his mark in the traditional Portuguese shape of the Cross. That was centuries before the emergence of the British Empire which in its brief day occupied a quarter of the globe and ruled over a quarter of the earth's inhabitants, before dissolving to leave as its only memorial a gibbering wraith called the British Commonwealth, wherein the erstwhile "lion cubs" turned into yelping jackals snarling at the other members.

All that time Portuguese Angola was there. For a few years the Dutch appeared on the scene and the Portuguese Governor withdrew upriver, but in seven years he was back again in the ancient fort. During this time the Portuguese in Angola even hived off a colony in South America which today has become the greatest state in that half-continent, wealthy, with a population of fifty million and a glowing future: Brazil.

Among the great "ifs" of history is why the Portuguese Government did not make of Angola a second Brazil. All the conditions were present: enormous space, and boundless mineral wealth. Diego Cam's discovery was neither exploited nor developed, although he planted his cross on the coast of Angola years before Columbus discovered America. These Portuguese navigators, who set out in cockleshells and knew not if they would end by falling off the edge of the earth, were the spacemen of five hundred years ago.

While all the great events of the next five hundred years racked the world around it, Angola continued its placid way of life, undisturbed by the demon "progress". Differences of race were not felt or known as such. The difference between relatively schooled and skilled White people from overseas and undeveloped Black ones set the pattern of life; colour as such played no part in it.

In this enormous territory (it is almost as large as Europe and it has a thousand miles of coastline stretching from north to south along the Atlantic) the Portuguese until the beginning of this century effectively occupied only the coastal strip, and that in small numbers.

The huge Black population of the interior, had they wished, could have just nudged the Portuguese into the sea: hardly any troops were garrisoned there. But they never did this. The Portuguese, alone among the colonizing powers, seem to have understood and come to grips with Africa. While others came, stayed a hundred years or so, and then scuttled away, Portuguese Angola, unknown or forgotten, stayed on. It saw all the others come and it saw them go, and now that its five hundredth anniversary approaches it is still there.

This colonial slumber was shattered in the early morning of 15 March 1961, by the shrieks and screams that arose from twelve villages in the coffee belt of north-western Angola. The day that followed was one of rape, torture, arson and obscenities practised on living and dead bodies that have no parallel in the history of any period on record. Creeping silently through the elephant grass the fiends burst upon the sleeping or unsuspecting farmers, peasants and small shopkeepers, hacking off heads, legs and arms of men and women, girls and children and babes, Black and White and Brown, hanging them on trees. At one place they put living victims through a sawmill.

Who were these creatures? Mr. Robert Ruark, an expert on terrorism and torture from his experience of the Mau Mau in Kenya, identifies them: "... hired strangers, strangers drunk on the local pombe, strangers fired by hashish, strangers recruited and semi-trained across the northern Angolese border in the Congo, strangers with no real axe to grind except against an innocent neck, strangers armed by the terrorists of Algeria, strangers motivated by Russia and China and other Communist affiliates."[4]

Mr. Ruark did not add what I will append here: these hideous miscreants were the protegés of those ravening wolves, the Liberals of New York, as well as the hirelings of Communism. Their leader, an abominable creature of many aliases, is best known as Holden Roberto. Just eighteen months before the massacre he went to the United States where he was made warmly welcome by the American Committee on Africa, the State Department, the Central Intelligence Agency and Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt.

These influential acquaintanceships bore fruit. Holden Roberto received both financial and political support from United States sources. Then about a year later came the massacre, of which Holden Roberto boasted to a correspondent of the Paris journal, Le Monde. He was asked, "There is proof of tortures perpetrated upon Portuguese men, women and children. Do you deny these horrors?" He answered, "No, all that is true ... they massacred everything." "Women and children included?" he was asked, and he replied, "Yes, why deny it?"

Mr. James Burnham (see above and footnote [5]), speaking of the propagandist successes in the world press and at the United Nations of such revolting gangs of murderers as that of Holden Roberto, said, "Not the least of these propaganda victories has been the concealment of the events of 15 March 1961. And even today some readers of this book will wonder: can these horrors that Bernardo Teixeira recounts really be true? Can they possibly be true? Is it conceivable that human beings actually ran other humans through rotary saws?[5]

"Alas for mankind, not only are these things true, but these things are not the worst, of what Holden Roberto's squads did and have done: of some things it is simply not possible to write."

I studied the story of 15 March 1961 for years before I was able to go to the scene of the massacre and recreate what happened for myself. In probing the background, especially the background of foreign support for these sub-human massacrists, my eye was immediately caught by the name of Mrs. Roosevelt as their patroness. This woman, who posed as the mother of all good works and good causes, first attracted my student's attention in 1949, when I was in America. At that time the Soviet agent in the American Government, Alger Hiss, the man who at Yalta, at the dying President Roosevelt's side turned the Allied victory into a Communist victory and an Allied defeat, had been exposed and the Liberal Establishment was waging a tremendous campaign to snatch its favourite son from the jaws of justice.

I observed with a shock of surprise that Mrs. Roosevelt identified herself with it, and went to the length of publicly attacking the man who had denounced Hiss. From that time on I was prepared for anything that Mrs. Roosevelt might do in her role as patroness of liberalism, and I was no longer surprised when she entertained such as Holden Roberto to tea.[6]

I came to think of Mrs. Roosevelt as the reincarnation of Madame Defarge. She knitted by the guillotine as heads fell into the basket. Mrs. Roosevelt entertained murderers to tea and wrote her unreadable "My Day" column, while women and children, Black, Brown and White, were being hacked to pieces by her visitors' gangs in Angola.

Thus, by way of the Yalta Conference, the "hidden hand behind the scenes", and the rise of all-destroying "Liberalism", we come to the massacre of 15 March 1961 in Northern Angola: the continuing thread from Mrs. Roosevelt's patronage of Alger Hiss to her tea-party with Holden Roberto twenty years later and his welcome by the Communist-infested departments of the American administration is clear to see.

The initial shock in Angola was almost lethal. In the whole vast territory there were but a few platoons of soldiers, Black and White, and police. Few then believed that Angola could survive. But the unexpected, the almost incredible happened.

The civilian population of the massacre-area resisted fiercely and drove the murder squads back into the Congo. The Black population never gave the invaders that support without which (according to Che Guevare) no guerilla attack can succeed. Within a few days troop reinforcements began to arrive from Portugal and soon the situation came under control. The mass of Black peasants and farmers who had fled into the bush, either from fear of the murderers or of being mistaken for them, began to trickle back, and in less than a year 140,000 of them had officially presented themselves to the Portuguese authorities who fed, clothed, and housed them and provided medical assistance.

No questions were asked, although terrorists may have been among this returning throng. The Portuguese from the start, both in Angola and Mozambique, always practised this policy of receiving-back and reincorporating into the Portuguese community. They are wise people in their dealings with the Black population and have thus succeeded in Africa where others failed.

The atrocious event of 15 March 1961 went unnoticed by the outside world. As Mr. Burnham said, its concealment was one of the greatest successes of the terrorist leaders and of "Liberalism", and it was achieved by the complicity of that vast network of "liberals" which in our generations has come to control all means of public information: press, radio, television.

One American publisher produced the authentic story, with all the pictorial and other evidence, but in Britain and other "enlightened" lands no one would touch it. The international campaign of propaganda against Portugal continued unabated and was taken up by persons who had come to political office in such places as Canada, Australia and New Zealand.

The resistance of the Angolan population, Black, White and Mulatto, and the arrival of military reinforcements, put an end to the immediate threat to Angola, and from that point the epic of Angola began. The atrocious event led to the rebirth of Angola, which began to look like becoming "a second Brazil". Its development in the decade after 15 March 1961 was so great, and in such contrast to its former lethargic condition, that when I arrived there in 1973 the current jest was that a statue ought to be erected to Holden Roberto because he had shocked and shaken the country out of its colonial slumber.

A sudden revival of confidence followed the defeat and flight of the Bakongo murderers, the return of the great plantation owners and the continuance on their land of the small ones, the repossession and resumption of work in hundreds of plantations which had been attacked or destroyed. The discovery of offshore oil in 1966 and the participation of several great foreign concerns in its exploitation and in further prospecting helped. In places where thought had never been given to Angola as a place for investment, the awareness began to spread that it probably has the greatest unexploited mineral wealth in Central Africa.

