The End Conscription Campaign has demobbed. Its success lay in individual creativity, counter-cultural inspiration and youthful anger. Gavin Evans reports
THE launch of the End Conscription Campaign 11 years ago was one of those rare moments of creative inspiration that happen so seldom in protracted political struggles.
Not only did it play a major part in reaching its goal of ending apartheid conscription, but it also contributed to a fledgling “peace” culture, influenced the ANC in its attitude to military service, drew thousands of young white people into the realm of resistance politics and diverted the energies and resources of the apartheid security and intelligence services away from more violent designs.
Three things kept it largely free from the tedium and factionalism that characterised other white, anti-apartheid groups in the 1980s. It maintained its focus by sticking squarely to its single issue. It avoided the temptation of becoming yet another “accountable” wing of the liberation movement. And, most importantly, it operated in a free-wheeling style that succeeded in drawing on individual creativity, counter-cultural inspiration and youthful anger. It was, in most areas, a sexy organisation — green friendly, gay friendly and a watering hole for a generation of artists, musicians and actors who were alienated from the rest of the left.
The security forces saw the ECC as simply a creation of the ANC. From my own experience I can say this assessment was only partially correct, and the ANC’s influence diminished as the campaign grew.
When I was recruited by the ANC in 1980 one of the first tasks I was given by my Zimbabwe handlers was to encourage debate on the “military issue” within the student movement. At the time Nusas was taking a hands-off stance towards the issue and several of its leaders were preparing to do their military service. The possibility of resistance, along the lines taken by the early conscientious objectors, such as Peter Moll and Richard Steele, was not even considered. When visiting Harare early in 1982 I was instructed to oppose those taking the “strategic participation” line and to start organising anti-military campaigns on university campuses. An ANC unit was created with this in mind, and several others who later became central in the ECC were recruited over the next two years.
While this had the negative effect of starting a protracted cold war within Nusas, it also led to a lasting link between the white student left and the church-based objector movement — initially through the Conscientious Objector Support Group.
After that, things happened rapidly. By 1983, 13 men had been sentenced for refusing to do military service on politically- related grounds and the movement had developed a momentum that pushed the state to over-react (by boosting prison sentences for objectors to six years).
In less determined hands the whole thing might have floundered. Instead, the move prompted a strategic rethink and it was correctly decided that a campaign opposing the law would be likely to attract the broadest support. In late 1983 the ECC was launched with the backing of scores of existing anti-apartheid organisations and soon developed its own momentum and membership.
One of the early decisions was that it would not affiliate to the United Democratic Front as this would limit its potential in the white community. After that, relations with the UDF were generally warm, though occasional attempts to set up a UDF caucus within the ECC were always stoutly resisted.
Only once did the ECC make the mistake of complying with a UDF directive. This happened in early 1986 when a pair of prominent UDF leaders who were former Pretoria Central political prisoners, objected to the presence of Breyten Breytenbach on an ECC platform for what were extremely esoteric reasons. After much pressure the ECC backed down, alienating its emerging Afrikaner support-base in the process.
Relations with the ANC were more complex, but also more distant. It is certainly true that several of us who were in the campaign’s national and regional leadership were also members of the ANC and/or South African Communist Party underground structures (though, for the most part, until the ANC was unbanned, we weren’t aware of who else was involved). ANC members reported regularly on the campaign, but invariably the response was one of blanket approval with few directives offered. The exception came with regard to recruitment, for which the ECC was obviously fertile ground — and fortunately no one was caught despite the considerable energies of the security police and South African Defence Force military intelligence.
At an organisational level, however, there was virtually no contact between the ANC and ECC until the late 1980s. The only instance I am aware of came when a particularly hardline leader of the London- based Committee of South African War Resisters took it upon himself to criticise in print the apparent frivolity and lack of political correctness of ECC’s campaigns, among other sins. ECC then secured the intervention of senior ANC members who put the fellow in his place — a rare example of censorship.
