General Constand Viljoen was pivotal in the peaceful nature of the first democratic election in South Africa in 1994, playing a major role in convincing right-wing Afrikaners not to resort to violence in their attempt to waylay Nelson Mandela’s imminent presidency. His actions are credited with the aversion of civil war in this country.
In Brothers in War and Peace Dennis Cruywagen takes a look at Viljoen’s life, comparing it to the path his identical twin brother, Abraham, chose to take.
In the excerpt below, from the fifth chapter, titled “Military in the blood”, read about Constand Viljoen’s induction to the Afrikaner Broederbond and his involvement in the South African military intervention in Angola:
~ Constand Viljoen to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission
After the Viljoen brothers’ year together at the army gymnasium in 1951, when Abraham decided to study theology, Constand opted for a career in the army. In fact, the selection committee had recommended him and not Abraham for a military career. The military afforded him the chance to attend university, and so he and his brother both enrolled at the University of Pretoria the following year. Then a whites-only, Afrikaans-language institution, it stood in what was once the capital of the Transvaal Republic. Constand completed his BSc Mil degree in 1955. ‘I was interested in a science and military direction,’ he says. ‘Then it was the defence force for me.’
But the recently graduated Afrikaans-speaker was in for a culture shock: ‘The defence force was overwhelmingly English. Everything was English. I was overwhelmingly a Boer. I made no secret of my feelings, which were that I was unhappy with the situation.’
His heart revolted at the historical injustices carried out by the English on his people. Being compelled to attend a Union Day celebration offended his Afrikaner nationalism, and fed his inner rebel. By now Constand was in the artillery and driving a second-hand Nash motor car, a snazzy, eye-catching vehicle. ‘On that day a group of us, all Afrikaners, were in my car, a Nash. We were on our way to Union Day celebrations. In those days, Pretoria was alive with politics. The whole army was English-orientated. I don’t know where I got the courage from, but I tied a Vierkleur [the flag of the Transvaal Republic] to the front of my car before we arrived at the Army College.’
Constand’s act of defiance showed what was in his heart and publicly exposed the divide between Afrikaans- and English-speaking South Africans serving in the military. Afrikaner resentment, born when the British first arrived in South Africa centuries ago, bristled at the slightest provocation. Language and cultural differences combined with memories of past hurts and bitter wars to drive a wedge between the two groups. The Afrikaners keenly felt their alienation from some of the very English traditions prevalent in the military, and many declined to join the Gunners Artillery Association of South Africa.
‘In Ronnie McWilliams I had a good commanding officer,’ Constand tells me. ‘He was an English-speaker and I thought very highly of him. One day he called me to his office. He said the Association was dying. I said, “Sir, do you have a programme?” He gave me one. It had the artillery memorial badge underneath a crown. Pointing to the crown on the programme, I said, “Whose crown is that?” He replied, “It’s the crown of England.” I answered, “What do we still have to do with England?” You see, the Anglo-Boer War and South Africa’s taking part in England’s wars were still affecting me.’
More than fifty years after the end of a war that they were not even around to experience, Constand and many other young Afrikaners were looking over their shoulders, imagining the thunder of approaching horses and the shouts of their riders as they charged Boer lines, and the death rattles of women and children dying in concentration camps. They were captives of a shared past, held there by the National Party and the Broederbond.
But despite their simmering resentment, Constand and his peers were, after all, hot-blooded youths in a military outfit. Constand himself was a serious young officer who impressed those who met him. A captain at the time remembers Lieutenant Viljoen as a confident officer who saluted as if he were a general.
According to one of his former lecturers from the military academy, ‘He was a model of an Afrikaner officer, emerging from a community which had its own language, history, background and characteristics that set it apart from other groups in South Africa.’
Furthermore, Constand loved the thrill of action, the whistle of bullets, the sight of helicopters on a mission, the sheer camaraderie of soldiering. He relished sitting in front of a Ratel pugnaciously entering enemy territory. His stock weapon on the front line was a 5.56-millimetre R4, an adaptation of the Israeli Galil assault rifle, which later became the standard South African Army rifle. And as testament to his dedication, he got his wings as a paratrooper. ‘I was interested in war. It was in my blood.’
Constand spent the late fifties, sixties and early seventies diligently rising through the ranks of first the Union Defence Force and then the SADF. By 1974 he was named the South African Army’s director of general operations, and subsequently served as the principal staff officer to the chief of the SADF, General Magnus Malan.