During this period a great iron deposit was opened up at Cassinga and much progress was made with a gigantic hydroelectric scheme to harness the water of the Cunene by means of a series of barrages, irrigating up to 100,000 hectares of land in Angola and Ovamboland, and developing electric power for South West Africa.

The effect of the 1961 atrocity was to cause the Lisbon government to put Angola at the top of its agenda paper. The support of the primitive Black population, which had been crucial in turning the tide of invasion, must be maintained and established. One immediate result was the abolition of the old colonial system of the indigenas, who were not recognized as full Portuguese citizens and were subject to compulsory labour. For thirteen years now all Blacks have had the right, by simple application, to become Portuguese citizens, and about a million have taken advantage of this.

A second effect was the emphasis laid on education, which for a backward population represents the great road to improvement: in 1960 only 100,000 Black children were at school: in 1971 there were 511,000 children and students in the schools and universities, and at least 400,000 of these were Blacks (all places of education, like the hospitals, are integrated and Black and White scholars or patients occupy adjoining desks or beds).

The other great effect of the 1961 attack was the vast growth of the system of roads in Angola, partly due to military necessity (with an army of 100,000 men, Black and White, suddenly appearing in the country), and partly to the great economic expansion which occurred in the following decade. Formerly, during the rainy season, roads in the interior became unusable; the plantations in the Coffee Belt and the diamond mines in the Lunda [ed: Luanda?] district, as well as the pleasant small towns which have grown up in the interior during this century, were almost cut off from their needs. By 1971 there were over five thousand kilometres of tarmac roads serving north-south traffic and branching eastward.

On the morning of 16 March 1961 (that is, the morning after the massacre), it seemed impossible that Angola's Coffee Belt, its main source of income, could ever live again. But in the next ten years the coffee output was doubled. Much of the coffee-forest land is worked by Black growers who get a guaranteed minimum price through the Coffee Institute at Carmona.[7] This marketing system has achieved the result (near-miraculous in Africa) of weaning the Black smallholder away from his immemorial method of hand-to-mouth, daily-bread farming, and making him a man of substance with a rising standard of living.

For twelve years after the massacre of 1961 the picture of that day never left my mind. Not Stalin or Hitler had ever invented such horrors as these. Now that I was in Angola I made it my first purpose to go to the scene where those things happened which (as Mr. James Burnham said) were "simply impossible to describe", to talk to survivors and generally clear my mind about something which it still found difficult to believe.

So I set out for the Coffee Belt one day with a most helpful guide in a military convoy (the road was by this time pretty well clear of the Chinese land-mines planted by night, although a wrecked truck or two still lay about, but was not secure from the odd shots fired from safe ambush in the shade forests, where some of Roberto Holden's miserable hirelings still lurked).

This was a journey of the greatest interest. The Portuguese developed their anti-terrorist technique as they went along and produced new ideas out of this necessity.

One was the regrouping of the tribespeople in protected villages, and I saw many of them along this road and later in the east and southeast, where other Chinese-motivated and Soviet-motivated groups of terrorists still made desultory forays across the border. The aldeamentos, or protected villages, were a good answer to the menace in one way: they did guard the people from the arsonists and abductors who plagued them when they lived in isolated groups. A disadvantage is that the Black tribesman clings tenaciously to the soil he knows, however perilous, and dislikes to be separated by distance from his land.

However, safety comes first and the Ovambos and others accepted this enforced regrouping, albeit with inward reservations on which the terrorists will undoubtedly play. As we went along we passed groups of coffee-picking women going to and from the shade forests, escorted by an armed militiaman (he is usually a returned fugitive living in the protected village). Another idea born of this emergency was the mobile gendarmerie, Black soldiers or policemen grouped in a cantonment, equipped with transport and arms, and in contact by radio with all isolated plantations or aldeamentos of the district.

The Portuguese have built heavily on their policy of reincorporation and regeneration, and some of their most efficient and effective Black troops are the Flechas, returned fugitives (or returned terrorists: as I said, no questions are asked). These are highly-trained and very tough warriors who go out on their own to pick up a terrorist or two or detect arms-caches. The array of Russian, Chinese, Algerian, Cuban, Iron Curtain and other automatic weapons, grenades, landmines, mortars and the rest collected by them, which I saw at one place, was proof of their devotion to their job.

The most fascinating of all the new ideas born of these problems was, for me, the regiment of Black Dragoons whose officers welcomed me with great good cheer when I visited them. Their discipline was exemplary, the condition of their lines, horses and barracks would have gladdened the nostalgic eye of any ex-cavalryman from overseas. Ninety per cent of the troopers are Blacks and their commander told me that none of them had ever seen a horse before they began their gruelling training as Portuguese Dragoons in Angola. This rebirth of cavalry is one of the strangest and yet most logical results of the need to seek out and stampede and rout creatures who never fight, whose weapons and methods are the darkness of night, the buried landmine, the ambush and the arsonist's torch. The Black Dragoons go out for weeks at a time, under their own officers, and usually come back with a prisoner or two and more Chinese or Russian weapons to add to the collection in the armoury.

Everywhere I went, in the north-west, the north, the east and the southeast, the Portuguese way of handling their problem seemed to be producing results. In several places I saw tribespeople who had been driven out from their homes by fear or levelled weapon, presenting themselves to the Portuguese authorities for readmission. They told their tale of capture and abduction and were taken in and given one of the adobe houses which Portuguese soldiers, Black and White, were building all around.

On this first journey we came to Quitexe, a place I particularly wanted to see because at Quitexe there were two survivors who were able to tell an exact story of what happened on that day of horror. There were a few survivors in other places, but they were usually too demented from the things they had seen to give a lucid account. At Quitexe was a butcher whose name has become famous.

Angola is hunter's country and he and his daughter were keen hunters, and had guns and ammunition. On that morning of 15 March 1961, some presentiment caused the butcher to delay a few moments before opening his shop at the usual time. This brief delay saved his and his family's lives, because during it the bloodcurdling screaming began as the murderers from the Congo (as in eleven other villages, at the same preconcerted time) rushed into every shop and house and slaughtered every soul in the place, hacking off heads, legs and arms as they did everywhere else. The butcher and his daughter, from an upper window, killed the group waiting at their own door and then any other murderer who came within range. They held out until the screaming stopped because "the dead cannot scream" and thus survived that day.

From Quitexe our convoy went on to Carmona, the capital town of the coffee region, where another fantastic fight for survival was fought and won. At the beginning of the day the people of Carmona, like those in the twelve villages, were completely unaware that the day was to be different from any other. When the doctor, having gone the twenty odd miles to Quitexe on his professional round and turned back when he saw what was happening there, drove into Carmona with the alarm, the towns-people, sitting at the pavement cafés, at first could not understand what he meant, so unprepared were they for anything of the kind. Yet by the evening the townspeople (there were only five soldiers in Carmona) under the doctor's leadership and that of his son (killed during the battle) had improvised some sort of defence against the Congolese attack which obviously was to follow.

It came in the dusk, when the drums began in the elephant grass and in Carmona the church bells all began to toll. The noise of the drums came nearer and nearer, and louder, and then thousands of voices, shouting kill, kill!, joined in the demoniac pandemonium. At last the murderers burst from the elephant grass and the townspeople with their few weapons fought back, killed the frontal few, and then drove in Landrovers and old motor cars, headlights full on, into the mass.

At last the murderers fell back into the high grass and departed: the staccato chorus of kill, kill continued, but it grew fainter and then died away. And that was the end of the Congolese incursion for the time being. The basic idea was to take Carmona and then claim that "the liberation movement" was in control of northern Angola; at that point their accomplices at the United Nations would without doubt have "recognized the new republic". The Angolan population, Black, White and Brown, had shown that they wanted no truck with the "liberators" and of their own strength had beaten them back.

After that, troops began to arrive from Portugal and the immediate danger was over. Today as I write, thirteen years later, the troops are still there, 100,000 of them, mainly Black but also many Portuguese from Portugal itself, mostly peasants' sons whose devoutly Catholic mothers at home cross themselves as they hear that "the World Council of Churches" is giving aid to the murderers. What, they ask themselves, are their sons fighting for so far away, if even the churches want them butchered.

I have in my mind's album many vivid pictures of that journey around Angola, by convoy and by air. At one place in the eastern sector, where soldiers were building a protected village for the returning fugitives and other soldiers were planting vegetables for them, I looked toward a distant hill and saw a building which had the shape of a typical South African trading store. This surprised me, because the trading store, so familiar a sight in South Africa and Lesotho, for some reason is not found in Angola, so I asked what the odd-looking, lonely place could be. The Portuguese colonel said it was "a shop" and added that it belonged to an eighty-year-old man who had been there for fifty years and had survived three attempts by murderers (this time from Zambia) to kill him.

