Ideal for which I am prepared to die -
part 1
This statement was made
from the dock at the opening of Mandela's trial on charges of
sabotage, Supreme court of South Africa, Pretoria, April 20 1964
I
am the first accused. I hold a bachelor's degree in arts and
practised as an attorney in Johannesburg for a number of years in
partnership with Oliver Tambo. I am a convicted prisoner serving five
years for leaving the country without a permit and for inciting
people to go on strike at the end of May 1961.
At the outset,
I want to say that the suggestion made by the state in its opening
that the struggle in South Africa is under the influence of
foreigners or communists is wholly incorrect. I have done whatever I
did, both as an individual and as a leader of my people,
because of my experience in South Africa and my own proudly felt
African background, and not because of what any outsider might have
said.
In my youth in
the Transkei I listened to the elders of my tribe telling stories of
the old days. Amongst the tales they related to me were those of wars
fought by our ancestors in defence of the fatherland. The names of
Dingane and Bambata, Hintsa and Makana, Squngthi and Dalasile,
Moshoeshoe and Sekhukhuni, were praised as the glory of the entire
African nation. I hoped then that life might offer me the opportunity
to serve my people and make my own humble contribution to their
freedom struggle. This is what has motivated me in all that I have
done in relation to the charges made against me in this case.
Having said
this, I must deal immediately and at some length with the question of
violence. Some of the things so far told to the court are true and
some are untrue. I do not, however, deny that I planned sabotage. I
did not plan it in a spirit of recklessness, nor because I have any
love of violence. I planned it as a result of a calm and sober
assessment of the political situation that had arisen after many
years of tyranny, exploitation, and oppression of my people by the
whites.
I admit
immediately that I was one of the persons who helped to form Umkhonto
we Sizwe, and that I played a prominent role in its affairs until I
was arrested in August 1962.
In the
statement which I am about to make I shall correct certain false
impressions which have been created by state witnesses. Amongst other
things, I will demonstrate that certain of the acts referred to in
the evidence were not and could not have been committed by Umkhonto.
I will also deal with the relationship between the African National
Congress and Umkhonto, and with the part which I personally have
played in the affairs of both organisations. I shall deal also with
the part played by the Communist Party. In order to explain these
matters properly, I will have to explain what Umkhonto set out to
achieve; what methods it prescribed for the achievement of these
objects, and why these methods were chosen. I will also have to
explain how I became involved in the activities of these
organisations.
I deny that
Umkhonto was responsible for a number of acts which clearly fell
outside the policy of the organisation, and which have been charged
in the indictment against us. I do not know what justification there
was for these acts, but to demonstrate that they could not have been
authorised by Umkhonto, I want to refer briefly to the roots and
policy of the organisation.
I have already
mentioned that I was one of the persons who helped to form Umkhonto.
I, and the others who started the organisation, did so for two
reasons. Firstly, we believed that as a result of Government policy,
violence by the African people had become inevitable, and that unless
responsible leadership was given to canalise and control the feelings
of our people, there would be outbreaks of terrorism which would
produce an intensity of bitterness and hostility between the various
races of this country which is not produced even by war. Secondly, we
felt that without violence there would be no way open to the African
people to succeed in their struggle against the principle of white
supremacy. All lawful modes of expressing opposition to this
principle had been closed by legislation, and we were placed in a
position in which we had either to accept a permanent state of
inferiority, or to defy the government. We chose to defy the law. We
first broke the law in a way which avoided any recourse to violence;
when this form was legislated against, and then the government
resorted to a show of force to crush opposition to its policies, only
then did we decide to answer violence with violence.
But the
violence which we chose to adopt was not terrorism. We who formed
Umkhonto were all members of the African National Congress, and had
behind us the ANC tradition of non-violence and negotiation as a
means of solving political disputes. We believe that South Africa
belongs to all the people who live in it, and not to one group, be it
black or white. We did not want an interracial war, and tried to
avoid it to the last minute. If the court is in doubt about this, it
will be seen that the whole history of our organisation bears out
what I have said, and what I will subsequently say, when I describe
the tactics which Umkhonto decided to adopt. I want, therefore, to
say something about the African National Congress.
The African
National Congress was formed in 1912 to defend the rights of the
African people which had been seriously curtailed by the South Africa
Act, and which were then being threatened by the Native Land Act. For
thirty-seven years - that is until 1949 - it adhered strictly to a
constitutional struggle. It put forward demands and resolutions; it
sent delegations to the Government in the belief that African
grievances could be settled through peaceful discussion and that
Africans could advance gradually to full political rights. But white
governments remained unmoved, and the rights of Africans became less
instead of becoming greater. In the words of my leader, Chief Lutuli,
who became President of the ANC in 1952, and who was later awarded
the Nobel Peace Prize:
"Who will
deny that thirty years of my life have been spent knocking in vain,
patiently, moderately, and modestly at a closed and barred door? What
have been the fruits of moderation? The past thirty years have seen
the greatest number of laws restricting our rights and progress,
until today we have reached a stage where we have almost no rights at
all."
Even after
1949, the ANC remained determined to avoid violence. At this time,
however, there was a change from the strictly constitutional means of
protest which had been employed in the past. The change was embodied
in a decision which was taken to protest against apartheid
legislation by peaceful, but unlawful, demonstrations against certain
laws. Pursuant to this policy the ANC launched the Defiance Campaign,
in which I was placed in charge of volunteers. This campaign was
based on the principles of passive resistance. More than 8,500 people
defied apartheid laws and went to jail. Yet there was not a single
instance of violence in the course of this campaign on the part of
any defier. I and nineteen colleagues were convicted for the role
which we played in organising the campaign, but our sentences were
suspended mainly because the judge found that discipline and
non-violence had been stressed throughout. This was the time when the
volunteer section of the ANC was established, and when the word
'Amadelakufa' was first used: this was the time when the volunteers
were asked to take a pledge to uphold certain principles. Evidence
dealing with volunteers and their pledges has been introduced into
this case, but completely out of context. The volunteers were not,
and are not, the soldiers of a black army pledged to fight a civil
war against the whites. They were, and are, dedicated workers who are
prepared to lead campaigns initiated by the ANC to distribute
leaflets, to organise strikes, or do whatever the particular campaign
required. They are called volunteers because they volunteer to face
the penalties of imprisonment and whipping which are now prescribed
by the legislature for such acts.
