History of England 1-6

The following section could have been received as a polite nothing, but for the more attentive there was a bite beneath: ‘We in Britain are proud of the contribution we have made to this remarkable achievement. Much of it has been financed by British capital.’ He praised the South African contribution to the two world wars, saying, ‘As a soldier, I know personally the value of the contribution your forces made to victory in the cause of freedom. I know something too of the inspiration which General Smuts brought to us in Britain in our darkest hours.’ The reference to Smuts, a hero of Anglo-South African relations but no friend of apartheid, would not have been missed. Then came the sweetener: ‘Today, your readiness to provide technical assistance to the less well-developed parts of Africa is of immense help to the countries that receive it.’ At last, he moved to the image for which the speech would be remembered. South Africa, he said, was ready ‘to play your part in the new Africa of today … Ever since the break-up of the Roman Empire, one of the constant facts of political life in Europe has been the emergence of independent nations … Today the same thing is happening in Africa, and the most striking of all the impressions that I have formed since I left London a month ago is of the strength of this African national consciousness.’ Macmillan’s voice rose in declamation as he rapped the lectern. ‘The wind of change is blowing through this continent. And whether we like it or not, this growth of national consciousness is a political fact. And we must all accept it as a fact, and our national policies must take account of it.’

There was silence in the hall at this blasphemy. But Macmillan, the consummate performer, was prepared. His message, if not his tone, became unctuous. ‘Of course you understand this better than anyone; you are sprung from Europe, the home of nationalism. And here in Africa you have yourselves created a new nation. Indeed in the history of our times you will be recorded as the first of the African nationalists.’ It was a masterly performance – this was logic not so much employed as deployed. And with his most resonant image behind him, Macmillan came to the true point. ‘We may sometimes be tempted to say “Mind your own business”. But in these days I would expand the old saying, so that it runs, “Mind your own business, but mind how it affects my business, too.”’

For of course, if South Africa continued along its present course, mayhem would be the result. Macmillan concluded with what may best be described as a sermon.

Our aim has been … not only to raise the material standards of life, but to create a society which respects the rights of individuals – a society in which men are given the opportunity to grow to their full stature. And that must in our view include the opportunity of an increasing share in political power and responsibility; a society in which individual merit, and individual merit alone, is the criterion for a man’s advancement, whether political or economic … Those of us who by the grace of the electorate are temporarily in charge of affairs in my country and yours, we fleeting transient phantoms of history, we have no right to sweep aside on this account the friendship that exists between our countries.

Rarely has one speech had such an influence. In its aftermath, South Africa fulfilled the ugliest expectations of the world first by committing the Sharpeville Massacre and next by withdrawing from the Commonwealth altogether. By the end of Macmillan’s tenure, the fourteen colonies of Africa had been granted independence and reduced to four. Macmillan had won many friends for Britain abroad – in the United States, the UN and in Africa itself.

And Macmillan needed all his friends, for the ranks of his critics were swelling. Recalling a broadcast by the prime minister, Malcolm Muggeridge observed unkindly:

He seemed, in his very person, to embody the national decline he supposed himself to be confuting. He exuded a flavour of mothballs. His decaying visage and somehow seedy attire conveyed the impression of an ageing and eccentric clergyman who had been induced to play the prime minister in the dramatized version of a Snow novel put on by a village amateur dramatic society.