I asked to be taken to him and found a very ancient man sitting quite alone in his trading store, the stock of which seemed to consist only of a few blankets. He lived there, and had for fifty years lived there and now was quite alone - his wife died long ago and his children did not care for the place and had moved to the nearest town, Luso, begging him to come with them, but he obstinately refused.

Even the "freedom fighters", stupid hirelings as most of them are, might be expected not to foray across a frontier in order to kill one old man. But they came one night and fired through the door of his room next to the store, where he was wont (as they evidently knew) to sit at his table. The bullets went through the door and into the wall behind the table and would have perforated him but by chance he was, for once, not there. They came again later with a machine gun and from a safe distance sprayed the house with machine gun fire, the bullet holes leaving a dotted line across the front of it. Once more they came and he went out with a shotgun and blazed away at the sound of their firing. After that they left him alone, and he told me that if I came again ten years later he would be there.

Another memory is that of a commanding general in one sector, on whose desk I saw a heavily scored and annotated book. It was Sir Robert Taylor's Defeating Communist Insurgency in Malaya and Vietnam. This general told me that he had read the book in the aeroplane on his way from Lisbon to take up his command. When he arrived he gave his troops the order, "Don't press the trigger unless you see something pointed at you." The order was at first unpopular with the younger officers, but they accepted it and behaved accordingly. This order, of course, was in line with the Portuguese policy of retaining and encouraging the allegiance and support of the Black Portuguese and it has produced results. Neither in Angola nor Mozambique have the murderers had much success with the Black Portuguese population, who know all too well the sort of thing their "liberators" do.

Another memory, a surprising one, is that of two Irish ladies whom I found in a remote place in the eastern sector where for twenty years they had selflessly tended the sick and the poor. They paid the highest tribute to the Portuguese as a nation and particularly to the Portuguese army, which, they told me, was always ready to fly an urgent case to distant Luanda and to provide them with transport to fetch a patient or stores. A German nursing sister at a mission not very far from the two Irish ladies spoke of the Portuguese troops, and their ready helpfulness, in the same way.

This is an apt place to say that all the foreigners I met in Angola have admiration and respect for the Portuguese and their troops, feelings which I soon came to share. People who had lived in other parts of Africa and in many parts of the world all shared this regard.

A British Ambassador's lady once wrote of Portugal that she could not quite put her finger on what makes the Portuguese such lovable people. In my case I can put my finger on exactly what qualities gained my high respect for the Portuguese as I saw them in Angola. They are brave, steadfast in adversity, tenacious, and proud. In this decadent couldn't-care-less generation they remain proud of their nationality and of their unique historical achievement in opening up the world.

In Angola they are engaged, as they well know, in a war which they cannot militarily win because it is not a war at all, in any sense in which the word was ever used in history. It is an international conspiracy in which half the governments of the world join, wearing the mocking mask of moral indignation: Russian and Chinese Communists, American Quakers, British Socialists, Norwegian, Swedish and German Socialists. It can go on as long as hireling murderers can be enlisted by the promise of loot, women, private vengeance and political appointments. It can go on as long as America, Russia, China, "the satellite States", Cuba and Algeria flood Africa with arms for these hirelings, and as long as the Socialist party in England and the Roosevelt school in America lavish money on them.

A bitter ordeal this, that has been put on Angola and Portugal. The Portuguese, Black and White, have shown that they want none of the "liberators" who have already liberated millions of Africans from life, but that will not save them if the liberal conspiracy has its way. The end of that would be a return to darkest Africa (this has already happened in the northern "liberated" areas) and a continent depopulated, not this time by the slave trader, but by the carnage which the liberals started in the 1960's and now seek to complete in Southern Africa.

The best military brains realize that the Portuguese wars in Africa cannot be won by military means because, as I have said, they are not wars. They are forays out of bush, jungle and forest land, into which the murderers vanish, again at will, of gangs paid and armed from abroad. At any other time in history they would have been chased back routed and destroyed, and peace would return. Today, the noxious liberal cohorts all over the world would clamour "Portuguese aggression" and call for "a bloodbath" (their favourite prescription for others).

What, then, can be done? A Portuguese general, Antonio de Spinola, deputy Chief-of-Staff of the armed forces, in early 1974 suggested a solution in a book called Portugal and the Future. Starting from the generally accepted theorem that the African "wars" cannot be won by military means alone, he proposed the creation of a Federal Republic of Portugal in which each of the Portuguese overseas territories would become independent states with a federal assembly in Lisbon and a common head of state.

This plan would undoubtedly commend itself to the overseas Portuguese. territories, which have often felt that government from metropolitan Portugal was too remote from their especial interests and needs, and would strengthen their attachment to the Portuguese language, culture and heritage. I do not myself see how it would prevent the international liberal conspiracy from continuing to pay and arm the murderous marauders in the Congo (now Zaire), Zambia and Tanzania, or discourage the Chinese and Soviet Russians from their obvious design of taking over Africa.

However, General de Spinola may see more clearly into the future than this wandering scribe. He was dismissed immediately after the appearance of his book.

I left Angola one day with a sense of high respect for the Portuguese, whom I seldom encountered in my earlier travels, and a conviction that, whatever the future, they had certainly brought the revolt begun by the Roberto incursion of 15 March 1961 under control in Angola. At the start it seemed that so small a country as Portugal could not long sustain the cost and strain of maintaining a great army in Angola, but for thirteen years it had done just that and Angola itself, by its own exertions and also by a few strokes of good fortune, such as the discovery of oil, was more prosperous than ever before.

I said goodbye with regret and as I looked down on this enormous country, with its hundreds of thousands of miles of empty ranchland and hundreds of miles of unused beaches, hoped one day I might return and find that the grass had grown over the frightful memory of 15 March 1961.

Then I turned my face to the next stage on my long journey: Rhodesia.

Chapter Four

"WILSON'S WAR"

The improvement of the general lot is in the hands of men (and women) who, from the Government outwards through the chiefs and headmen to the tribespeople themselves, really know the country, its people and their needs, and thus are different from the howling mob outside the walls which claims to know just what should happen in Rhodesia. The picture is one of growing improvement, despite the outer howling and the boycotts, and this will continue. In contrast to the carnage and chaos to the north, a better future awaits the Rhodesian people if they are left alone, and their present is already much better than their past. The traveller may convince himself of that: contented people laugh and chatter in the village markets.

Prosperity! How is it done, with all the foreign exchange inlets blocked, barred and bolted? Money seems to be abundantly available for new enterprises. Sanctions have proved to be a farce as far as the strangulation intent is concerned. "We are trading with all civilized people," said a Rhodesian Minister on the air. He laid emphasis on the word "civilized" and who shall gainsay him.

Outside Rhodesia the ravening wolves of liberalism keep up their howling, their clamour for the "bloodbath" which they have already brought upon the Black people in the northern area of carnage and chaos. The Rhodesian, White man or Black tribesman, who gazes northward may see close at hand what liberalism would like to make of Southern Africa: millions of dead in Nigeria and the Congo, five hundred thousand in the Sudan, an estimated two hundred thousand (so far) in Burundi and Ruwanda, other hundreds of thousands spread over Zanzibar, Uganda, Zambia. All Black people killed by Black men: everywhere one-man dictatorships built on trigger-happy troops and police, modelled on the O.G.P.U. and S.S.

Over this stricken field, this shambles, beat the pinions of a rare African fowl, of vulturine type, known locally as the Mocking Bird Wilsoniensis. Its characteristics are an almost human-sounding call and its ability to pick up and imitate sounds rising to it from below, so that its doleful, spine-chilling cry, as it circles over the mass graves and unburied dead of Africa north of the Zambesi sounds like "One man, one vote, one man ..."

Amid this scene of Pharisaic beleaguerment stands Mr. Ian Smith, his head unbowed after a nine-year ordeal of threats, calumny and lies; nine years of what Rhodesians call "Wilson's War". The traces of Battle of Britain surgery still show on his face but do not mar its determination. He fights a good fight and keeps his cool, despite all. Thirty-five years ago, when he helped defend Britain, he was held in honour, but in this generation of liberalism honour is a dirty word. Today his two sons and his daughter's husband, as was to be expected, help defend their country in the deadly Zambesi valley and share only in the epithets of hatred which the liberal establishments everywhere in the world hurl at such men of loyal principle and Christian belief.