During the
defiance campaign, the Public Safety Act and the Criminal Law
Amendment Act were passed. These statutes provided harsher penalties
for offences committed by way of protests against laws. Despite this,
the protests continued and the ANC adhered to its policy of
non-violence. In 1956, 156 leading members of the Congress alliance,
including myself, were arrested on a charge of high treason and
charges under the Suppression of Communism Act. The non-violent
policy of the ANC was put in issue by the state, but when the court
gave judgement some five years later, it found that the ANC did not
have a policy of violence. We were acquitted on all counts, which
included a count that the ANC sought to set up a communist state in
place of the existing regime. The government has always sought to
label all its opponents as communists. This allegation has been
repeated in the present case, but as I will show, the ANC is not, and
never has been, a communist organisation.
In 1960 there
was the shooting at Sharpeville, which resulted in the proclamation
of a state of emergency and the declaration of the ANC as an unlawful
organisation. My colleagues and I, after careful consideration,
decided that we would not obey this decree. The African people were
not part of the government and did not make the laws by which they
were governed. We believed in the words of the Universal Declaration
of Human Rights, that 'the will of the people shall be the basis of
authority of the government,' and for us to accept the banning was
equivalent to accepting the silencing of the Africans for all time.
The ANC refused to dissolve, but instead went underground. We
believed it was our duty to preserve this organisation which had been
built up with almost fifty years of unremitting toil. I have no doubt
that no self-respecting white political organisation would disband
itself if declared illegal by a government in which it had no say.
In 1960 the
government held a referendum which led to the establishment of the
republic. Africans, who constituted approximately 70 per cent of the
population of South Africa, were not entitled to vote, and were not
even consulted about the proposed constitutional change. All of us
were apprehensive of our future under the proposed white republic,
and a resolution was taken to hold an all-in African conference to
call for a national convention, and to organise mass demonstrations
on the eve of the unwanted republic, if the government failed to call
the convention. The conference was attended by Africans of various
political persuasions. I was the secretary of the conference and
undertook to be responsible for organising the national stay-at-home
which was subsequently called to coincide with the declaration of the
republic. As all strikes by Africans are illegal, the person
organising such a strike must avoid arrest. I was chosen to be this
person, and consequently I had to leave my home and family and my
practice and go into hiding to avoid arrest.
The
stay-at-home, in accordance with ANC policy, was to be a peaceful
demonstration. Careful instructions were given to organisers and
members to avoid any recourse to violence. The government's answer
was to introduce new and harsher laws, to mobilise its armed forces,
and to send saracens, armed vehicles, and soldiers into the townships
in a massive show of force designed to intimidate the people. This
was an indication that the government had decided to rule by force
alone, and this decision was a milestone on the road to Umkhonto.
Some of this
may appear irrelevant to this trial. In fact, I believe none of it is
irrelevant because it will, I hope, enable the court to appreciate
the attitude eventually adopted by the various persons and bodies
concerned in the National Liberation Movement. When I went to jail in
1962, the dominant idea was that loss of life should be avoided. I
now know that this was still so in 1963.
I must return
to June 1961. What were we, the leaders of our people, to do? Were we
to give in to the show of force and the implied threat against future
action, or were we to fight it and, if so, how?
We had no doubt
that we had to continue the fight. Anything else would have been
abject surrender. Our problem was not whether to fight, but was how
to continue the fight. We of the ANC had always stood for a
non-racial democracy, and we shrank from any action which might drive
the races further apart than they already were. But the hard facts
were that fifty years of non-violence had brought the African people
nothing but more and more repressive legislation, and fewer and fewer
rights. It may not be easy for this court to understand, but it is a
fact that for a long time the people had been talking of violence -
of the day when they would fight the white man and win back their
country - and we, the leaders of the ANC, had nevertheless always
prevailed upon them to avoid violence and to pursue peaceful methods.
When some of us discussed this in May and June of 1961, it could not
be denied that our policy to achieve a non-racial state by
non-violence had achieved nothing, and that our followers were
beginning to lose confidence in this policy and were developing
disturbing ideas of terrorism.
It must not be
forgotten that by this time violence had, in fact, become a feature
of the South African political scene. There had been violence in 1957
when the women of Zeerust were ordered to carry passes; there was
violence in 1958 with the enforcement of cattle culling in
Sekhukhuniland; there was violence in 1959 when the people of Cato
Manor protested against pass raids; there was violence in 1960 when
the government attempted to impose Bantu authorities in Pondoland.
Thirty-nine Africans died in these disturbances. In 1961 there had
been riots in I am the first accused. I hold a bachelor's degree in
arts and practised as an attorney in Johannesburg for a number of
years in partnership with Oliver Tambo. I am a convicted prisoner
serving five years for leaving the country without a permit and for
inciting people to go on strike at the end of May 1961.
At the outset,
I want to say that the suggestion made by the state in its opening
that the struggle in South Africa is under the influence of
foreigners or communists is wholly incorrect. I have done whatever I
did, both as an individual and as a leader of my people, because of
my experience in South Africa and my own proudly felt African
background, and not because of what any outsider might have said.
In my youth in
the Transkei I listened to the elders of my tribe telling stories of
the old days. Amongst the tales they related to me were those of wars
fought by our ancestors in defence of the fatherland. The names of
Dingane and Bambata, Hintsa and Makana, Squngthi and Dalasile,
Moshoeshoe and Sekhukhuni, were praised as the glory of the entire
African nation. I hoped then that life might offer me the opportunity
to serve my people and make my own humble contribution to their
freedom struggle. This is what has motivated me in all that I have
done in relation to the charges made against me in this case.
Having said
this, I must deal immediately and at some length with the question of
violence. Some of the things so far told to the court are true and
some are untrue. I do not, however, deny that I planned sabotage. I
did not plan it in a spirit of recklessness, nor because I have any
love of violence. I planned it as a result of a calm and sober
assessment of the political situation that had arisen after many
years of tyranny, exploitation, and oppression of my people by the
whites.
