Atrocities, Diamonds and Diplomacy Read online

  Everyone climbed into the vehicles. Ikimi, the Nigerian Foreign Minister, was stranded without a car. I had already offered to give a ride to James Jonah, and Colin was taking the Liberian representative, but I was asked whether we could also give Ikimi a lift. It would have been lovely to see Ikimi riding in a British High Commission vehicle. I am sure that Graham Burton in Abuja would have been amused by it, but I felt that Ikimi would not have seen the humour of the situation and I did not want to ruin Mohammed Abubakar’s day, so I arranged for one of the UN vehicles to take the distinguished Foreign Minister from Nigeria.

  The long convoy of some two dozen assorted cars and trucks started the drive into Freetown with Presidents Kabbah and Abacha sitting together in the front. The streets were lined with people, young and old, cheering and waving. As our car went past with the Union Jack fluttering in the breeze, cries of ‘Jonah’ or ‘Penfold’ went up. We waved back to the happy people. By the time we had reached the stadium we were already five hours behind schedule. The stadium was packed with Sierra Leoneans who had been waiting in the hot sun since early morning. We took our seats in, thankfully, the shaded part of the stadium. I sat below President Conte, alongside his ADC, who was wearing a brilliant red tunic. His first task was to pass up the ashtray he always carried for his president. Conte was an ardent smoker and never went anywhere without his cigarettes and ashtray. I imagined smoke-filled discussions with him if I had been accredited to Guinea.

  The crowd cheered as President Kabbah made his way up to the top of the VIP section of the stadium following behind Abacha. The various speeches started – the Vice President, the UN Assistant Secretary General, the head of the Anglican Church, Bishop Julius Lynch, and other civil society leaders. They all said much the same thing – this was the day they had all been waiting for; democracy had been restored. There were loud cheers every time someone mentioned Ecomog, Nigeria or Abacha. Even references to Britain and the United Nations were received enthusiastically by the large crowd. But the loudest cheers were reserved for Khobe and for Radio 98.1. Finally the time came for the speech by the person all the crowd had been waiting for – General Sani Abacha. The crowd went wild. The trade union leader had already declared in his speech that Kissy Street was to be renamed Sani Abacha Street. This was the person for whom they had waited in the hot sun to hear. They knew only too well that this was the person whose commitment had made this day possible, whatever the rest of the world thought of him.

  Abacha delivered a statesmanlike speech, noting the significance of the occasion, and then grabbing him by the hand, Abacha ‘introduced’ President Kabbah. The cheering started all over again as Kabbah announced, ‘I’m back.’

  By the time Kabbah had started his speech it was five o’clock in the afternoon. The people had been waiting since 7.00 am. They had had enough. They had heard Abacha. They had seen their president. They started to drift away even while Kabbah was still speaking so that by the time his speech came to an end the stadium was half full. The Mayor of Freetown, Mrs Florence Dillsworth, wrapped up proceedings, and we all left. Abacha headed straight for the airport together with the Guinean and Nigerien Presidents. His task was completed and the squalor of Freetown held no attraction compared to the luxury of Abuja. The formal lunch became an informal supper for anyone who wanted it. By now I was feeling pretty tired so after spending a little time with those assembled I made my way home. This historic day came to an end. The democratic government had been restored, and Britain could take pride in the role she had played in achieving this.

  Over the next couple of weeks we continued to focus all our energies on emergency and relief assistance. The crew of HMS Cornwall set about their tasks with zeal and determination. For many of these young lads it was their first time out of Britain; only a couple of weeks previously they had been in Portsmouth setting off on their first voyage. They were deeply moved by what they saw and were rightly proud of what they were doing. One particularly harrowing experience for a group of young sailors who went on one of the trips to Bo was to help exhume a mass grave of victims of the junta. Over fifty bodies had been dumped in a pit in the hospital grounds, creating a serious health hazard. The crew of Cornwall, under the supervision of Garth Petzer, exhumed the bodies, carried out an ecumenical funeral service and cremated them – a very gruesome task. Now that the government was back the people were very keen to see the schools reopened and the education of their children resumed. But many of the schools had been damaged. Teams from the ship went around and, together with the local communities, carried out repairs. After a school had been repaired UNICEF provided supplies of school materials such as text books and pencils so that the schools could be reopened.