I was able to travel through and to fly over the area called Centenary (I never learned which centenary: Rhodesia is not a hundred years old) on the north-western border where the hired killers with their landmines and weapons were galvanized into sudden activity by their Chinese masters in far-off, safe Lusaka and Dar-es-Salaam in late 1973 and early 1974. To this deadly place men from all over Rhodesia, stockbrokers and tradespeople, bank clerks and butchers, bankers and bricklayers come to do their tour of duty, then return to their homes and work until, quite soon, the time for their next stint comes round.

The farmers here live with sudden death from the assassin's gun or grenade. I attended a meeting of them and heard hardly a word about that: the talk was all of crops and marketing.

I met others in their homes and found myself among men I could understand, men of unshaken belief in the values which, until the era of all-destructive liberalism, were the common heritage of good men and true. "Good men and true": as I write the words I realize that they have lost their meaning, save in places such as this. Where else in the world today are good men and true, in this world of Alger Hiss and Harry Dexter White, of Fred Rose, Burgess, Maclean and Nunn May, Fuchs, and Philby? Treason and treachery no longer cause even a lifted eyebrow. But here in this little corner of Africa men still fight for the right and for their rights. I dined with a farmer whose dining-room window was heavily sandbagged. The neighbouring farmer's wife had recently been killed by a grenade thrown from the outer darkness into the room where she sat. After a delightful evening my host led me to my room and put a loaded revolver on the bedside table. Thus they live in the Valley, but they stay there and fight.

I flew also to Saint Albert's Mission, the Catholic mission at Mount Darwin overlooking the Zambesi Valley, where a raiding band of terrorists kidnapped by night 270 Black children and students and took them off towards Zambia. Rhodesian Air Force planes went up to search for the party (a hopeless task over such country in darkness) and by good chance dropped flares over them which caused the kidnappers to panic, and in the confusion nearly all the children escaped and made their way, hungry, exhausted and terrified, back to the Mission.

The affair at Saint Albert's Mission provides proof of the extent to which the revolutionary conspiracy has gained control of all news-distribution, by press, radio and all other means, throughout the world. The kidnapping of the Black children is an incontestable fact, like the sinking of the Titanic, an eclipse of the moon, or the murder of the two Canadian girls at the Victoria Falls. I visited the Mission myself, talked with the priests and with some of the returned youths. Hundreds of other investigators did likewise. Yet, months later, the BBC was still broadcasting references to "the alleged abduction". Truly, when the next war comes, the masses will never know what hit them, or why, for the truth has never reached them.

THE BLACK DRAGOONS, MOZAMBIQUE, 1973

When I was there seven girls were still missing and I asked the priests their ages. Between sixteen and seventeen, I was told. This meant that the old slave-raiding days had returned. I never learned if these seven girls escaped or were rescued, but at the next vacation fifteen Black girls arrived at the Mission and begged for refuge: they were terrified of being abducted and made into "bed companions" for the murder gangs. They were taken in, and Father Maurice Rea said, "The terrorists' talk about recruiting girls for nursing training in Zambia and other places is sheer nonsense. They want bed partners."

PORTUGUESE TROOPS IN ACTION, ANGOLA-MOZAMBIQUE, 1973-4

About this time Mr. Wilson fluttered his eyelashes upward to the gallery at Blackpool and said that if his party were returned it would give "unconditional aid" to the "liberation movements". I listened to the news report of this with the same feelings of shock and shame which I first felt, thirty-five years before, as I listened in the British Legation at Budapest to the story of Mr. Chamberlain's ultimatum to Czechoslovakia. "Surrender your defensive region to Hitler or take the consequences: we have betrayed and deserted you." Those were not Mr. Chamberlain's words but that was what they meant, and they also meant that within a year Hitler, thus encouraged from Westminster, would start the Second World War. (See Insanity Fair.)

In South Africa, from the start of the wind-of-change period, I had again lived with this feeling of shame for my country. Were the British people about to dance for joy in the streets in Mr. Wilson's honour, as they did for Mr. Chamberlain? Would no end ever come to this story of abasement and betrayal?

When I came to write this chapter of my book the disastrous election of 28 February 1974 opened the way for Mr. Wilson to become Prime Minister again and re-enact the Chamberlain deed, this time with "a little country far away" (but in Africa, not Europe) as the victim. Of ignominy there is no end.

For the future of England, I judge, the fact that Mr. Wilson replaced Mr. Heath as Prime Minister was not of great importance. What was of great importance was the sudden emergence of six million people who voted Liberal: as the Conservative and Labour Parties were only separated by a few seats, this meant that liberalism would in fact hold the strings of power and if any still doubt what that will mean, they need not have bothered to read this book. The ravening wolves were loose among the sheep. England was committing suicide on television. The curse had come upon us. The Liberal death-wish had gained the day. I surmise that, historically, this election of 1974 will prove to have been a nail in England's coffin.

I have in another book given some picture of the beings who in the outer world are dignified by the name of "freedom fighters" or "liberation movements". If they are such, then Stalin and Hitler might equally claim the name. I will give here the portrait of just one such "freedom fighter": his story is typical of them all.

The Black man believes that his great handicap, in competition with the White man, is lack of education and he thirsts for it. The older or completely illiterate victims of the terrorists' press gangs are lured by the promise of loot, women, motor-cars, houses and political appointments. The Younger, partly-schooled ones, are dazzled by the promise of "a scholarship". They have no clear idea of what a scholarship is, but the word is a magic one to them.

The dupe, whose story I now relate, was a Black lad of 17 or 18 from Bulawayo, Rhodesia. He had some schooling but left at the end of form four and walked across the border into Botswana believing that he would be helped to a scholarship "by the World Council of Churches"! Here the reader may study the shape that news about the World Council of Churches takes on when it reaches a Black boy's ears.

In Botswana he was arrested. Sir Seretse's Botswana, though it dislikes South Africa's views on racial separation, has been impeccably correct in refusing to allow the terrorists to use it as a throughway or base for their activities and this lad was arrested. When released he sought out a representative of the World Council of Churches in Francistown and was about to sign a form, supposedly applying for some "scholarship", when "a man" from Zanu (the Zambian-based terrorist organization) appeared and told him not to bother: the formalities were already completed and a good position would be secured for him. He was then put aboard a plane for Zambia, where he was taken by troop carrier into the hills and there told to forget about education: there was a war on. Then he was taken to Tanzania for training and in time given a gun and ammunition and pushed into Rhodesia with a band of killers.

Quite useless as a killer, he was soon picked up by Rhodesian security forces and told his story, one long since familiar to his captors. This lad quickly had enough of the life of a "freedom fighter", which is one of the most miserable to be imagined: hungry, often thirsty, frozen at night and half dead from heat by day, hated and feared by his own people, ever on the run from the Rhodesian troops and police or the Rhodesian African Rifles, he is a poor creature indeed, exhausted, starved, equally terrified of his Zambian masters, of his Rhodesian captors, and of his fellow-tribesmen in Rhodesia.

Such "terrorists" as this lad present no problem. They are pressed into the gangs, having never intended to join them, and usually desert or give themselves up as soon as they can. The older criminals, who have been fully trained in China or Algeria or Tanzania, are different. These are the ones who take delight in planting a Chinese landmine in a tribesman's mealie patch, so that his wife or babes are blown up when they go to plant or pick; these are the ones who seek to intimidate men into joining them by kidnapping wives and daughters.

These are the ones to whom Mr. Wilson, raising his eyes to the rogues gallery at Blackpool, promised "unconditional aid". The word "unconditional" does not mean much, if anything, at the other end. No conditions made would be kept in any case. The use of the word "unconditional", however, implies approval of and therefore co-responsibility for the atrocities perpetrated in the name of "Liberation".

Mr. Wilson at Blackpool was reported to have said that he would welcome the agents of "guerilla movements" to London, and wanted to greet them in his drawing room at 10 Downing Street. Thus Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt's cosy tea-party with Holden Roberto, which preceded the massacre of 1961 in Northern Angola, seems to have set a pattern for liberal politicos all over the world.

And now, with Mr. Wilson again Prime Minister, we shall be back to the days of ten years ago when, like a sneaking schoolboy, he crawled to the House of Helots in New York and reported Rhodesia to them. That was the time when British officers were canvassed to know what they would do if ordered to attack Rhodesia. I have heard the story from their own lips.

