![]()
A Pretoria Boy
The Story of South Africa’s ‘Public Enemy Number One’
Peter Hain
Jonathan Ball Publishers
Johannesburg • Cape Town • London
![]()
Priase for A Pretoria Boy
‘With first-hand experience of apartheid racism and colonialism, Peter Hain consistently worked for the liberation of his childhood country. When our people needed him, he stood strong, principled and fearless against all odds. He remains a resolute champion in helping with current challenges, and cares profoundly for our future.’
– Ambassador Lindiwe Mabuza
‘“Is there anything I can do to help?” A simple question that would once again place Peter Hain in the centre of efforts to correct wrongs in the land of his birth. This book is a timely reminder that even when many battles have been won, the war against injustice is never over. As ever, Hain remains on the right side of that fight.’
– Bongani Bingwa, 702 and Carte Blanche presenter
‘More like a thriller than a memoir of international solidarity.’
– Mavuso Msimang, ANC struggle stalwart
‘From fighting for Nelson Mandela’s freedom to exposing his betrayal under Jacob Zuma, a 50-year story of constant campaigning.’
– Sir Trevor McDonald, broadcaster
‘Talk about courage and chutzpah – this young ’un helped topple apartheid!’
– Ronnie Kasrils, former ANC underground chief and Cabinet minister
‘Much in this gripping story resonates with me over our common (African) childhood and exile in Britain.’
– Natasha Kaplinsky, broadcaster
‘A stalwart anti-racist and anti-apartheid campaigner.’
– Doreen (Baroness) Lawrence
![]()
In memory of
my inspirational South African-born parents, Adelaine and Walter Hain
![]()
Contents
Title page
Priase for A Pretoria Boy
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Boyhood
Harassment
Suppression
Arrest
Hanging
Exile
Militancy
Victory
Revenge
Thief
Secret Missions
Returnings
Mandela
Betrayal
Corruption
Future
Endnotes
Main sources
Photo section
About the Book
About the author
Imprint page
![]()
Acknowledgements
In writing this South African story, I have drawn on my previous books, notably my memoir Outside In (2012), published by Biteback, covering my life, including as a British MP and Cabinet minister, up until 2011; Don’t Play With Apartheid: The Background to the Stop The Seventy Tour Campaign (1971); my parents’ story, Ad & Wal: Values, Duty and Sacrifice in Apartheid South Africa (2014); Mandela: His Essential Life (2018); and Pitch Battles: Sport, Racism and Resistance (2021), co-authored with my close friend André Odendaal.
Many thanks to Eugene Ashton and Jeremy Boraine of Jonathan Ball Publishers and Duncan Heath of Icon Books: Eugene, nephew of Terry Ashton, my favourite teacher at Pretoria Boys High School, for his enthusiasm; and Jeremy and Duncan, with editor Alfred LeMaitre, for their skilful editorial advice. Thanks to Martine Barker, Tracey Hawthorne and George Claasen for their help in putting the book together.
My gratitude also to David Preiss and Peter Rogan, classmates at Pretoria Boys High; to Nick Binedell, Rob Davies, Christabel Gurney, Ronnie Kasrils, Martin Kingston, Sam Tate, Helen Tovey and Phil Wyatt for their help, though only I am responsible for the content.
And thanks above all to Elizabeth Haywood for her love and support, and for reading, correcting and commenting on my first draft.
Peter Hain
Cadoxton, Neath
May 2021
![]()
Introduction
‘SO who do you want to win, Peter? The Springboks or England?’
The land of my childhood or the land of my adoption?
‘Wales,’ is my invariable reply. Wales is the land that ended up as my home for over three decades, longer than anywhere else in my life, and where, reflecting intense rugby rivalry, a local wag once quipped: ‘You may not be Welsh, Peter, but at least you’re not bloody English!’
That was in May 1990 when I was, against all predictions, overwhelmingly chosen by the local constituency Labour Party to become Member of Parliament (MP) for the rugby stronghold of Neath, outside Swansea. The Welsh Rugby Union was founded at the town’s Castle Hotel in 1881.
The journey from boyhood in Pretoria, South Africa’s seat of government, to MP for Neath and on to several of the highest roles in Britain’s government, was a long one, with many ups and downs, twists and turns, triumphs and disappointments, and much danger and joy.
A happy childhood became increasingly fraught as my anti-apartheid parents, members of the non-racial Liberal Party of South Africa – Mom the secretary and Dad the chair of the Pretoria branch – were finally forced, with their four children, into exile in 1966.
Arriving in London aged 16, I had no comprehension that a little over three years later I would find myself leading an anti-apartheid campaign using the unprecedented tactic of pitch invasion against the 1969–1970 touring Springbok rugby team. That campaign also forced the cancellation of the 1970 South African cricket tour, a seismic event that helped propel South Africa into global sporting isolation for more than 20 years, and turned me into a bête noire for white South Africans: ‘Public Enemy Number One’ they labelled me.