I admit
immediately that I was one of the persons who helped to form Umkhonto
we Sizwe, and that I played a prominent role in its affairs until I
was arrested in August 1962.
In the
statement which I am about to make I shall correct certain false
impressions which have been created by state witnesses. Amongst other
things, I will demonstrate that certain of the acts referred to in
the evidence were not and could not have been committed by Umkhonto.
I will also deal with the relationship between the African National
Congress and Umkhonto, and with the part which I personally have
played in the affairs of both organisations. I shall deal also with
the part played by the Communist Party. In order to explain these
matters properly, I will have to explain what Umkhonto set out to
achieve; what methods it prescribed for the achievement of these
objects, and why these methods were chosen. I will also have to
explain how I became involved in the activities of these
organisations.
I deny that
Umkhonto was responsible for a number of acts which clearly fell
outside the policy of the organisation, and which have been charged
in the indictment against us. I do not know what justification there
was for these acts, but to demonstrate that they could not have been
authorised by Umkhonto, I want to refer briefly to the roots and
policy of the organisation.
I have already
mentioned that I was one of the persons who helped to form Umkhonto.
I, and the others who started the organisation, did so for two
reasons. Firstly, we believed that as a result of Government policy,
violence by the African people had become inevitable, and that unless
responsible leadership was given to canalise and control the feelings
of our people, there would be outbreaks of terrorism which would
produce an intensity of bitterness and hostility between the various
races of this country which is not produced even by war. Secondly, we
felt that without violence there would be no way open to the African
people to succeed in their struggle against the principle of white
supremacy. All lawful modes of expressing opposition to this
principle had been closed by legislation, and we were placed in a
position in which we had either to accept a permanent state of
inferiority, or to defy the government. We chose to defy the law. We
first broke the law in a way which avoided any recourse to violence;
when this form was legislated against, and then the government
resorted to a show of force to crush opposition to its policies, only
then did we decide to answer violence with violence.
But the
violence which we chose to adopt was not terrorism. We who formed
Umkhonto were all members of the African National Congress, and had
behind us the ANC tradition of non-violence and negotiation as a
means of solving political disputes. We believe that South Africa
belongs to all the people who live in it, and not to one group, be it
black or white. We did not want an interracial war, and tried to
avoid it to the last minute. If the court is in doubt about this, it
will be seen that the whole history of our organisation bears out
what I have said, and what I will subsequently say, when I describe
the tactics which Umkhonto decided to adopt. I want, therefore, to
say something about the African National Congress.
The African
National Congress was formed in 1912 to defend the rights of the
African people which had been seriously curtailed by the South Africa
Act, and which were then being threatened by the Native Land Act. For
thirty-seven years - that is until 1949 - it adhered strictly to a
constitutional struggle. It put forward demands and resolutions; it
sent delegations to the Government in the belief that African
grievances could be settled through peaceful discussion and that
Africans could advance gradually to full political rights. But white
governments remained unmoved, and the rights of Africans became less
instead of becoming greater. In the words of my leader, Chief Lutuli,
who became President of the ANC in 1952, and who was later awarded
the Nobel Peace Prize:
"Who will
deny that thirty years of my life have been spent knocking in vain,
patiently, moderately, and modestly at a closed and barred door? What
have been the fruits of moderation? The past thirty years have seen
the greatest number of laws restricting our rights and progress,
until today we have reached a stage where we have almost no rights at
all."
Even after
1949, the ANC remained determined to avoid violence. At this time,
however, there was a change from the strictly constitutional means of
protest which had been employed in the past. The change was embodied
in a decision which was taken to protest against apartheid
legislation by peaceful, but unlawful, demonstrations against certain
laws. Pursuant to this policy the ANC launched the Defiance Campaign,
in which I was placed in charge of volunteers. This campaign was
based on the principles of passive resistance. More than 8,500 people
defied apartheid laws and went to jail. Yet there was not a single
instance of violence in the course of this campaign on the part of
any defier. I and nineteen colleagues were convicted for the role
which we played in organising the campaign, but our sentences were
suspended mainly because the judge found that discipline and
non-violence had been stressed throughout. This was the time when the
volunteer section of the ANC was established, and when the word
'Amadelakufa' was first used: this was the time when the volunteers
were asked to take a pledge to uphold certain principles. Evidence
dealing with volunteers and their pledges has been introduced into
this case, but completely out of context. The volunteers were not,
and are not, the soldiers of a black army pledged to fight a civil
war against the whites. They were, and are, dedicated workers who are
prepared to lead campaigns initiated by the ANC to distribute
leaflets, to organise strikes, or do whatever the particular campaign
required. They are called volunteers because they volunteer to face
the penalties of imprisonment and whipping which are now prescribed
by the legislature for such acts.
During the
defiance campaign, the Public Safety Act and the Criminal Law
Amendment Act were passed. These statutes provided harsher penalties
for offences committed by way of protests against laws. Despite this,
the protests continued and the ANC adhered to its policy of
non-violence. In 1956, 156 leading members of the Congress alliance,
including myself, were arrested on a charge of high treason and
charges under the Suppression of Communism Act. The non-violent
policy of the ANC was put in issue by the state, but when the court
gave judgement some five years later, it found that the ANC did not
have a policy of violence. We were acquitted on all counts, which
included a count that the ANC sought to set up a communist state in
place of the existing regime. The government has always sought to
label all its opponents as communists. This allegation has been
repeated in the present case, but as I will show, the ANC is not, and
never has been, a communist organisation.
In 1960 there
was the shooting at Sharpeville, which resulted in the proclamation
of a state of emergency and the declaration of the ANC as an unlawful
organisation. My colleagues and I, after careful consideration,
decided that we would not obey this decree. The African people were
not part of the government and did not make the laws by which they
were governed. We believed in the words of the Universal Declaration
of Human Rights, that 'the will of the people shall be the basis of
authority of the government,' and for us to accept the banning was
equivalent to accepting the silencing of the Africans for all time.
The ANC refused to dissolve, but instead went underground. We
believed it was our duty to preserve this organisation which had been
built up with almost fifty years of unremitting toil. I have no doubt
that no self-respecting white political organisation would disband
itself if declared illegal by a government in which it had no say.