Thus, after nine years, Rhodesians told each other that they were back in "Wilson's War", with the difference that the formal dissociation (of his earlier period) from "violence" has given way to "recognition", "unconditional aid", and possibly a tea-party in Downing Street.

To live twice through such periods of national decline and degradation, once under Mr. Chamberlain and now under Mr. Wilson, is a hard lot for an Englishman. Somewhere there must be a turn for the better, but for the present there is only a darkling prospect and the howling of ravening wolves.

I travelled, a second time, all over Rhodesia by road and air and once more breathed deeply the high, clean air there and also the air of what Mr. Churchill called "simple and honourable purpose" in a generation of vipers and liars.

Then the time came to press on again, to the next sector of the siege: Mozambique.

Chapter Five

THE MARTYRDOM OF MOZAMBIQUE

In the context of today that is where the resemblance between Mozambique and Angola ends. Mozambique is in a worse plight than Angola because it is much more vulnerable to attack, called "liberation", in this century of the lie dominant, or "liberalism". Up and down its 1,700 miles of coast pass and re-pass the ships of the powerful Soviet navy in the Indian Ocean. That is not of major importance ... yet; it might become so. What is deadly for Mozambique is that, only some 150 miles from its northernmost boundary, lies the Chinese and Russian invasion port of Dar-es-Salaam. I believe the name means "Haven of Peace", but in today's context the name bears as little resemblance to truth as that of the World Council of Churches to Godliness.

Into Dar-es-Salaam steam continuously shiploads of the most modern weapons, tested by the Viet Cong and elsewhere: rifles, rocket launchers, the AK47 assault rifles, anti-aircraft machine guns, mortars and more and deadlier things to come. They are loaded into trucks and sent bumping through the bush to equip the "freedom fighters" on the Mozambique and Rhodesian borders.

These "freedom fighters" in Mozambique are, for the most part, the murderous kin of those who committed the Angolan massacre on 15 March, 1961: "... hired strangers, strangers drunk on the local pombe, strangers fired by hashish, strangers recruited and semi-trained across the northern border ... strangers with no axe to grind against an innocent neck ... strangers motivated by Russia and China and other Communist affiliates" (Mr. Robert Ruark's description in Mr. Bernardo Teixeira's Fabric of Terror, Devin Adair, New York, 1965).

This description equally fits the "freedom fighters" of Mozambique: The killers of 1961 in Angola were Bakongo, a tribe which straddles the Zaire-Angola border and is hated and feared by the other Black peoples of Angola for its evil reputation for butchery in earlier, slave-raiding and slave-trading days. For these people killing was a calling, and butchery an essential part of killing which they performed with laughter and shouting.

Similarly in Mozambique the mass of the Frelimo murderers come from two tribes which also straddle the border, their main body being in Tanzania and their evil reputation being the same as that of the Bakongo on the other side of Africa: the Maconde and the Nianja. It was customary in earlier days to dignify such with the name of "warrior tribes": their warfare was always against their own people. Today these creatures have been promoted to the status of "freedom fighters".

However, they are but the merest pawns in the great game of liberalist world revolution. Their weapons come, in the vast majority, from Russia and China. Their propagandist support comes from the press of almost the entire, corrupted world: as on a famous occasion two thousand years ago, "The chiefs and elders persuade the people ..." and the mob today reacts exactly as the mob reacted then: "Release unto us Barabbas."

"Warrior"! Was ever a word so defiled! The Concise Oxford Dictionary defines it as "a distinguished or veteran soldier ... fighting man". These creatures do not fight. They no longer use the assegai or meet others in combat. Their weapons now are the Russian or Chinese landmine, planted by night in some villager's little mealie plot, or the Chinese mortar, by means of which they can lob shells from a safe distance of many miles into a native village or township.

When I was in Tete I saw a number of the victims of the landmines, and can never forget the sights. In Tete itself, with the occasional mortar shell being lobbed into the town, I was reminded of a place which few others now will remember: Poperinghe, a behind-the-line town in the Ypres Salient in the First War. There was the same behind-the-front atmosphere, the same instinctive listening for the next explosion, the same dust blowing around from the earlier explosions.

But the hospital was entirely different. Here the great majority of the patients were Black Portuguese from the surrounding villages, and many of these were children or infants, legless or armless. More were brought in while I was there (the few doctors and nurses accomplished miracles of salvation and succour). Up to that time nearly seven hundred villagers had been killed by these mines and two thousand more maimed for life. Very many of these were children and I wondered if the tribeswomen realized that their babies had been killed, or had their legs blown off, by bombs from China (not that "China" means anything more to them than somewhere far away). I wondered too whether any Chinese ever asked themselves why their country was killing people, unknown to them, thousands of miles away. If any do so, they presumably find the answer in the Thoughts of Chairman Mao. Around this hospital, on the bare ground, lay the families of these amputees. They dared not return to their villages, if anything remained of them, so they came to Tete and lay down on the ground around the hospital, hoping, I supposed, that food and shelter might some day, somehow, reach them.

Thus the weapons, the worldwide clamour of chiefs and elders and the slavish mob, the troops (not the wretched Bakongo and Maconde killers but the thirty thousand Chinese so far assembled as railway workers, technical advisers and the like) in Zambia and Tanzania, the whole machine of the liberalist world revolution has been set up for the purposes of destroying Mozambique and extending the territory of the world revolution in Africa. But what of the other essential: money!

Never was so much contributed by so many for the purpose of murder and rapine.

The Organization for African Unity at Addis Ababa, where the aged Emperor Haile Selassie (restored to his throne by South African troops after the Second World War) presides over the periodical meetings of such representatives from its forty-one Member-States as have escaped assassination or deposition during the preceding year as they fulminate against, and demand war upon, South Africa, this "O.A.U." administers a "freedom fighter" fund composed of contributions which are said to amount to at least one million pounds sterling a year.

Outsiders hasten to get in. Colonel Gaddafi of Libya sent the O.A.U.'s "Liberation Committee" at Dar-es-Salaam £100,000 and then added another £100,000. The United Arab Emirates gave £175,000 for use against Southern Africa. Norway gives the gangs operating against Portuguese territories £250,000 annually and is considering an increase to £750,000. Jamaica chipped in with a modest £12,500. From England, Mr. Wilson, in his 1974 election campaign, promised "unconditional aid".

At the bidding of the General Assembly of the United Nations the "specialized U.N. agencies" joined in the stampede to promote the physical and moral welfare of mankind by subsidizing murder and massacre in Mozambique. UNESCO for instance set up a two-year programme to train Frelimo cadres to run areas occupied by the gorillas (no misprint, this); the World Health Organization agreed to set up a new programme for the above-named which will train medical personnel, provide surgical equipment and establish mobile health services. (Victims of the freedom fighters, being dead, will not share in these health-giving undertakings.) Then the Food and Agricultural Organization (ah, the inner man and the hungry multitudes) is analysing defoliants used by the Portuguese to discover murder gangs lurking in the bush and has issued leaflets of instruction in methods of counteracting these defoliants.

Thus, the reader will see that freedom is on the march and a new holocaust is in advanced preparation. (Africa has already had one holocaust. The number of Black people killed by Black people in Africa since the Wind of Change reared its ugly head and "freedom" became the order of the day must already exceed the casualty list of the Second World War. There are no statistics about Africa to prove this, even if statistics in this century would ever be allowed to prove anything, but all who live in Africa know that it is so.)

North of the central and southern area of Africa, Russia has been pouring tanks, armoured personnel carriers and Mig jet fighters into Somalia, so that readers may expect to hear news from that part of Africa soon, if none has developed before this book appears. Such consignments are not tokens of respect. They are meant to be, and will be, used.

The stage is set for another move in the liberalist world revolution and, as the reader has seen, East and West (who said they would never meet!) as well as North and South are all equally involved in it. Everywhere the high priests and elders, in U.N. lobbies, parliaments and editorial offices, combine in persuading the multitude that captivity is liberation, bloody despotism "democracy", massacre a gallant blow for freedom, and self-defence racist oppression.

Mozambique, like Rhodesia and Angola, is not fighting against "freedom fighters" and "liberation movements". These frontal few, the scum and scourge of Africa in its "Darkest" days, have merely reverted, under "Freedom", to their immemorial practice of raiding, killing and butchering: night is their ally, butchering with shouts and laughter their method, disembowelling (especially of pregnant women) their speciality, and heads, arms, legs and breasts their trophies, to be hung on trees.

