NAMIBIAN BUT NOT CREDIBLE
Stephen Robinson on the
government of Namibia, and the powers that negotiate over its head
Windhoek DRIVING around Katutura, Windhoek's black township, is a nostalgic experience for a visitor from South Africa. There are no police roadblocks, no burning tyres and no need to keep an eye on the rear-view mirror for flying rocks. There is the occa- sional incident, however. Last week, chil- dren at the school in Katutura went on a boycott. Troops surrounded the buildings, squirted a few canisters of tear-gas at the pupils, drew their rifles, and the scene appeared set for a sickening massacre. Instead, the black minister of education in Namibia's South African-sponsored in- terim government arrived, ordered the troops to withdraw, and marched into the school unescorted. He announced that the unpopular Afrikaans headmaster had been sacked, and that if the children wanted to have a boycott, he would see them next term. Minister Matjila received three cheers for his trouble. In South Africa he would have been incinerated.
In Windhoek, the 'liberation struggle' is in a softer focus, and the relative cosiness of political life in the capital is far removed from the carnage in the war zones in the north of the territory. The only reminder that a civil war is raging are the bland radio news bulletins reporting that the Defence Force has 'eliminated another seven Swapo po terrorists'. The capital itself is far more integrated than comparable South African towns. Social apartheid — the liquor laws, the Group Areas Act, the Mixed Mar- riages Act — has long since disappeared. It is quite possible, for instance, to meet a member of the Swapo secretariat in a downtown café and then move to the next table to chat to the leader of the lunatic right-wing Herstigte Nasionale Party. I remarked on this apparent easy-goingness to Swapo's secretary of foreign affairs. He laughed at my naivety. 'Don't worry,' he scoffed, 'in the war zones they are squeez- ing our balls.'
Certainly the language of political life is familiar to anyone who has spent time in South Africa. Members of Swapo and white radicals refer to the interim govern- ment personnel as stooges, Muzorewas, or South African puppets. In turn, the major- ity of whites talk darkly of the Soviet- inspired Marxist fanatics within Swapo ranks. Yet the town is calm, and distaste for those who have been co-opted into the new system does not lead to burnings of alleged collaborators according to the South African township formula.
That said, it would be something of an exaggeration to suggest that the multiracial interim government, installed with much pomp and ceremony by President P. W. Botha in June last year, has captured the imagination of the Namibian people. The Transitional Government of National Uni- ty — to give it its official title — has what might politely be called a substantial credi- bility problem. For a start, not a single vote has been cast to elect the members of the government, who hail from no fewer than 16 of Namibia's disparate internal parties. No foreign power recognises the govern- ment, although I was assured by one cabinet minister that President Omar Bon- go of Gabon was only one of several prominent African political leaders who privately welcomed its formation.
Members of the government stand together uneasily in an effort to fill the vacuum left by Swapo's refusal to take part in any settlement which does not accord with the United Nations plan for interna- tionally accepted independence. Broadly speaking, their mandate from the South African government is to create an alterna- tive political structure which would render Swapo irrelevant. However, little appears to unite these men apart from an obsessive hostility towards the Swapo organisation. One cabinet disagreement last year even led to an undignified legal battle in the Windhoek supreme court.
The transitional government's perform- ance over the past nine months does not augur well for the future. Contrary to early promises, the wide-ranging security legisla- tion inherited from the South African administration has not been repealed, and although freedom of assembly and express- ion are theoretically entrenched in a Bill of Rights, Swapo meetings are regularly and brutally disbanded by the security forces. Nor has the government done anything to control the actions of the dreaded Koevoet paramilitary police force, whose members can occasionally be seen around town wearing tee-shirts stating, 'Our business is killing, and business is good.' But perhaps the greatest problem of credibility stems from the apparent con- tempt with which the South African gov- ernment treats its own creation. Namibian politics operates on two levels. Within the territory politicians of varying ability tinker with constitutional models which might one day accommodate Swapo without too much disruption. At the same time, the South African foreign minister, Pik Botha, is engaged in round after round of furious high-level negotiation with American offi- cials aimed at winkling the Cubans out of Angola, before the implementation of UN motion 435 for free elections in the tem- tory. These two levels of politics are conducted without any apparent reference to each other. Mr Dirk Mudge, minister of finance, and the hard man of the soft underbelly of Namibian internal politics, confessed to Me that his cabinet was kept in the dark about the superpower negotiations. Earlier this month when President P. W. Botha told the South African parliament of ins 1 August target date for Namibian inde- pendence, he did not trouble to inform the, interim government of his announcement in advance. The simple truth is that no one in Windhoek really knows what is going 01,1_ between the United States, Angola, Soutn,, Africa and the Soviet Union. If Mr Pik Botha and Dr Chester Crocker achieve a breakthrough in removing the Cuban troops from Angola, the interim govern: ment will simply be abolished by a Scott' African presidential decree. Resentment at Pretoria's cynical hand; ling of the Namibian impasse pervades an levels of political life, and has nurtured a strong anti-South African sentiment evert among the whites. Few of them believe independence is just around the corner, and fewer still are convinced by President Botha's anguished statements that the Namibians have waited long enough for independence. Indeed, for the past ten days the running story in the local press has not been the independence issue but the recently released report of a judicial in- quiry into Namibia's mining industry. The report revealed mind-boggling incompe- tence by South African officials in allowing the multinational mining companies to overmine resources and evade taxation.
The cry that South Africa will abandon Namibia as soon as it is expedient is common among the whites here. But if they are suspicious of South African aims, most fear a Swapo takeover even more. Swapo is at a low ebb, both politically and militarily, but few Namibians honestly doubt they would win a free election. Officially, the South African position is that free and fair elections can take place as soon as the estimated 25,000 Cuban troops leave Angola. The 20-year civil war against Swapo has simply become too expensive to sustain, especially now that their own house is burning. But privately Pretoria must be desperately worried ab- out the domestic political impact of hand- ing over the territory to Swapo.
When Rhodesia became independent, there were dark mutterings within con- servative South African circles that the whites there had been sold out. In Nami- bia, it is not simply English-speaking whites who feel in jeopardy, but several thousand highy conservative Afrikaners, all of whom have family and friends in South Africa. The shouts of 'sell-out' would be deafening: it is not surprising that the far-right parties in the South African parliament are watching Mr Pik Botha's feverish shuttle diplomacy with undis- guised delight.
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