In 1960 the
government held a referendum which led to the establishment of the
republic. Africans, who constituted approximately 70 per cent of the
population of South Africa, were not entitled to vote, and were not
even consulted about the proposed constitutional change. All of us
were apprehensive of our future under the proposed white republic,
and a resolution was taken to hold an all-in African conference to
call for a national convention, and to organise mass demonstrations
on the eve of the unwanted republic, if the government failed to call
the convention. The conference was attended by Africans of various
political persuasions. I was the secretary of the conference and
undertook to be responsible for organising the national stay-at-home
which was subsequently called to coincide with the declaration of the
republic. As all strikes by Africans are illegal, the person
organising such a strike must avoid arrest. I was chosen to be this
person, and consequently I had to leave my home and family and my
practice and go into hiding to avoid arrest.
The
stay-at-home, in accordance with ANC policy, was to be a peaceful
demonstration. Careful instructions were given to organisers and
members to avoid any recourse to violence. The government's answer
was to introduce new and harsher laws, to mobilise its armed forces,
and to send saracens, armed vehicles, and soldiers into the townships
in a massive show of force designed to intimidate the people. This
was an indication that the government had decided to rule by force
alone, and this decision was a milestone on the road to Umkhonto.
Some of this
may appear irrelevant to this trial. In fact, I believe none of it is
irrelevant because it will, I hope, enable the court to appreciate
the attitude eventually adopted by the various persons and bodies
concerned in the National Liberation Movement. When I went to jail in
1962, the dominant idea was that loss of life should be avoided. I
now know that this was still so in 1963.
I must return
to June 1961. What were we, the leaders of our people, to do? Were we
to give in to the show of force and the implied threat against future
action, or were we to fight it and, if so, how?
We had no doubt
that we had to continue the fight. Anything else would have been
abject surrender. Our problem was not whether to fight, but was how
to continue the fight. We of the ANC had always stood for a
non-racial democracy, and we shrank from any action which might drive
the races further apart than they already were. But the hard facts
were that fifty years of non-violence had brought the African people
nothing but more and more repressive legislation, and fewer and fewer
rights. It may not be easy for this court to understand, but it is a
fact that for a long time the people had been talking of violence -
of the day when they would fight the white man and win back their
country - and we, the leaders of the ANC, had nevertheless always
prevailed upon them to avoid violence and to pursue peaceful methods.
When some of us discussed this in May and June of 1961, it could not
be denied that our policy to achieve a non-racial state by
non-violence had achieved nothing, and that our followers were
beginning to lose confidence in this policy and were developing
disturbing ideas of terrorism.
It must not be
forgotten that by this time violence had, in fact, become a feature
of the South African political scene. There had been violence in 1957
when the women of Zeerust were ordered to carry passes; there was
violence in 1958 with the enforcement of cattle culling in
Sekhukhuniland; there was violence in 1959 when the people of Cato
Manor protested against pass raids; there was violence in 1960 when
the government attempted to impose Bantu authorities in Pondoland.
Thirty-nine Africans died in these disturbances. In 1961 there had
been riots in Warmbaths, and all this time the Transkei had been a
seething mass of unrest. Each disturbance pointed clearly to the
inevitable growth among Africans of the belief that violence was the
only way out - it showed that a government which uses force to
maintain its rule teaches the oppressed to use force to oppose it.
Already small groups had arisen in the urban areas and were
spontaneously making plans for violent forms of political struggle.
There now arose a danger that these groups would adopt terrorism
against Africans, as well as whites, if not properly directed.
Particularly disturbing was the type of violence engendered in places
such as Zeerust, Sekhukhuniland, and Pondoland amongst Africans. It
was increasingly taking the form, not of struggle against the
government - though this is what prompted it - but of civil strife
amongst themselves, conducted in such a way that it could not hope to
achieve anything other than a loss of life and bitterness.
At the
beginning of June 1961, after a long and anxious assessment of the
South African situation, I, and some colleagues, came to the
conclusion that as violence in this country was inevitable, it would
be unrealistic and wrong for African leaders to continue preaching
peace and non-violence at a time when the government met our peaceful
demands with force.
This conclusion
was not easily arrived at. It was only when all else had failed, when
all channels of peaceful protest had been barred to us, that the
decision was made to embark on violent forms of political struggle,
and to form Umkhonto we Sizwe. We did so not because we desired such
a course, but solely because the government had left us with no other
choice. In the Manifesto of Umkhonto published on 16 December 1961,
which is exhibit AD, we said:
"The time
comes in the life of any nation when there remain only two choices -
submit or fight. That time has now come to South Africa. We shall not
submit and we have no choice but to hit back by all means in our
power in defence of our people, our future, and our freedom."
This was our
feeling in June of 1961 when we decided to press for a change in the
policy of the National Liberation Movement. I can only say that I
felt morally obliged to do what I did.
We who had
taken this decision started to consult leaders of various
organisations, including the ANC. I will not say whom we spoke to, or
what they said, but I wish to deal with the role of the African
National Congress in this phase of the struggle, and with the policy
and objectives of Umkhonto we Sizwe.
As far as the
ANC was concerned, it formed a clear view which can be summarised as
follows:
It was a mass
political organisation with a political function to fulfil. Its
members had joined on the express policy of non-violence.
·
Because of all this, it could not and would not undertake violence.
This must be stressed. One cannot turn such a body into the small,
closely knit organisation required for sabotage. Nor would this be
politically correct, because it would result in members ceasing to
carry out this essential activity: political propaganda and
organisation. Nor was it permissible to change the whole nature of
the organisation.
· On
the other hand, in view of this situation I have described, the ANC
was prepared to depart from its fifty-year-old policy of non-violence
to this extent that it would no longer disapprove of properly
controlled violence. Hence members who undertook such activity would
not be subject to disciplinary action by the ANC.
I say 'properly
controlled violence' because I made it clear that if I formed the
organisation I would at all times subject it to the political
guidance of the ANC and would not undertake any different form of
activity from that contemplated without the consent of the ANC. And I
shall now tell the court how that form of violence came to be
determined.