These creatures, in a sane world, would be dispersed like chaff by the wind. Mozambique, Rhodesia and Angola, as the facts and figures show, are in truth fighting Russia, China, the captive "satellite" countries, Cuba, Algeria, and politicians all over the world, and, above all, American money.

Mozambique, more than the other beleaguered territories, has been the particular victim of the upside-down news technique. The massacre of 15 March 1961 in Angola was probably the most atrocious one in any discoverable record of the subject. Another success (and this one, more than any other, reveals the complete worldwide domination of all means of public information by the liberalist conspiracy) was the Mozambique massacre that never occurred at a place that never existed. This was the opposite method from concealment of truth: the worldwide dissemination of untruth.

In the summer of 1973, when I was myself in Mozambique, the Times of London published a sensational story of a massacre of Black villagers in Mozambique by Portuguese troops. The story was attributed to some priest or priests who had it from some other priest or priests. Thus it was hearsay and to a Times journalist of my generation it was something that should never have been published without complete and authentic corroboration. Answering questions, a spokesman for the Times was reported to have said that he had realized the story was "uncheckable" and had taken it "on trust".

To anyone living in or knowing Africa the absurdity of the story lay on the surface: for that matter its absurdity should have been obvious to anyone at all, inside or outside Africa, who had the power of thought. An incontestable fact about the Portuguese handling of affairs in both Mozambique and Angola is that the far more numerous Black population in both territories held aloof from the murder gangs from outside. For what possible reason, then, would the Portuguese massacre their own tribespeople? In order to drive them into the hated Bakongo or Maconde camp? Again, the majority of the Portuguese troops in both territories are themselves Black Portuguese. For what possible reason would they massacre their own folk?

However, the Portuguese, as they always do, threw open their gates to the fullest possible investigation. Hordes of journalists went wherever they wished in search of the place of the massacre, but it was not to be found. The thing was a propagandist invention, but it received headline treatment all over the world. Eventually some other zealous propagandist produced "a fifteen-year-old boy" who had seen the massacre. People who live near to these matters know how fifteen-year-old Black lads can be persuaded to tell what they "saw" on such occasions.

Whoever was the original fabricator of this story qualifies for a place at the United Nations, where they even invent new republics. Whoever he or she was, the species, if not the individual, was indicated by a reference to "Marxist priests" in a comment made at the time by the Archbishop of Lourenço Marques. The matter of the Marxist priests is an unhappy chapter in the whole unhappy story. At that time a former Foreign Secretary, Lord George Brown, said in a B.B.C. broadcast that he was suspicious of the motives of those who were publicizing the alleged Portuguese massacres in Mozambique, and added that in Southern Africa the previous year he had met a number of young Roman Catholic priests who were more interested in revolution than anything else.

People living in these parts understood this allusion. "Marxist priests" have certainly been among the Friends of Terrorism, in fact, though in words they always say piously that they are agin violence (as President Coolidge's preacher was agin sin).

That there is a deep fission, reaching to the top, in the Roman Catholic Church seems to be indicated by the Pope's decision to retire the hero of Roman Catholic resistance to anti-religious Communism in Communist-dominated countries, on 8 February 1974. This was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the very day on which, in 1949, he, Cardinal Josef Mindszenty, Primate of Hungary, was sentenced to life imprisonment on trumped-up charges by a Hungarian Communist court!

Before his dismissal (which at the moment of writing the Cardinal has refused to accept) he had informed the Vatican of five points at which the working bargain between the Vatican and the Hungarian Communist régime had been broken. Two of these were: "The decision to appoint Church functionaries rests with the Communist régime," and "The appointment of a great number of pro-Communist 'peace priests' in key Church offices has shattered the trust of loyal believers in the leadership of the Hungarian Catholic hierarchy."

"Marxist priests", "peace priests": these are dark, hooded figures displaying a crucifix as they move among the shambles of anti-Christ. The Roman Catholic Church has no monopoly of them. The Church of England has produced enough of them, bishops, deans, canons and the rest, and I came on traces of their ill-omened visitations as I travelled through the beleaguered countries of Southern Africa. The reputation they left behind them did their church no credit, nor their sincerity in their calling. Happily there were others who still believed in and preached and practised Christianity.

I came to Mozambique with great respect for the Portuguese, Black and White, which I had acquired in Angola. As I have said, the lot of Mozambique was quite different from that of Angola. For ten years it had had no rest from Chinese and Russian landmines and mortar bombs, yet it maintained an orderly life among its forty-three different tribes and (strange paradox) its population increase during the deadly decade 1960-70 was the greatest in its 470-years' story. The pride of the Portuguese, their especial quality, forbids them either to complain about their desertion by the outer world or to invite sympathy from others in their isolation. Whatever they may inwardly feel about it, they evince no bitterness. The emergency in Mozambique, as in Angola, has given an impetus to the long-neglected and long overdue development of the territory and, again as if they had no other preoccupations, they are pushing ahead with great road and rail schemes.

Above all, they have calmly gone ahead with the Cabora Bassa project, one of the greatest hydro-electric undertakings in the world. This place, when I was there, was already one of the wonders of the world, with machines like prehistoric monsters crawling along miles of lit streets burrowed through the mountain. Work was ahead of schedule and is due to be completed in 1975, when Mozambique hopes to supply services to its African neighbours.

Cabora Bassa is only a few miles from Tete, the most dangerous area of Mozambique, but work went on there as if all the world were at peace. Cabora Bassa is said to be strongly guarded, though no open signs of this meet the traveller's eyes. It has never yet been attacked by the murder gangs: whether from fear or by order of their Chinese masters, who might hope to take it over intact when world revolution day strikes, is anybody's guess. The lake, when full, will stretch 155 miles to the Zambian border. Some with whom I spoke thought that this great stretch of water would prove to be a great hindrance to the murder gangs in their activities. Others, nearer to the menace, were less optimistic.

A thing that particularly impressed and, I confess, surprised me about the Portuguese in both territories, was a characteristic once thought to be peculiarly English, or British: their sangfroid.[8] They show no resentment at their treacherous abandonment by "the free world" - how it all brings back to me the treacherous abandonment of Czechoslovakia in 1938, of which I wrote at the time, addressing myself to English readers, "Czechoslovakia means you!"

Exactly so, in its effects, would the treacherous abandonment of Mozambique, Angola, Rhodesia and the rest of Southern Africa mean you, little though you dream it now.

After this long journey, which left the hospitals at Tete and Nampula forever imprinted on my mind, I returned to Lourenço Marques, where the life of the big hotels and the pavement cafés continued tranquilly around the splendid bay where Vasco da Gama landed 470 years ago, and from there I recrossed the sub-continent to another place where the leftist-liberal conspiracy has been busy trying to stir up trouble: South West Africa.

While I was there the news came of General Spinola's fantastic coup, and looking back over my shoulder at Mozambique I saw a picture suddenly turned upside down. Diplomatic relations opened with Soviet Russia, whence came the landmines and mortar shells that filled the Tete and Nampula hospitals with victims: it was ominously like the first days of President Roosevelt's calamitous fourteen years in America.

Socialist and Communist leaders returned in triumph to Lisbon. A Socialist-appointed Foreign Minister had undertaken to cooperate with "our British allies" in the Wilsonian enterprise against Rhodesia. The same Minister had himself photographed embracing the leader of the killers who had filled those hospitals with Black amputees.

General Spinola's aim, he said, was pacification, but the immediate result was an uproarious clamour for war. Earlier in this chapter I mentioned that Moscow was supplying large quantities of arms to Somalia. This small republic is far from the madding Southern African scene so that the immediate intent was not clear to see, but I said that the arms were not sent as tokens of esteem: they would be used. Sure enough, the news of General Spinola's coup produced in far Somalia an urgent call from President Mohammed Siad Barre there for the establishment of a permanent continent-wide army to fight the Whites of the South.

Then the tidings of the General's coup at once released a new stream of atrocity stories, of the kind begun by the Times in July 1973, and ever since printed by the world press without scrutiny or demur. These originated, as always, in the lie-factories of Dar-es-Salaam, Lusaka, Moscow and Peking; and followed the old Communist pattern, unchanged since 1917, of churning out horrifying stories of "police brutality" (it used to be "Cossack brutality"). The Portuguese security police, the DGS, were used for the purpose on this occasion.

