In the Hotel Bahia in Malabo, the capital of Equatorial Guinea,
Frederick Forsyth wrote The Dogs of War, his 1974 fictional account of
a band of mercenaries who overthrow a corrupt African regime. Thirty
years on, fiction almost becomes fact.
Currently 15 men, seven of whom are South African, are detained in
Equatorial Guinea on charges of plotting to unseat President Teodoro
Obiang Nguema. Another 68 men - 20 of them South African - have been
taken into custody in Zimbabwe, allegedly en route to join that coup
plot.
All stand accused of mercenary activity and it is not a wholly
unwarranted assumption that fine, upstanding citizens they are probably
not. Yet it is troubling that Minister Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma
effectively said she was not in any hurry to help those in custody.
South Africa's High Commissioner to Zimbabwe was yet to see any of them
four days into their detention. Even mercenaries are entitled to due
process and fair trial provisions.
But what is it about mercenary activity that triggers such repulsion?
Admittedly, mercenaries, like the SA-based Executive Outcomes, have
been notorious for their ruthlessness. But if this were to be
prohibited, as is done by the laws of war, is there any more reason to
revile those who fight for a salary cheque than those who fight in the
name of ideology?
Isn't it almost always better to send men who choose to fight into battle over those who have been conscripted into an army?
Another West African nation, Sierra Leone, provides a lesson in the way
in which mercenaries could be used. For a period in the country's
unspeakably cruel war, it was mercenaries who effectively enabled the
democratically elected government to push the rebels back.
The approximately 300 or so private contractors who secured this
turnaround showed not only the small numbers that would have been
needed to reverse the rebels' advance - so throwing up the
international community's non-response - but also pointed towards a
future for crippled states in which private and state security might
need to be contracted out.
The irony is that Equatorial Guinea is just such a place, and Obiang
himself relies on an elite band of approximately 100 Moroccans for his
own personal security. That is, when he isn't being offered the best
security money can buy by way of the US oil firms currently flooding
his country.
The other irony is that Obiang himself took power by coup. His uncle
Francisco Macias Nguema banned opposition parties and made himself
President for Life in 1972. He also made himself Leader of Steel and
The Sole Miracle of Equatorial Guinea. When he wasn't devising farcical
titles for himself,
he had almost 10% of the population killed, some crucified along the airport's highway.
In 1979, he was overthrown and executed by Obiang, his nephew.
But just in case you are thinking: "If ever there was a deserved coup
...", you should know that Obiang himself served in his uncle's regime,
heading the National Guard and commanding the armed forces.
His own regime has not been quite as brutal, but opposition parties
continued to be banned for many years. Independent observers report
that the country has never had a free, fair election and the US shut
its embassy in 1994, effectively in protest at the intimidation then
taking place.
Soon after, huge oil reserves were discovered off the coast and the
Americans, certainly the petroleum companies, were back like a shot.
While the country now reports an economic growth rate of about 30%,
there have been attempts to rehabilitate Obiang and make him more
palatable. As late as last year, however, dozens of citizens were
seized for plotting against the government. The regime has refused to
disclose the whereabouts of the accused.
In a situation such as this, what is it about a planned coup exactly that gives cause for complaint?
The Star's Contributing Editor Nicole Fritz is a lecturer in the School of Law at the University of the Witwatersrand