As a result of
this decision, Umkhonto was formed in November 1961. When we took
this decision, and subsequently formulated our plans, the ANC
heritage of non-violence and racial harmony was very much with us. We
felt that the country was drifting towards a civil war in which
blacks and whites would fight each other. We viewed the situation
with alarm. Civil war could mean the destruction of what the ANC
stood for; with civil war, racial peace would be more difficult than
ever to achieve. We already have examples in South African history of
the results of war. It has taken more than fifty years for the scars
of the South African War to disappear. How much longer would it take
to eradicate the scars of inter-racial civil war, which could not be
fought without a great loss of life on both sides?
The avoidance
of civil war had dominated our thinking for many years, but when we
decided to adopt violence as part of our policy, we realised that we
might one day have to face the prospect of such a war. This had to be
taken into account in formulating our plans. We required a plan which
was flexible and which permitted us to act in accordance with the
needs of the times; above all, the plan had to be one which
recognised civil war as the last resort, and left the decision on
this question to the future. We did not want to be committed to civil
war, but we wanted to be ready if it became inevitable.
Four forms of
violence were possible. There is sabotage, there is guerrilla
warfare, there is terrorism, and there is open revolution. We chose
to adopt the first method and to exhaust it before taking any other
decision.
In the light of
our political background the choice was a logical one. Sabotage did
not involve loss of life, and it offered the best hope for future
race relations. Bitterness would be kept to a minimum and, if the
policy bore fruit, democratic government could become a reality. This
is what we felt at the time, and this is what we said in our
manifesto (exhibit AD):
"We of
Umkhonto we Sizwe have always sought to achieve liberation without
bloodshed and civil clash. We hope, even at this late hour, that our
first actions will awaken everyone to a realisation of the disastrous
situation to which the nationalist policy is leading. We hope that we
will bring the government and its supporters to their senses before
it is too late, so that both the government and its policies can be
changed before matters reach the desperate state of civil war."
The initial
plan was based on a careful analysis of the political and economic
situation of our country. We believed that South Africa depended to a
large extent on foreign capital and foreign trade. We felt that
planned destruction of power plants, and interference with rail and
telephone communications, would tend to scare away capital from the
country, make it more difficult for goods from the industrial areas
to reach the seaports on schedule, and would in the long run be a
heavy drain on the economic life of the country, thus compelling the
voters of the country to reconsider their position.
Attacks on the
economic life-lines of the country were to be linked with sabotage on
government buildings and other symbols of apartheid. These attacks
would serve as a source of inspiration to our people. In addition,
they would provide an outlet for those people who were urging the
adoption of violent methods and would enable us to give concrete
proof to our followers that we had adopted a stronger line and were
fighting back against government violence.
In addition, if
mass action were successfully organised, and mass reprisals taken, we
felt that sympathy for our cause would be roused in other countries,
and that greater pressure would be brought to bear on the South
African government.
This then was
the plan. Umkhonto was to perform sabotage, and strict instructions
were given to its members right from the start, that on no account
were they to injure or kill people in planning or carrying out
operations. These instructions have been referred to in the evidence
of 'Mr X' and 'Mr Z.'
The affairs of
the Umkhonto were controlled and directed by a national high command,
which had powers of co-option and which could, and did, appoint
regional commands. The high command was the body which determined
tactics and targets and was in charge of training and finance. Under
the high command there were regional commands which were responsible
for the direction of the local sabotage groups. Within the framework
of the policy laid down by the national high command, the regional
commands had authority to select the targets to be attacked. They had
no authority to go beyond the prescribed framework and thus had no
authority to embark upon acts which endangered life, or which did not
fit into the overall plan of sabotage. For instance, Umkhonto members
were forbidden ever to go armed into operation. Incidentally, the
terms high command and regional command were an importation from the
Jewish national underground organisation Irgun Zvai Leumi, which
operated in Israel between 1944 and 1948.
Umkhonto had
its first operation on 16 December 1961, when Government buildings in
Johannesburg, Port Elizabeth and Durban were attacked. The selection
of targets is proof of the policy to which I have referred. Had we
intended to attack life we would have selected targets where people
congregated and not empty buildings and power stations. The sabotage
which was committed before 16 December 1961 was the work of isolated
groups and had no connection whatever with Umkhonto. In fact, some of
these and a number of later acts were claimed by other organisations.
The Manifesto
of Umkhonto was issued on the day that operations commenced. The
response to our actions and manifesto among the white population was
characteristically violent. The government threatened to take strong
action, and called upon its supporters to stand firm and to ignore
the demands of the Africans. The whites failed to respond by
suggesting change; they responded to our call by suggesting the
laager.
In contrast,
the response of the Africans was one of encouragement. Suddenly there
was hope again. Things were happening. People in the townships became
eager for political news. A great deal of enthusiasm was generated by
the initial successes, and people began to speculate on how soon
freedom would be obtained. But we in Umkhonto weighed up the white
response with anxiety. The lines were being drawn. The whites and
blacks were moving into separate camps, and the prospects of avoiding
a civil war were made less. The white newspapers carried reports that
sabotage would be punished by death. If this was so, how could we
continue to keep Africans away from terrorism?
Already scores
of Africans had died as a result of racial friction. In 1920 when the
famous leader, Masabala, was held in Port Elizabeth jail, twenty-four
of a group of Africans who had gathered to demand his release were
killed by the police and white civilians. In 1921 more than one
hundred Africans died in the Bulhoek affair. In 1924 over two hundred
Africans were killed when the Administrator of South-West Africa led
a force against a group which had rebelled against the imposition of
dog tax. On 1 May 1950, eighteen Africans died as a result of police
shootings during the strike. On 21 March 1960, sixty-nine unarmed
Africans died at Sharpeville.
How many more
Sharpevilles would there be in the history of our country? And how
many more Sharpevilles could the country stand without violence and
terror becoming the order of the day? And what would happen to our
people when that stage was reached? In the long run we felt certain
we must succeed, but at what cost to ourselves and the rest of the
country? And if this happened, how could black and white ever live
together again in peace and harmony? These were the problems that
faced us, and these were our decisions.