I mentioned before that the first act of governments in every one of the newly-independent Black States in Africa (save for Botswana) has been to establish these "para-military" police units, with unchecked powers of arrest and imprisonment. The process has been watched without a glimmer of interest by the outer world. Now that Mozambique was found to have had its own para-military police the Communist propaganda mills produced reams of readymade "Cossack" stories, on a note of moral infuriation that such things could be. These stories went the round of the world press. The mob was let loose to work off any old private grudges it wished by beating up the policemen.

In particular, terrible stories were told of torture and the like in the "infamous" (or "notorious") Machava prison. By chance I had learned a lot about Machava prison, near Lourenço Marques, when I was in Mozambique. It was then, I estimate, unlike any other prison in the world. The Portuguese military and civil authorities, I found in both Mozambique and Angola, were guided during their long years of ordeal by the idea of "rehabilitating", rather than killing, the terrorists. I have given instances of this and have seen numbers of people coming out of the terrorist areas and presenting themselves to the Portuguese for readmission.

The "infamous" Machava prison was in fact part of this pattern of rehabilitation. Its inmates were indeed detained without trial, on suspicion of being sympathizers of the terrorists. However, the manner of their detention was unique. For many of them the prison was but a place to sleep. In the morning they set out from it to do their usual jobs, returning in the evening to sleep. No attempt at escape was ever made and the prison authorities claimed excellent results in "cleaning" former Frelimo sympathizers by this method. I learned of one young man who passed his university entrance examination at Machava and was able to attend lectures in Lourenço Marques during the day.

The future will show the result of General Spinola's coup, and those who have seen the staunch Portuguese resistance to Communist attack during all these years must hope that the result will not be disastrous for Portugal. The Frelimo killers are already acting as the future rulers of Mozambique, saying that they will break off economic ties with South Africa and Rhodesia at no matter what cost to Mozambique, and will nationalize the Cabora Bassa dam without compensation (I suggested earlier that this might be the reason why the Chinese had not tried to blow up the dam).

General Spinola had been in power just one month when he gave warning, at Oporto, against "anarchy" ("any form of anarchy will fatally open the door to new dictators, to régimes like the one overthrown on April 25").

Any violent interruption of an orderly system of government which has been going on for five hundred years is obviously likely to lead to anarchy and one may wonder why the General did not see that danger before he leaped into the centre of the political stage.

In the meantime the unhappy Black man in Mozambique and Angola, as elsewhere in Africa, will continue to be the small Black pawn in the White man's game of world revolution.[9]

Only the course of events can now vindicate or condemn General Spinola; and show whether his coup will prove to be a shot in the arm for Portugal or the coup de grace, destroying the Portuguese commonwealth and with it the historic achievement of five hundred years. When he acted, the Portuguese troops in Angola had the situation well in hand; as soon as he acted the Chinese, who until then were active only in Tanzania and Zambia, began to send instructors across the continent to the Congo to train Congolese troops for an attack on Angola. On 15 March 1961, the reader will recall, the Angolan population, unarmed, unprepared, almost defenceless, of its own strength threw back into the Congo the murderers who came from there, and in the subsequent thirteen years Angola went steadily ahead. Now the coup in Lisbon seemed to set back the clock thirteen years and the survivors of that terrible ordeal of March 1961 were faced with the likelihood of another such. In Mozambique, when the general acted, the Portuguese troops, two-thirds of them Black, were staunch and steady, as I can testify.

While the world waited to see the outcome of the coup in Portugal, I made another long journey of political discovery: to South West Africa.

Chapter Six

SOUTH WEST

The main changes were in the increasing prosperity of South West Africa since the Second World War, which derives chiefly from mining in all its forms, and the growth of Windhoek, the capital, which is now, much more than it was, a recognizably German city, with German shop names, German-style hotels, and a German newspaper.

The high-rise buildings and glistening shops are new and are not different in their functional architecture from those which abound in all modern cities, but their character is distinctively German. The old Beau-Geste-like fort still stands and a cannon with the Hohenzollern eagle on it guards the gateway. Three castle-on-the-Rhine-like mansions look down on the town. Two of them (as Mr. Jon Manchip White relates) were once owned by a German baron who installed his lady friend in one while he inhabited the other. The story is that he was a stickler for Korrektheit and always sent his butler over with his visiting card before calling on the lady.

Swakopmund, a rather forlorn little Governor's Residenz town at the mouth of the Swakop River when I saw it in 1949, has grown into a popular, and in the season populous, seaside resort still as distinctively German in its Kaffee und Kuchen atmosphere as it was in the days when Dr. Goering, the Reichmarshal's father, sat there in the Governor's place.

The greatest change was in South West's relationship with the outer world. In 1949 few knew anything about it and many had never heard of it. Those who for any reason took interest in it knew that, after centuries of savage tribal wars, it was annexed by the Kaiser's Germany in 1894 and was a German colony for thirty years until the German troops there surrendered to General Botha's South African forces in 1915.

Thus the question of South West's future arose. "International law" (according to the encyclopaedias) applies to "the subjugation of one independent State by another: which may be followed by the acquisition by the conqueror of territory which admittedly belonged to the conquered." In the light of what transpired, the world might have been spared much tribulation, had the South African Government simply invoked the law of conquest and incorporated South West in its own territory.

Instead, the League of Nations was set up in Geneva and South Africa was, by dubious right, burdened with something called "a Mandate" to administer South West under South African laws as an integral part of its territory (my italics are intended to draw attention to the essential point).

The old League, though a farce, did at least bring together in its assemblies persons with recognizable names and identities, with some qualification to be accredited as national representatives, and to be regarded by the public masses as men who upheld the cause of their particular nation among this "league" of nations, spokesmen and guardians of national interests within the framework of international debate.

Later, to the woe of generations to come, South West, quiet, improving, orderly, harming none, came under the purview of the congeries of faceless, nameless beings at the House of Helots in New York, as they cast about for places to incite men against each other and destroy peoples and nations. None knew their names. They were as anonymous as a gang of cattle rustlers on a dark night: the only "unity" they knew was in their united devotion to the destructive cause. Like automatons they stood up to vote for any incitement to rebellion or war. Not a man among them dared vote on his conscience or belief; they were the helots of world revolution. They sent arms, money and a rabble of mercenaries with "U.N." painted on their helmets to destroy one of the very few viable, stable and well-run territories in Africa, the Katanga of Mr. Moise Tshombe, and in their wake left the Congo open to massacre on the grand scale. Then they turned their predator's gaze on South West Africa, enjoying a period of order and progress after centuries of the most savage tribal warfare.

One of the Unacceptable Truths about South West (that is to say, a truth which is not allowed to reach the masses outside) is that during the fifty years of South Africa's administration the general birth rate increased more rapidly than in any other African country (in the last ten years; of course, the general death rate in those other African countries has increased much more rapidly). This applied equally to the Hereros, one of the nine separate ethnic groups inhabiting the territory. Alone among all these tribal groups, the Hereros are known, at least by name, to some extent in the outer world. This seems to be the result of various excursions into the country by "Marxist priests" seeking "a cause and an audience". The general, vague idea about the Hereros among such people in the outer world is that they are, among the oppressed, the most oppressed.

Again, this is the opposite of the truth of what has happened to the Hereros during the period of South African administration; this has been the re-birth of a small tribe which seemed to be doomed and dying out.

The Hereros spent the first eighty years of the nineteenth century in unremitting warfare with the Hottentots, who twice defeated them. Then in 1894 came the Germans, and the Hereros became the favourite sons of the new Protector (as such the Hereros regarded them, and the Germans tried hard to uplift them). In 1904 the Hereros suddenly turned against the Protector and massacred German garrisons and mission stations. The German General von Trotha mercilessly repressed the inexplicable rising and in the final encounter at the Waterberg the Hereros were wiped out save for the few survivors who escaped to Angola and Botswana (where they still are).

After that the Hereros seemed to be dying out again. There were stories that their women refused to have children, that the men had become sterile: the spirit of the tribe was broken. Then, when South Africa took over the territory, the reverse process began, and in the next fifty years (that is, until today) their numbers more than doubled. They are still one of the smaller tribes, outnumbered seven to one for instance, by the Ovambo in the north. They stand out from the other tribes by their great self-conceit (they think of themselves as the destined leaders of the mass and upstage the others by their talent for attracting the notice of the outer world to themselves).