  As the time approached for Cornwall to leave, Anthony Dymock hosted a lunch on board for President Kabbah and some of his ministers. The President was effusive in his thanks to the ship and to Britain. Britain had stood by her old friend Sierra Leone in her hour of greatest need and was continuing to do so.

  In addition to Cornwall’s activities David Hill was out and about co-ordinating the ODA’s effort with the NGOs. ODA, under the new Labour government, had been renamed the Department for International Development, so we all had to learn a new acronym – DFID. David had previously worked for a British NGO in Somalia. This lanky, bearded Brit, walking around in his sandals, became very popular with the Sierra Leoneans. He worked tirelessly in helping the distraught Sierra Leoneans. His affable, uncomplaining manner made him a joy to work with.

  But while we in Sierra Leone were busy with all these humane activities, the department in London was beginning to get caught up in the ‘Sandline affair’. Lord Avebury had written to the office accusing Sandline of having broken the UN arms embargo. A debate in the House of Commons, instead of drawing praise for Britain’s role in restoring democracy to Sierra Leone, focussed on illegal arms sales. The British press had hardly covered President Kabbah’s return; instead they were preoccupied with my meetings with ‘mercenaries’.

  This was all very puzzling to us in Freetown. As far as we were concerned, the UN sanctions were directed against the junta. In any event, the arms that Sandline had supplied had arrived at the end of February, too late to be used by Ecomog and Kabbah’s forces. Indeed, President Kabbah was threatening to go back on his agreement with Blackstone because the arms and ammunition had arrived too late. When 30 tons of equipment did arrive towards the end of February Ecomog had merely locked it away in a warehouse at Lungi.

  By mid April, HMS Cornwall had left and we had completed the most immediate relief and humanitarian assistance. Ann Grant sent me a fax suggesting that I return to the UK for a brief visit to assess the UK’s next priorities and objectives. I had already issued invitations for 27 April for our reception to celebrate The Queen’s Birthday, so it was agreed that I would fly back immediately afterwards. We celebrated Her Majesty’s Birthday in traditional style with a large reception at the residence, to which practically everybody came, including the entire diplomatic corps, which at the time, I noted, could have fitted into a taxi. A moving speech was delivered by the new Foreign Minister, Dr Sama Banya, on behalf of the President, and we toasted the continued health and happiness of Her Majesty and President Kabbah. The next day I caught a flight to Conakry, and from there flew back to London.

  Chapter Six

  Arms to Africa Scandal

  The day before I left Freetown I received a fax from Tim Andrews giving details of the meetings planned for me in the Foreign Office but also asking ominously that I should bring any Sandline papers back with me.

  Waiting for me at home on my return on the Saturday was a message asking me to contact immediately the head of the personnel department. He told me that I was not to go into the Foreign Office, nor was I to have any contact with anyone in the department. I was required to give an interview to HM Customs and Excise about Sandline and he pointed out that the interview would be given ‘under caution’. I was not clear exactly what this meant, b
ut it seemed to me that I needed legal advice. I was not permitted to consult the Foreign Office legal advisers but advised to use the firm of Kingsley Napley, who had been used by the office for the Scott Inquiry. I went to their offices in London and met with Stephen Pollard, who had recently defended Nick Leeson in the Barings Bank affair, and his assistant, Sophie Purkis.

  The accusations against me were detailed in a letter from Spicer’s and Sandline’s lawyers, SJ Berwin, to Robin Cook, which referred to the military assistance given by Sandline to President Kabbah’s government, and claimed, ‘At the suggestion of your High Commissioner in Freetown, Mr Peter Penfold, President Kabbah asked our clients to provide such assistance.’ The letter further claimed that ‘Mr Penfold himself called at our clients’ office premises on 28 January 1998, just three weeks before the equipment now in issue was delivered, and was given full details of the arrangements including the number of personnel involved and the nature of the military equipment that was to be provided. He was also given a copy of Sandline International’s strategic and tactical plan, its Concept of Operations, for its involvement in the Sierra Leone arena.’