Experience
convinced us that rebellion would offer the government limitless
opportunities for the indiscriminate slaughter of our people. But it
was precisely because the soil of South Africa is already drenched
with the blood of innocent Africans that we felt it our duty to make
preparations as a long-term undertaking to use force in order to
defend ourselves against force. If war were inevitable, we wanted the
fight to be conducted on terms most favourable to our people. The
fight which held out prospects best for us and the least risk of life
to both sides was guerrilla warfare. We decided, therefore, in our
preparations for the future, to make provision for the possibility of
guerrilla warfare.
All whites
undergo compulsory military training, but no such training was given
to Africans. It was in our view essential to build up a nucleus of
trained men who would be able to provide the leadership which would
be required if guerrilla warfare started. We had to prepare for such
a situation before it became too late to make proper preparations. It
was also necessary to build up a nucleus of men trained in civil
administration and other professions, so that Africans would be
equipped to participate in the government of this country as soon as
they were allowed to do so.
At this stage
it was decided that I should attend the conference of the Pan-African
Freedom Movement for central, east, and southern Africa, which was to
be held early in 1962 in Addis Ababa, and, because of our need for
preparation, it was also decided that, after the conference, I would
undertake a tour of the African states with a view to obtaining
facilities for the training of soldiers, and that I would also
solicit scholarships for the higher education of matriculated
Africans. Training in both fields would be necessary, even if changes
came about by peaceful means. Administrators would be necessary who
would be willing and able to administer a non-racial state and so
would men be necessary to control the army and police force of such a
state.
It was on this
note that I left South Africa to proceed to Addis Ababa as a delegate
of the ANC. My tour was a success. Wherever I went I met sympathy for
our cause and promises of help. All Africa was united against the
stand of white South Africa, and even in London I was received with
great sympathy by political leaders, such as Mr Gaitskell and Mr
Grimond. In Africa I was promised support by such men as Julius
Nyerere, now President of Tanganyika; Mr Kawawa, then Prime Minister
of Tanganyika; Emperor Haile Selassie of Ethiopia; General Abboud,
President of the Sudan; Habib Bourguiba, President of Tunisia; Ben
Bella, now President of Algeria; Modibo Keita, President of Mali;
Leopold Senghor, President of Senegal; Sekou Toure, President of
Guinea; President Tubman of Liberia; and Milton Obote, Prime Minister
of Uganda. It was Ben Bella who invited me to visit Oujda, the
Headquarters of the Algerian Army of National Liberation, the visit
which is described in my diary, one of the exhibits.
I started to
make a study of the art of war and revolution and, whilst abroad,
underwent a course in military training. If there was to be guerrilla
warfare, I wanted to be able to stand and fight with my people and to
share the hazards of war with them. Notes of lectures which I
received in Algeria are contained in exhibit 16, produced in
evidence. Summaries of books on guerrilla warfare and military
strategy have also been produced. I have already admitted that these
documents are in my writing, and I acknowledge that I made these
studies to equip myself for the role which I might have to play if
the struggle drifted into guerrilla warfare. I approached this
question as every African nationalist should do. I was completely
objective. The court will see that I attempted to examine all types
of authority on the subject - from the east and from the west, going
back to the classic work of Clausewitz, and covering such a variety
as Mao Tse Tung and Che Guevara on the one hand, and the writings on
the Anglo-Boer War on the other. Of course, these notes are merely
summaries of the books I read and do not contain my personal views.
I also made
arrangements for our recruits to undergo military training. But here
it was impossible to organise any scheme without the cooperation of
the ANC offices in Africa. I consequently obtained the permission of
the ANC in South Africa to do this. To this extent then there was a
departure from the original decision of the ANC, but it applied
outside South Africa only. The first batch of recruits actually
arrived in Tanganyika when I was passing through that country on my
way back to South Africa.
I returned to
South Africa and reported to my colleagues on the results of my trip.
On my return I found that there had been little alteration in the
political scene save that the threat of a death penalty for sabotage
had now become a fact. The attitude of my colleagues in Umkhonto was
much the same as it had been before I left. They were feeling their
way cautiously and felt that it would be a long time before the
possibilities of sabotage were exhausted. In fact, the view was
expressed by some that the training of recruits was premature. This
is recorded by me in the document which is exhibit R.14. After a full
discussion, however, it was decided to go ahead with the plans for
military training because of the fact that it would take many years
to build up a sufficient nucleus of trained soldiers to start a
guerrilla campaign, and whatever happened, the training would be of
value.
· With
thanks to the Nelson Mandela Foundation
Warmbaths, and
all this time the Transkei had been a seething mass of unrest. Each
disturbance pointed clearly to the inevitable growth among Africans
of the belief that violence was the only way out - it showed that a
government which uses force to maintain its rule teaches the
oppressed to use force to oppose it. Already small groups had arisen
in the urban areas and were spontaneously making plans for violent
forms of political struggle. There now arose a danger that these
groups would adopt terrorism against Africans, as well as whites, if
not properly directed. Particularly disturbing was the type of
violence engendered in places such as Zeerust, Sekhukhuniland, and
Pondoland amongst Africans. It was increasingly taking the form, not
of struggle against the government - though this is what prompted it
- but of civil strife amongst themselves, conducted in such a way
that it could not hope to achieve anything other than a loss of life
and bitterness.
At the
beginning of June 1961, after a long and anxious assessment of the
South African situation, I, and some colleagues, came to the
conclusion that as violence in this country was inevitable, it would
be unrealistic and wrong for African leaders to continue preaching
peace and non-violence at a time when the government met our peaceful
demands with force.
This conclusion
was not easily arrived at. It was only when all else had failed, when
all channels of peaceful protest had been barred to us, that the
decision was made to embark on violent forms of political struggle,
and to form Umkhonto we Sizwe. We did so not because we desired such
a course, but solely because the government had left us with no other
choice. In the Manifesto of Umkhonto published on 16 December 1961,
which is exhibit AD, we said:
"The time
comes in the life of any nation when there remain only two choices -
submit or fight. That time has now come to South Africa. We shall not
submit and we have no choice but to hit back by all means in our
power in defence of our people, our future, and our freedom."
This was our
feeling in June of 1961 when we decided to press for a change in the
policy of the National Liberation Movement. I can only say that I
felt morally obliged to do what I did.