Their women, who are tall, graceful in movement and sturdy, stand out from all others, anywhere in Africa where I have been, by the brilliance and elegance of their dress. None can understand today how they have contrived to fashion raiment of such beauty from the original mode, the flounce-and-bustle dresses of the wives of the Rhenish missionaries who appeared in South West in the mid-eighteen hundreds. It is as if Mr. Cecil Beaton, in My Fair Lady mood, had designed a dazzling series of costumes for a Black musical, My Dark Lady, perhaps. Their use of vivid colours produces startling effects, and any who encounter an Herero woman in full regalia for the first time must stop and stare at something so unique and unexpected.

The male Herero, for no apparent reason, feels himself to be a member of a Herrenvolk, and bears himself swaggeringly. He is, understandably, disliked by his fellow Black men. The Hereros and Hottentots defeated and enslaved the more numerous Bergdama people, whom they despised as "baboons", and to this day look down on them as destined serfs of the stronger tribes.

So much for the Hereros, who receive more publicity in the outer world than they inherently deserve, but that is part of the leftist-liberal plan of reducing all of Africa to a mass and mess of weak, depopulated territories, incapable of resistance when World Government moves in.

After the rape of Katanga the attention of the House of Helots at once turned towards South West, a place where tribal feuds could be encouraged and risings against the Whites fomented, and a base established for the main attack on South Africa itself. This phase of the destructive process began with the appeal of Ethiopia and Liberia to the World Court to hold that South Africa had violated the obligation to "promote to the utmost the moral and social wellbeing and the social progress" of the inhabitants of South West. (In another book I recalled that the old League of Nations, which occasionally did good things, found through its Slavery Commission that slavery still existed in Ethiopia and Liberia, and I mentioned that this continued to be the case.) For the moment nothing came of that, and the desired invasion of South Africa by sea, air and land (already planned in full published detail, in the Carnegie Plan of 1965) did not occur.

The name, South West Africa, is as correct as "South Africa". The territory lies in the south-west of Africa, and no good reason offers to call it anything else. For bad reasons, the Helots in New York invented yet another new republic there, as they had already done in the Portuguese West African territory of Guinea-Bissau. They called this new, equally non-existent country "Namibia", after the great Namib desert. If it should serve the purpose of the conspiracy no doubt they will one day announce that the whole of North Africa is the new Republic of Saharia.

Then the leftist-liberals all over the world began to talk about "Namibia" and, of course, to "recognize" the new republic. In no time at all about seventy of the faceless Helots on East 42nd Street had "recognized" the new Republic, and from far-flung Australia the energetic headline-collector, Mr. Gough Whitlam, hastened to join the throng.

A NGANGA (HERBALIST AND BONE-THROWER) AT AN ANTI-TERRORIST GATHERING, SALISBURY, 1973

In due course the Helots announced the appointment of a "U.N. Commissioner for Namibia". This was a Mr. Sean MacBride and Mr. MacBride set about to make another Katanga of "Namibia". Speaking, as might be expected, at Lusaka, in Zambia, which is the headquarters of several terrorist organizations, he gratified his audience by saying that he would, "consider using force to get South Africa out of South West", if the Security Council approved. He intended, he said, "to draw up a long-term programme for independence in Namibia which would include the training of Africans to take over the running of the country". At this point the shadow of what had happened in Katanga began to creep towards prosperous and orderly South West, and if ever they find themselves living in "Namibia" the Ovambo will rue the day. But then, they are meant to rue the day, and to revert to the days of slavery from which they have been freed.

"INTIMIDATION": TWO CHIEF'S MESSENGERS AMBUSHED AND MURDERED, 1973

The kind of people who, if this Commissioner should have his way, would be "trained to take over the running of the country", might be foreseen by considering the case of a Mr. Sam Nujoma, the leader of an organization called the South West Africa's People's Organization, or SWAPO, which is dedicated to the aim of creating revolution in South West. His public exhortations to violence and revolutionary methods caused him to remove himself to Dar-es-Salaam, the Chinese-Russian invasion port in East Africa, where he found himself in congenial company with those whom one writer calls "the cream of Africa's revolutionaries", and whom I would call the scum of Africa. On the wall of his office hangs a published programme-of-action of the Organization for African Unity (OAU), which says:

We cannot compromise with any White Government, extreme or liberal, or agree to multi-racial nonsense. We are determined to destroy all vestiges of White civilization. The rivers of the South are to turn red with the blood of the White tyrants and their children.

This applies particularly to the Ovambos, who with around 400,000 people are by far the greatest tribe in South West. More than that, as part of the Homeland process, they obtained self-government status in 1973 (as did their much smaller Kavango neighbours in that year). Since then they have had their own Ovambo Legislative Council which functions on a federal basis, each of the seven Ovambo tribal communities contributing six representatives. Ovamboland is in practice run in the traditional way by its Chiefs and Headmen. When I was there late in 1973 the Chief Councillor (in effect, the future Prime Minister) was Chief Filemon Elifas, whom I found, when I called on him at his kraal, wearing a sweat shirt and pants and busy doing something to his car.

Under this arrangement Ovamboland, where the Ovambo came down from the north and settled long ago, has lived a peaceful and settled pastoral and agricultural life, almost free from the lethal inter-tribal wars of the southerly tribes during the nineteenth century. They were left alone and were happy in their fashion. Even the Germans, during their stay in South West from 1894 to 1915, never established effective jurisdiction over the Ovambo, and were never represented there by either civilian or military officials.

Thus a fair and promising future of independence developing into sovereign nationhood would await the Ovambo, but for one thing. They are no longer to be left in peace to go their own way. Their territory borders on Angola, and through the forests and bush there creep the emissaries of Mr. Nujoma in far away Dar-es-Salaam. These emissaries infiltrate into the Ovambo villages by night and disturb and incite the tribespeople, particularly the young men, with tales of coming invasions patronized by the House of Helots in New York and limitlessly supplied with Chinese and Russian arms. The leftist-liberal world conspiracy has reached into this remote and peaceful pastoral community.

Chief Elifas and his colleagues of the Legislative Council responded to the threat of violent outbreaks and the overthrow of orderly government by measures similar to those taken by other Black leaders in the "liberated" regions to the north. He requested the South African Police to suppress illegal meetings in the homeland, because they were the product of "undesirable foreign influences" and were intended to break down law and order in the territory. At that time an election pended and political meetings were allowed only with the prior permission of the tribal authorities. This step was directed mainly against Mr. Nujoma's SWAPO agents, who were in fact stirring up grave trouble in the territory.

As a sequel to this a Mr. Nangutuuala, leader of an opposition "Democratic Co-operative Development Party" was arrested and publicly flogged with the traditional palm-leaf rib.

Mr. Nangutuuala, a Christian soul who believed in turning the other cheek, was probably the least outraged by the flogging, saying he felt happy about it because "I benefited politically as a result". In the outer world, however, all the cover-organizations of the leftist-liberal conspiracy, such as the World Council of Churches, "International Amnesty", the "Friends of Namibia", and the "International Commission of Jurists" (sic) filled the air at the House of Helots with their cries of "unprecedented brutality" and their demands for an attack on South Africa.

In the real world, as distinct from the false one of helotry, flogging is an immemorial form of African tribal punishment. It is the least of the tribal ways of dealing with political or other enemies, to which the Black states of the north reverted immediately after "liberation". Queen Victoria, when she reluctantly agreed to the Chiefs' plea to grant Protection to Basutoland, Bechuanaland and Swaziland, instructed her High Commissioner for the three Protectorates to "respect any African laws and customs" except where these were "repugnant to humanity", but in this even the great Queen failed. When I was in Basutoland in 1948, the British administrators were vainly trying to stamp out "medicine killings". They never did: in the tribesman's beliefs, these were part and parcel of "African laws and customs".

Other countries, other ways. When Queen Elizabeth II, as Princess Elizabeth, visited Basutoland in 1947, she was received with great state and reverence by five senior Basotho chiefs. After her departure the British community agreed to ask her acceptance of a painting by an eminent South African artist to commemorate her visit. The general feeling was that the painting should be of some typically South African scene, "Moonlight on the Drakensberg" or something of that kind, but the Princess asked if she might instead have a painting of the five Chiefs whose picturesque ceremonial of loyalty and veneration she well remembered. Sadly, this could not be arranged: two of them had in the meanwhile been hanged for strong medicine murders.

When that gentle zephyr-like "Wind of Change" blew into Africa north of the Zambesi, all suc