Constand’s position made him an ideal candidate for the Afrikaner Broederbond. When he was eventually recruited, he joined the crème de la crème of Afrikaner society. It was an accomplishment that proved he was an insider; an upright Afrikaner comrade who had the telephone numbers, respect and acceptance of his fellow Broederbonders; a defender of the Christian faith as defined by Afrikaners; and an enemy of communism.
When joining the Broederbond, recruits took an oath of secrecy, and even today many are unwilling to discuss their membership. ‘Yes, I was a member,’ he says. ‘The Afrikaner Broederbond was a better think tank than the National Party had been. The day I joined I said: “Look, I’m here to serve my people. I don’t want any perks just because I’m now a member of the Afrikaner Broederbond.” I was adamant that I didn’t want to benefit from being a member. That story that the Broederbond manipulated situations to have its members appointed to key positions is true.’
As a Broederbonder, Constand was, as they say in the Mafia, a made man. Members were carefully vetted before they were asked to join, and once they did, their careers and opportunities generally flourished and increased. These were the men who could make or break the careers and lives of others, men to be feared. Endowed with the trust of his government ministers, most of whom were fellow Broederbonders, the general undertook several clandestine missions of a political/military nature. One of his tasks was to bring together the South African government then under Vorster, defence minister P.W. Botha, the SADF and Jonas Savimbi, the leader of the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA).
As South Africa was being sucked into Angola, Vorster was keen to step up aid. On his orders, Constand and Gert Rothman of the Bureau of State Security (BOSS) went to Zaire in July 1975. They met Zaire’s Mobutu Sese Seko and two Angolan freedom fighters considered to be friends of the West: Holden Roberto of the National Front for the Liberation of Angola (FNLA), who happened to be Sese Seko’s brother-in-law, and Jonas Savimbi. Part of the South African mission was to execute Vorster’s order that a proper study be made of the requirements of the pro-West Angolan movements. Between them, UNITA and the FNLA, among others, asked for two-way radios, missiles, landmines, ammunition, armoured cars, rifles and uniforms.
On his return to South Africa, Constand recommended that weapons and equipment be supplied. Costs were to be capped at R20 million. To maintain secrecy, it was stipulated that the weapons could not be purchased in South Africa. Vorster approved the budget, and within a month arms were on their way to Zaire on board Central Intelligence Agency C-5A and C-141 planes. From there the weapons were transferred to South African military transport aircraft and flown to Angola.1
Angola was due to become independent on 11 November 1975. The pro–Soviet Union MPLA (People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola) was in control of most of the strategic parts of the country. Rumours that the MPLA was not going to wait until November but instead declare independence from Portugal at the end of October lured South Africa into Angola. By November 1975, South Africa was deeply embroiled in the country, albeit secretly, a pawn in the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union. As always with the apartheid advocates, there was an ulterior motive for South Africa’s secret presence. The politicians believed South Africa should assist Angola in such a way that the concept of individual ethnic groupings in specific areas in a country could be established. It was a blatant attempt to sow apartheid policy and the concept of homelands on the African continent.
But by December, South Africa’s military intervention in Angola was being condemned internationally. Thousands of Cuban soldiers were fighting alongside the MPLA, while the Soviet Union was pouring millions of US dollars in aid into it. In Washington, the political tide was turning against South Africa.
On 19 December, the US senate voted by a margin of fifty-four votes to twelve to cease American involvement in Angola. The South African ambassador in Washington, Roelof ‘Pik’ Botha, phoned Vorster a day later to give him the bad news. Under pressure and fearing that South Africa would get bogged down in Angola for years, Vorster convened an urgent meeting at his holiday home, Oubos. The only item on the agenda was Angola. Pik Botha flew in from Washington, while Constand, defence force chief Magnus Malan and Gert Rothman arrived from Air Force Base Waterkloof in Pretoria.
Afterwards, Constand was sent to Angola, carrying a secret message for Savimbi. The secretary for foreign affairs, Brand Fourie, was sent as an emissary to Lusaka to see Zambian president Kenneth Kaunda. The secret message was simple: South African troops would be withdrawn from Angola.
On 14 January 1976 the South African cabinet resolved to end the campaign in Angola. Constand was ordered to write the message to withdraw, and a day later, all sections of the SADF were informed. Finally, days before the end of January 1976, defence minister P.W. Botha shared the by now old news with the public that South African troops had fought in Angola. Constand was then appointed head of the South African Army College in Oudtshoorn.
– “zebra.bookslive”