We who had
taken this decision started to consult leaders of various
organisations, including the ANC. I will not say whom we spoke to, or
what they said, but I wish to deal with the role of the African
National Congress in this phase of the struggle, and with the policy
and objectives of Umkhonto we Sizwe.
As far as the
ANC was concerned, it formed a clear view which can be summarised as
follows:
It was a mass
political organisation with a political function to fulfil. Its
members had joined on the express policy of non-violence.
·
Because of all this, it could not and would not undertake violence.
This must be stressed. One cannot turn such a body into the small,
closely knit organisation required for sabotage. Nor would this be
politically correct, because it would result in members ceasing to
carry out this essential activity: political propaganda and
organisation. Nor was it permissible to change the whole nature of
the organisation.
· On
the other hand, in view of this situation I have described, the ANC
was prepared to depart from its fifty-year-old policy of non-violence
to this extent that it would no longer disapprove of properly
controlled violence. Hence members who undertook such activity would
not be subject to disciplinary action by the ANC.
I say 'properly
controlled violence' because I made it clear that if I formed the
organisation I would at all times subject it to the political
guidance of the ANC and would not undertake any different form of
activity from that contemplated without the consent of the ANC. And I
shall now tell the court how that form of violence came to be
determined.
As a result of
this decision, Umkhonto was formed in November 1961. When we took
this decision, and subsequently formulated our plans, the ANC
heritage of non-violence and racial harmony was very much with us. We
felt that the country was drifting towards a civil war in which
blacks and whites would fight each other. We viewed the situation
with alarm. Civil war could mean the destruction of what the ANC
stood for; with civil war, racial peace would be more difficult than
ever to achieve. We already have examples in South African history of
the results of war. It has taken more than fifty years for the scars
of the South African War to disappear. How much longer would it take
to eradicate the scars of inter-racial civil war, which could not be
fought without a great loss of life on both sides?
The avoidance
of civil war had dominated our thinking for many years, but when we
decided to adopt violence as part of our policy, we realised that we
might one day have to face the prospect of such a war. This had to be
taken into account in formulating our plans. We required a plan which
was flexible and which permitted us to act in accordance with the
needs of the times; above all, the plan had to be one which
recognised civil war as the last resort, and left the decision on
this question to the future. We did not want to be committed to civil
war, but we wanted to be ready if it became inevitable.
Four forms of
violence were possible. There is sabotage, there is guerrilla
warfare, there is terrorism, and there is open revolution. We chose
to adopt the first method and to exhaust it before taking any other
decision.
In the light of
our political background the choice was a logical one. Sabotage did
not involve loss of life, and it offered the best hope for future
race relations. Bitterness would be kept to a minimum and, if the
policy bore fruit, democratic government could become a reality. This
is what we felt at the time, and this is what we said in our
manifesto (exhibit AD):
"We of
Umkhonto we Sizwe have always sought to achieve liberation without
bloodshed and civil clash. We hope, even at this late hour, that our
first actions will awaken everyone to a realisation of the disastrous
situation to which the nationalist policy is leading. We hope that we
will bring the government and its supporters to their senses before
it is too late, so that both the government and its policies can be
changed before matters reach the desperate state of civil war."
The initial
plan was based on a careful analysis of the political and economic
situation of our country. We believed that South Africa depended to a
large extent on foreign capital and foreign trade. We felt that
planned destruction of power plants, and interference with rail and
telephone communications, would tend to scare away capital from the
country, make it more difficult for goods from the industrial areas
to reach the seaports on schedule, and would in the long run be a
heavy drain on the economic life of the country, thus compelling the
voters of the country to reconsider their position.
Attacks on the
economic life-lines of the country were to be linked with sabotage on
government buildings and other symbols of apartheid. These attacks
would serve as a source of inspiration to our people. In addition,
they would provide an outlet for those people who were urging the
adoption of violent methods and would enable us to give concrete
proof to our followers that we had adopted a stronger line and were
fighting back against government violence.
In addition, if
mass action were successfully organised, and mass reprisals taken, we
felt that sympathy for our cause would be roused in other countries,
and that greater pressure would be brought to bear on the South
African government.
This then was
the plan. Umkhonto was to perform sabotage, and strict instructions
were given to its members right from the start, that on no account
were they to injure or kill people in planning or carrying out
operations. These instructions have been referred to in the evidence
of 'Mr X' and 'Mr Z.'
The affairs of
the Umkhonto were controlled and directed by a national high command,
which had powers of co-option and which could, and did, appoint
regional commands. The high command was the body which determined
tactics and targets and was in charge of training and finance. Under
the high command there were regional commands which were responsible
for the direction of the local sabotage groups. Within the framework
of the policy laid down by the national high command, the regional
commands had authority to select the targets to be attacked. They had
no authority to go beyond the prescribed framework and thus had no
authority to embark upon acts which endangered life, or which did not
fit into the overall plan of sabotage. For instance, Umkhonto members
were forbidden ever to go armed into operation. Incidentally, the
terms high command and regional command were an importation from the
Jewish national underground organisation Irgun Zvai Leumi, which
operated in Israel between 1944 and 1948.
Umkhonto had
its first operation on 16 December 1961, when Government buildings in
Johannesburg, Port Elizabeth and Durban were attacked. The selection
of targets is proof of the policy to which I have referred. Had we
intended to attack life we would have selected targets where people
congregated and not empty buildings and power stations. The sabotage
which was committed before 16 December 1961 was the work of isolated
groups and had no connection whatever with Umkhonto. In fact, some of
these and a number of later acts were claimed by other organisations.
The Manifesto
of Umkhonto was issued on the day that operations commenced. The
response to our actions and manifesto among the white population was
characteristically violent. The government threatened to take strong
action, and called upon its supporters to stand firm and to ignore
the demands of the Africans. The whites failed to respond by
suggesting change; they responded to our call by suggesting the
laager.
In contrast,
the response of the Africans was one of encouragement. Suddenly there
was hope again. Things were happening. People in the townships became
eager for political news. A great deal of enthusiasm was generated by
the initial successes, and people began to speculate on how soon
freedom would be obtained. But we in Umkhonto weighed up the white
response with anxiety. The lines were being drawn. The whites and
blacks were moving into separate camps, and the prospects of avoiding
a civil war were made less. The white newspapers carried reports that
sabotage would be punished by death. If this was so, how could we
continue to keep Africans away from terrorism?
