Peter Pike: remembering a British hero of apartheid South Africa
(Alamy)
South Africa lost two heroes recently. One you will have heard of: Archbishop Desmond Tutu, a remarkable fighter for freedom, not only in his own land but fiercely and without fear elsewhere. His memorials, rightly, will be global.
The other you may know less well. Peter Pike, the Labour MP for Burnley from 1983-2005, whose funeral is this Thursday, was already for twenty-six years a passionate supporter of the anti-apartheid movement before he made, along with me and Simon Hughes — now Sir Simon and then a Liberal Democrat MP — a life changing visit to South Africa in May 1986.
A common feature in the Commons was that most MPs had never been to South Africa, and the years of isolation had led to extreme polarisation based on much ignorance. It is hard to convey to a modern audience quite how bitter and angry the debate here about South Africa was before the release of Nelson Mandela in 1990, and the politics of reconciliation which followed.
It was extremely difficult to go. No self-respecting Liberal Democrat or Labour opponent of apartheid could expect to go without being subjected to scrutiny and surveillance. One or two Conservative MPs went, and had to face the accusations, mostly true but hotly denied, that they were closet or not so closet apologists for the regime.
The courage therefore of Peter Pike, a Labour MP and anti-apartheid activist, to accept the invitation to the three of us from some in the Christian community there to visit and see what was really going on must be marvelled at. We could not have made the visit without him. He expressed doubts all the way, worried in case we were to be used. But he wanted to see for himself.
It was no ordinary trip. Before he agreed to go, Peter ensured the presence of Simon and me so that we would protect each other from political attack at home. He also had secured agreement from his front bench, including the then Labour Leader, Neil Kinnock, that he would brief them on his return. Simon and I followed suit with our own leaders.
As rare open-minded visitors, we had a remarkable journey across the country. In ten days, we had some forty meetings. We stood together in the ruins of the Crossroads shanty town, watching the armoured cars and smelling the tear gas. We danced in a church outside Johannesburg but spoke there with a young man saved from the horror of being “necklaced” just a couple of days before. We met township leaders in Soweto, academics, students, civil rights activists, business leaders, trade unionists and Cabinet Ministers — representatives of virtually every community in what became the rainbow nation.
Peter was deeply moved at what he saw. He took to heart, and repeated often, the message of the Biblical passage in 1 Corinthians, which we heard preached in Alexandria, about the need for any effective community, just like the human body, to have many parts all working together. He grasped and conveyed the urgency of the situation, which was even more precarious than many at home realised.
But crucially, and what he told the Labour Party at the highest level, we had also learned that there was hope. This again would have seemed quite fantastical to all who had never been and had written off the future of South Africa. That people were talking behind the scenes. That although the Government was fearful of Nelson Mandela being released, it was even more fearful of the reaction to him dying in prison. That there was more point in some form of engagement, than isolation. There were people to be encouraged and that the path to freedom was not inevitably one of violence. This message was, as he said in the Commons, not what was usually heard. I believe it had a significant impact on the way Parliament considered the issue.
On return we spoke together, contrary to Commons convention, as “honourable friends” on the 17th June 1986. A Foreign Office minister, Lynda (now Baroness) Chalker, acknowledged our unique contribution right at the beginning of her own speech. We made a joint statement, and some suggestions of actions that the UK could take. We briefed our senior colleagues, giving me half an hour with a Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, who confessed she was completely unsure of what to do for the best. I told Peter and Simon this, and whilst I was aware that this would make a front-page story if leaked, knew that it never would be. And it never was.
There had been lighter moments. I recall an angry Peter tackling a group of self-satisfied white businessmen who had congratulated our Prime Minister in supporting the South African Government, by telling them that he knew she personally detested apartheid and everything, and everyone, it stood for. We didn ’ t let on about this defence of Mrs T either. He also had to hold it together when we met the far-right MP who told us with a straight face that Margaret Thatcher was a “Marxist agent”. Peter was a star of diplomacy in such meetings.
The key point he made in his Commons speech was this: “ Apartheid will not be ended by a parliamentary decision. Only a change in people ’ s hearts and minds will finally resolve the policy of apartheid.” This was the core conviction of a fine MP, but also a good man: Parliament and politicians may do what they will, but ultimately change in any sphere of life must come from within if it is to be long lasting.
Peter Pike contributed much to his constituency and to Parliament that will be recorded elsewhere. As for South Africa, the “beloved country”: Peter returned, with us and by himself, many times, building a lifelong relationship with good causes there. But I wanted this journey, and our friend, to be remembered for his special contribution as a Parliamentarian to the remarkable story of how a monstrous injustice was remedied without the bloodshed feared. It is important that such fundamental lessons are not forgotten in a polarised world that fails to heed them at its peril.
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