The campaign reached its peak between late 1984, when the SADF sent its troops into the townships, and mid-1986 when the national State of Emergency was declared. During this 20-month period it had a spurt of phenomenal expansion, growing into a national movement with 12 branches, about 1 000 active members and a far larger support base. It began to attract parents, schoolchildren, former soldiers, Afrikaner youth and many others from outside the realms of liberal universities. Meetings in Cape Town attracted over 3 000 people and its momentum seemed unstoppable.
Some campaigns had a hard edge — “Troops Out” of Angola, Namibia and the townships, for instance — but were softened by a “peace” thrust (fasts, candlelight vigils) and a variety of cultural initiatives – – concerts, festivals, comics, the “Forces Favourites” music tape, and so on. Other campaigns were less confrontational (“Working for a Just Peace”, “Tie a Yellow Ribbon”) and were designed to build the movement and focus on its central theme. There was always a creative media thrust, ranging from “in-your-face” posters with such slogans as “Mannetjie — didn’t they tell you? Cadets Maak Malletjies!” and “Wat soek jy in die townships troepie?”, to the “Know your rights in the SADF” booklet adorned with a cartoon of a conscript kissing his girl goodbye.
The state responded with predictable heavy- handedness. More than 100 ECC activists were detained for periods ranging from a day to a year, while the organisation itself and many of its members were restricted under the Emergency regulations. Houses were petrol-bombed, vehicles sabotaged, individuals assaulted and a propaganda offensive was launched, ranging from the use of rightwing front- groups to the production of fake pamphlets, such as those of the appropriately named “Anti-Liberal League” dropped by helicopter on an ECC fete in Cape Town.
After receiving information of an anti-ECC dirty tricks campaign co-ordinated from Western Province military headquarters in Cape Town’s castle, the ECC retained Sydney Kentridge and took the SADF to court.
In his affidavit, General Jan van Loggerenberg acknowledged the dirty tricks campaign, admitting to almost all the incidents alleged (with the exception of instructing a troepie to defecate on the ECC’s Cape Town office carpet), but said it was justified because the country was in a state of war. The judge found otherwise and interdicted the SADF against further harassment.
As with all anti-apartheid organisations there was always the problem of spies. In general the line taken was that we had nothing to hide, and several suspected informers were left alone (though watched carefully). During the Emergency this became more of a problem. For instance in Johannesburg, where Joy Harnden was known to be a spy (years later she emerged as a security police lieutenant), meetings had to be re-held once she’d departed. Eventually she was expelled, much to the chagrin of individuals in the Black Sash national leadership who claimed her innocence and accused those responsible in the UDF and ECC of being Stalinists (a fair charge in general, but off the mark in this case).
One consequence of the crackdown was to drive sections of the movement underground — a factor prompting a more concerted wave of individual and group objection. In 1987, 23 Cape conscripts publicly resisted their call-ups. A year later this was organised on a national scale, drawing 143 volunteers. In 1989, 771 took the stand and the figure quickly passed the 1 000 mark. The effect was to demonstrate that you could get away with refusing an apartheid call-up by being completely brazen about it. The SADF simply could not afford the political fall-out from more trials of objectors like Philip Wilkinson, Dr Ivan Toms, David Bruce, Charles Bester and Saul Batzofin.
Soon the troops left Angola and Namibia, the ANC was unbanned, the call-up was reduced to a year and seldom enforced in the face of resistance. By then most of us who’d been centrally involved had dropped out of active politics or moved on to other things, but a dedicated group, led by a Johannesburg patent lawyer and former army lieutenant, Chris de Villiers, continued to fight the good fight and keep the issue alive.
National service conscription was formally ended last year (though it remained for camps). When the troops were needed to ensure the safety of the April election, the ECC called on them to help out to secure the peace. Things had come full circle, and it was time to say goodbye after a job well done.
* Evans, now a journalist living in London, was ECC publicity officer