Nearly 50 years later, some even sent bittersweet emails when I used parliamentary privilege in the House of Lords to expose allegations of looting and money laundering by President Jacob Zuma and his business acolytes, the Gupta brothers: ‘Congratulations and thank you, though we still hate you for stopping the Springboks,’ said one; another, Marius Nieuwoudt, was typical: ‘I hated you with a passion.’
‘But,’ I replied politely, ‘the values behind fighting state corruption today are the same as fighting apartheid sports tours 50 years ago.’
FOR the majority of South Africans not aware of my anti-apartheid backstory, a British ‘Lord’ using parliamentary privilege to suddenly expose evidence of state capture and money laundering in 2017 might have seemed quixotic.
In September 2017 I attacked Bell Pottinger, the British-based global public-relations company, and followed this with further and much more detailed revelations in the House of Lords about corruption. The outraged supporters of Jacob Zuma and the Guptas, along with some in the populist Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), acidly remarked that I was a ‘white’, almost caricature ‘colonial’ figure.
So why me? The answer is straightforward. I was asked by prominent members of the ruling African National Congress (ANC) to help them combat the rampant corruption and cronyism that was destroying the country. This corruption was seemingly orchestrated by their own president, whom they were seeking to oust. Their request originated from an informal discussion over dinner organised by a mutual friend, Nick Binedell, the highly respected founder-director of the Gordon Institute of Business Science (GIBS) at the University of Pretoria. This was in late July 2017 when I was in Johannesburg teaching as a visiting professor at Wits Business School.
One of those present at this private meeting was former finance minister Pravin Gordhan. He had bravely spoken out against the cancer that had spread from the Zuma presidency right down through all levels of the government. Others present, members of the ANC’s national executive, were then in the middle of a hand-to-hand battle to elect a new leader of the party. The candidacy of Deputy President Cyril Ramaphosa was pitted against the powerful Zuma machine, which had dispensed patronage for more than a decade.
I had met Pravin Gordhan some years before in London, when he was on an official government visit, but the others present were new to me, and I to them. At the start of our meal, under Nick’s genial but firm chairing, our exchanges were tentative. They were feeling me out, each of us anxious about the ubiquity of the state intelligence network, which Zuma had commandeered in his own nefarious interests. Mobile phones were switched off and things gradually loosened up.
I had become increasingly aware of the scale of corruption during successive visits to South Africa, especially after I retired as an MP in 2015. But not being intimately involved in South African public life, I hadn’t quite realised how deep-seated and prodigious was the reported looting by Zuma’s family and the Gupta brothers – Ajay, Atul and Rajesh (Tony) – whose vast multi-billion-rand business empire spanned media, mining and computing, and had grown exponentially under Zuma’s patronage.
In his dry, clinical way, Pravin spelt it out. His favoured phrase was ‘join the dots’: in other words, connect all the diverse components of state capture in the Zuma regime. Every government department had been penetrated by Zuma-appointed ministers and civil servants. Virtually every state agency had been similarly ‘captured’. Perhaps the only exception was the Office of the Public Protector (a kind of ombudsman mandated by the Constitution), then under the direction of the formidably independent Advocate Thuli Madonsela. All of the Zuma/Gupta appointees were no doubt placed to do their masters’ bidding rather than because they had the ability or expertise to perform the task in hand. And of course to clamber aboard the gravy train.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ I asked, more out of solidarity than expectation.
‘Well, actually, there might be,’ Pravin mused, thinking aloud. Others chipped in, one or two of them highly placed inside the state system and present because of their integrity and deep sense of betrayal at what was happening to the ‘rainbow nation’ that had beamed so brightly under Nelson Mandela.
Inside the country, brave journalists with the upstart online newspaper Daily Maverick and investigative units such as Scorpio and amaBhungane were increasingly exposing the sheer extent of state capture. But a lot of the looted money had been laundered abroad, Pravin explained, estimating as much as R7 billion (or £350 million). Although the opposition to Zuma inside the ANC was growing, support for Cyril Ramaphosa building, and civil society groups (so important in securing the demise of apartheid) agitating again, the international dimension of state capture was something they hadn’t managed to get a grip on. Maybe I could assist with that, Pravin and the others suggested.
During half a century in politics – from stopping whites-only South African sports tours under apartheid to 12 years as a Labour government minister – I had always been forensically focused on trying to make a difference. I was also impatient with big rhetorical flourishes, instead preferring specific practical achievements. Could this be just such an instance?
OVER the years, I had enjoyed returning regularly to South Africa, mostly on holiday. These trips included being driven four hours from East London deep into the ...