Already scores
of Africans had died as a result of racial friction. In 1920 when the
famous leader, Masabala, was held in Port Elizabeth jail, twenty-four
of a group of Africans who had gathered to demand his release were
killed by the police and white civilians. In 1921 more than one
hundred Africans died in the Bulhoek affair. In 1924 over two hundred
Africans were killed when the Administrator of South-West Africa led
a force against a group which had rebelled against the imposition of
dog tax. On 1 May 1950, eighteen Africans died as a result of police
shootings during the strike. On 21 March 1960, sixty-nine unarmed
Africans died at Sharpeville.
How many more
Sharpevilles would there be in the history of our country? And how
many more Sharpevilles could the country stand without violence and
terror becoming the order of the day? And what would happen to our
people when that stage was reached? In the long run we felt certain
we must succeed, but at what cost to ourselves and the rest of the
country? And if this happened, how could black and white ever live
together again in peace and harmony? These were the problems that
faced us, and these were our decisions.
Experience
convinced us that rebellion would offer the government limitless
opportunities for the indiscriminate slaughter of our people. But it
was precisely because the soil of South Africa is already drenched
with the blood of innocent Africans that we felt it our duty to make
preparations as a long-term undertaking to use force in order to
defend ourselves against force. If war were inevitable, we wanted the
fight to be conducted on terms most favourable to our people. The
fight which held out prospects best for us and the least risk of life
to both sides was guerrilla warfare. We decided, therefore, in our
preparations for the future, to make provision for the possibility of
guerrilla warfare.
All whites
undergo compulsory military training, but no such training was given
to Africans. It was in our view essential to build up a nucleus of
trained men who would be able to provide the leadership which would
be required if guerrilla warfare started. We had to prepare for such
a situation before it became too late to make proper preparations. It
was also necessary to build up a nucleus of men trained in civil
administration and other professions, so that Africans would be
equipped to participate in the government of this country as soon as
they were allowed to do so.
At this stage
it was decided that I should attend the conference of the Pan-African
Freedom Movement for central, east, and southern Africa, which was to
be held early in 1962 in Addis Ababa, and, because of our need for
preparation, it was also decided that, after the conference, I would
undertake a tour of the African states with a view to obtaining
facilities for the training of soldiers, and that I would also
solicit scholarships for the higher education of matriculated
Africans. Training in both fields would be necessary, even if changes
came about by peaceful means. Administrators would be necessary who
would be willing and able to administer a non-racial state and so
would men be necessary to control the army and police force of such a
state.
It was on this
note that I left South Africa to proceed to Addis Ababa as a delegate
of the ANC. My tour was a success. Wherever I went I met sympathy for
our cause and promises of help. All Africa was united against the
stand of white South Africa, and even in London I was received with
great sympathy by political leaders, such as Mr Gaitskell and Mr
Grimond. In Africa I was promised support by such men as Julius
Nyerere, now President of Tanganyika; Mr Kawawa, then Prime Minister
of Tanganyika; Emperor Haile Selassie of Ethiopia; General Abboud,
President of the Sudan; Habib Bourguiba, President of Tunisia; Ben
Bella, now President of Algeria; Modibo Keita, President of Mali;
Leopold Senghor, President of Senegal; Sekou Toure, President of
Guinea; President Tubman of Liberia; and Milton Obote, Prime Minister
of Uganda. It was Ben Bella who invited me to visit Oujda, the
Headquarters of the Algerian Army of National Liberation, the visit
which is described in my diary, one of the exhibits.
I started to
make a study of the art of war and revolution and, whilst abroad,
underwent a course in military training. If there was to be guerrilla
warfare, I wanted to be able to stand and fight with my people and to
share the hazards of war with them. Notes of lectures which I
received in Algeria are contained in exhibit 16, produced in
evidence. Summaries of books on guerrilla warfare and military
strategy have also been produced. I have already admitted that these
documents are in my writing, and I acknowledge that I made these
studies to equip myself for the role which I might have to play if
the struggle drifted into guerrilla warfare. I approached this
question as every African nationalist should do. I was completely
objective. The court will see that I attempted to examine all types
of authority on the subject - from the east and from the west, going
back to the classic work of Clausewitz, and covering such a variety
as Mao Tse Tung and Che Guevara on the one hand, and the writings on
the Anglo-Boer War on the other. Of course, these notes are merely
summaries of the books I read and do not contain my personal views.
I also made
arrangements for our recruits to undergo military training. But here
it was impossible to organise any scheme without the cooperation of
the ANC offices in Africa. I consequently obtained the permission of
the ANC in South Africa to do this. To this extent then there was a
departure from the original decision of the ANC, but it applied
outside South Africa only. The first batch of recruits actually
arrived in Tanganyika when I was passing through that country on my
way back to South Africa.
I returned to
South Africa and reported to my colleagues on the results of my trip.
On my return I found that there had been little alteration in the
political scene save that the threat of a death penalty for sabotage
had now become a fact. The attitude of my colleagues in Umkhonto was
much the same as it had been before I left. They were feeling their
way cautiously and felt that it would be a long time before the
possibilities of sabotage were exhausted. In fact, the view was
expressed by some that the training of recruits was premature. This
is recorded by me in the document which is exhibit R.14. After a full
discussion, however, it was decided to go ahead with the plans for
military training because of the fact that it would take many years
to build up a sufficient nucleus of trained soldiers to start a
guerrilla campaign, and whatever happened, the training would be of
value.
· With
thanks to the Nelson Mandela Foundation
| ||||||||
SAVE DEMOCRACY FRONT -TALK
| ||||||||
The Book Swaraj by Arvind Kegirwal -A New Paradigm for the epoch
| ||||||||
Pollution of Air ,water and soil in Kanthikulam respond befor we are late
| ||||||||
The New Renaissance
| ||||||||
Letter written in 1855 by Red Indian Chief to Franklin Pierce
| ||||||||
Letter to great Indians
| ||||||||
New Renaissance
|
