The Africans (64 page)

These were good omens. And there were others. Across the continent a consensus was evolving that the private sector had to play a major role in economic recovery, that prosperity had to rest on the pillars of agriculture, that Marxism and heavy-handed socialistic policies had led to social and economic retardation.

Zimbabwe offered particularly illuminating evidence that Africa does not have to fail simply because it is Africa. Prime Minister Robert Mugabe, perhaps the most competent leader in sub-Sahara Africa, had turned Zimbabwe into a one-party, multiracial, socialistic state that rewarded individual incentive and respected freedom of expression. He embarked on an aggressive program to reduce the birth rate and focused not on grandiose building projects but on modest industries that would reduce the country’s reliance on expensive imports. Zimbabwe had a grain surplus in 1986 (six years after the death of white-ruled Rhodesia), and 30,000 white farmers
who had left Zimbabwe around the time of independence had returned to work the land and to make it as productive as any in black Africa.

One great change still awaits the continent—the end of apartheid in South Africa. The mechanism to bring about that end—international pressure, increasing black violence, a declining economy that has forced some white moderates to reconsider national policies—is now in place, and it saddens me that the end of white rule may come with the United States being on the wrong side. The Reagan Administration still clings to some peculiar, unspoken moral commitment to the white minority, ignoring the inevitable and seemingly unaware of the need to initiate “constructive dialogue” with tomorrow’s leaders in the black majority. Confusing nationalism with radicalism, we have lost opportunities to earn understanding from the African National Congress, and I can only wonder how much our ignorance must delight Moscow.

Since
The Africans
was first published, 2,000 people, mostly black, have died violently in South Africa, and that total surely represents only a hint of the bloody horrors that could loom ahead. The white government in Pretoria has made some superficial changes to quiet the outcries against apartheid, abolishing, for instance, the pass laws and the laws against marriage between whites and nonwhites. But it remains committed to keeping the system intact, and the repression it uses to enforce the country’s state of emergency is reminiscent of the most repugnant behavior exhibited by former black African regimes the West used to denounce as barbaric.

Many Afrikaners believe the West will not abandon them because we need their gold and platinum, their guardianship of the sea lanes around the Cape of Good Hope, their strategic presence as a bastion of anti-Communism. Granted, all those things are important. But they are no more important in the hands of whites than they will be in the hands of blacks. Already, fifty-five American companies have pulled out of South Africa and others will follow. White South African professionals are leaving their country in substantial numbers for Australia, Great Britain and the United States—at last count the Australian Embassy in Pretoria was processing 15,000 applications to immigrate—and with each passing day, with each new demand for racial reform, the South African
laager
is drawn tighter. “We are not jellyfish,” President P. W. Botha reminds his critics.

Botha, though, is a captive of both extremes. He risks a racial civil war if he does not dismantle apartheid, and he risks a
white
civil war, launched by militant blue-collar Afrikaners, if he pushes for one-man, one-vote. One can only hope that an increasing number of white moderates continue to become involved outside the parliamentary system, as they have recently in such groups as Let South Africa Speak, Women for Peace and Jews for Justice. As I wrote earlier, it seems inconceivable that the white South African hasn’t learned something from the lessons of African history. If the whites and nonwhites in South Africa can form a partnership before it is too late, there is every reason to believe the republic can escape many of the pitfalls that have befallen other countries on the continent.

Just as economic necessity has forced black African governments to start charting new courses, so must South Africa seek meaningful change if it is to survive as a republic. In both cases, the West can and should provide the needed technical, financial and moral support, but the impetus for change and the implementation of new policies can only come from Africa itself.

Africa still needs time, for the continent remains young in terms of independence. But the era is now past when Africa can blame all its problems on injustices rooted in history. Too much needs to be done. Africa must start looking forward—as I believe it has begun to do—and, with the help of the United States and Europe, undertake a rehabilitation program of post-wartime magnitude. The Africans really have no choice, because there is no alternative. The world needs a stable, self-sufficient Africa governed by the majority. And the Africans themselves surely need to be given hope that the worst is now behind them.

There is not room to thank the hundreds of people all across Africa who made this book possible by sharing their lives, confidences and knowledge with me. Many of them are mentioned in the preceding pages. I will single out only a few more here, but all have my lasting gratitude: The people who found me shelter in strange cities and towns where there was not an empty bed to be had; the teachers and doctors and government officials, the presidents and pesants whose hospitality I shall never forget; the American and European diplomats, particularly Chris Crabbie of the British High Commission in Nairobi, who became friends and confidants; the fellow journalists with whom I shared good times and bad. To all, I say thank you.

This book reflects as much of my wife, Sandy Northrop, as it does of me, for if ever a foreign assignment was a team effort, ours was. Sandy traveled with me through more than twenty countries, and her photographs appeared in the
Los Angeles Times
, her fluency in Swahili and French saved me much stumbling, her instincts for sensing what was happening in Africa were frequently sharper than my own. She helped shape many of my newspaper articles, and her sharp eye and red pencil worked miracles on the first draft of my book. “Why not try it this way?” she would ask, and she was invaribly right. But the greatest reward of all was Sandy’s companionship. It was her love and spirit that got me the extra mile.

I also want to extend my deep appreciation to John D. Panitza, senior editor of
Reader’s Digest
in Paris, who first suggested that I write this book; to my agent Carl D. Brandt, who offered much encouragement during the year that I spent six and seven days a week at my typewriter; to my editor at Random House, Robert Cowley, who showed me that the era of talented and caring editors did not end with Max Perkins; to Ambassador John Blane, an African expert at the U.S. State Department, who checked my manuscript for accuracy
and who made suggestions that were incorporated into the text; to my editors at the
Times
, who gave me the opportunity to live in Africa, who worked with my stories while I was there and who later granted me a leave of absence to accept a Nieman Fellowship at Harvard University: William F. Thomas, the editor; George Cotliar, managing editor; Robert W. Gibson, foreign editor; Nick Williams Jr. and Robert Trounson, deputy foreign editors. Three other colleagues on the
Times
deserve special mention: Jack Foisie, the Johannesburg bureau chief, whose excellent coverage of southern Africa helped focus many of my own thoughts on key issues; Stanley Meisler, former Nairobi bureau chief, whose African reportage remains a model—ten years after he left the continent—of perceptive, sensitive writing that Africanist scholars still value; and John Anguma, who managed our Nairobi office and whose knowledge of East African politics helped me greatly.

Most books represent far more than the moment in time the author is writing about. They reflect many past experiences and people and wanderings, and this one is no exception. Four people who influenced my professional life and to whom I am indebted are: Brooks Hamilton, professor of journalism at the University of Maine, who taught me that newspapering is an honorable profession and that nothing counts more than accuracy; Jim Leavy, who gave me my first newspaper job in 1965 when I pulled into Las Vegas, 2,500 miles from home, with an ailing car, $20 in my pocket and no work; Arthur Schiff, an American living in Australia, who taught me the difference between being a domestic reporter and a foreign correspondent; Paul and Cilia Miller of Boston, who showed me the wonders of moving beyond the confines of my own small world.

During our four years in Africa I collected 3,200 pages of notes and built a reference library containing more than 5,000 newspaper and magazine articles, several hundred books and scores of periodicals. This material represents the backbone of my research. But my primary source for the book is my own eyes and ears. The observations are my own, as, I might add, are any errors that have survived the close scrutiny the manuscript has undergone.