  The letter identified meetings with others in the Foreign Office – John Everard, Craig Murray, Linda St Cook and Tim Andrews, and with Colonel Hicks and Colonel Gale. As a result of all these meetings, the letter concluded, ‘Our clients were assured throughout that the operation had the full support of Her Majesty’s Government.’

  Reading through the Berwin letter in Stephen Pollard’s office I told him that although some of the allegations made were patently untrue, I could not deny the fact that I had met Spicer and that details of Sandline’s proposed assistance had been discussed; but what was all the fuss about? The UN sanctions were directed against the junta and therefore where was the illegality? I had brought with me the text of the UN sanctions resolution and some of the other accompanying documentation, but we did not have a copy of the UK Order in Council, under the terms of which Sandline was being prosecuted. Stephen Pollard immediately arranged to have a copy faxed to his office.

  When I read the UK Order I noticed at once something strange about it. Whereas the UN sanctions resolution had merely referred to ‘Sierra Leone’, the UK Order had attempted to define what it meant by ‘person connected with Sierra Leone’. This included ‘the Government of Sierra Leone’. As the main plank of our policy had been to continue to regard President Kabbah’s government as the Government of Sierra Leone and not to give any recognition to the AFRC junta, there could be no doubt that under the terms of the UK legislation, it was illegal to sell arms to President Kabbah’s government. Interestingly, the UK Order made no specific mention of the AFRC junta, although it was caught up in a catch-all phrase of ‘any other person in, or resident in, Sierra Leone’. I could now see why HM Customs and Excise had decided to act against Sandline, but how did this confusion arise? Surely those in the office would have pointed out to HM Customs that the aim of the sanctions was against the junta, and not against President Kabbah’s government?

  Stephen Pollard, Sophie Purkis and I went along to the headquarters of HM Customs and Excise at Lower Thames Street, close to the Tower of London. We were led downstairs to the basement of the building. I was warned of my rights, signed various bits of paper and then taken along to one of the interrogation cells. Two Customs and Excise officials sat across a narrow wooden table, while alongside me sat Stephen. A double cassette player was on the table and I was advised that the proceedings were being videoed.

  I was again warned that I was being interviewed under caution. My attention was drawn to the Sierra Leone (United Nations Sanctions) Order 1997, in particular section 3, which stated that ‘Except under the authority of a licence granted by the Secretary of State, no person shall do any act calculated to promote the supply or delivery of any goods specified under the Order.’ I was warned that the penalty for doing so was seven years’ imprisonment. Customs had already visited the Foreign Office and taken away various files. Stephen had had access to these papers and some of them had been very revealing. They had shown the amount of contact that had been going on between Spicer and the department, of which I was unaware. Reference was made to some of these documents, including my memo of 2 February detailing my contacts with Sandline. I went over the two meetings that I had had with Spicer. The Customs officers seemed surprised to learn that I had not had any meetings with Spicer in Conakry or Freetown. I explained to them my understanding of the UN sanctions resolution and how every document that I had received in Conakry and Freetown indicated that the sanctions were directed against the junta. I produced these documents, some of which had not been made available to them from the Foreign Office files. These included the Foreign Office’s press briefing note on the UN sanctions, the CHOGM communiqué and a letter from Ann Grant to the Sierra Leone Foreign Minister. All of them clearly referred to ‘sanctions against the junta’.

  The interview went on for over two hours. The Customs officials were very professional and not unfriendly but, as I later told the Legg Inquiry and the Foreign Affairs Committee, I found the whole affair very distasteful. Here I was, a member of the Diplomatic Service, being interrogated by another branch of the same government, which I had served faithfully and professionally for thirty-five years, with the threat of seven years’ imprisonment hanging over my head.

  A couple of weeks later I was asked to attend another interview with Customs after they had interviewed others in the Foreign Office. I had no idea what my colleagues had said, but I was not pleased to learn subsequently that none of them had been questioned ‘under caution’. The same two Customs officers were there but this time they were joined by a Customs legal Adviser. I went over in more detail the differences that I perceived between the UN sanctions resolution and the UK Order in Council. Since my previous interview I had received a telephone call from a close friend in the Service who was now serving overseas. He had previously been a legal adviser in the Foreign Office and we had gone around the Caribbean together as a team trying to persuade Caribbean governments to enact tougher anti-drugs legislation based on the UK model. The UK newspapers had taken some time reaching him and he was ringing to give me moral support. When I mentioned the inconsistencies between the UN sanctions and the UK Order, he pointed out that under the terms of the United Nations Act of 1946, the UK Act from which the powers are conferred on Parliament for implementing UN sanctions orders, it was not allowed for the UK legislation to either add or subtract from the original UN sanctions. In his view there was a possibility that the UK Order was ultra vires. I made these points to the Customs legal adviser, who listened attentively without commenting.

  As well as copying their letter all around the ministries in Whitehall, SJ Berwin had released it to the press. The ‘Arms to Africa’ scandal dominated the front pages and editorials as more and more information came to light. It was revealed, for example, that HMS Cornwall had helped repair Sandline’s helicopter while the ship was in Freetown. I became subject to intense press interest. My picture appeared under headlines such as ‘Foreign Office accused of aiding mercenaries’ while I was accused of colluding with ‘dogs of war’. For a time the media were camped outside our home in Abingdon and we would have to sneak through the garage at the back just to get some shopping.

  Robin Cook’s ‘ethical foreign policy’ was questioned, and he became subject to intense scrutiny, especially by the tabloids, who called for his resignation. The Daily Mirror carried a full page photograph of him walking head down along Whitehall under the heading ‘Sierra Alone’.

  The opposition’s knives were out in Parliament, where emergency questions were being tabled. Shadow foreign affairs spokesman Michael Howard attacked the government over ‘this murky business’. Responding, Robin Cook said that he had not been informed about the matter. Whilst stoutly defending his fellow ministers, Tony Lloyd and Baroness Symons, he distanced himself from his officials. I found it baffling that at no time was I asked to go into th
e office and explain to Robin Cook what had happened. He and his ministers and senior officials were having to spend increasing amounts of their time answering the various accusations being bandied around, but without the benefit of being briefed by those officials most in the know of what had gone on, i.e. the members of the African Department and myself. Not surprisingly they kept shooting themselves in the foot.

  Sir John Kerr, the relatively new Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, was summoned before the House of Commons Foreign Affairs Committee to answer questions. He was given a hard time. Again hampered by inadequate briefing, he, ‘having refreshed his memory’, retracted some of the statements he had made earlier to the Committee, which appeared to contradict what Robin Cook had told the Committee.

  The Foreign Office spin doctors kept making boobs. They leaked to the press that while I was stuck in Conakry I had been unable to send any reports to the Foreign Office from May 1997 until April 1998. But they had to immediately retract the story in the face of the evidence of my almost daily reports (faxed from the Hotel Camayenne), copies of which were now with Customs and Excise. Other attempts to tarnish my reputation were made. The press were fed a story that I had been withdrawn from the British Virgin Islands ahead of time and in disgrace. When it was pointed out that I had completed my full tour and had been awarded the CMG for my services in Tortola the story was dropped.

  However, the more that I was attacked, the more people came forward to defend me. One most unexpected show of support came from, of all people, the Prime Minister. Whilst speaking to reporters Tony Blair went out of his way to praise me, saying that I had done ‘a superb job’. He referred to the media coverage as ‘a lot of hoo-ha’ and pointed out that ‘the good guys had won.’ President Kabbah sent a four-page letter to Tony Blair attacking my critics and supporting me. He wrote, ‘Peter Penfold was a source of moral strength not only to me personally, but to all patriotic Sierra Leoneans – widely perceived by many as not only a hero, but a victim of the very forces that conspired but failed to destroy our country.’