JOHAN KOORNHOF: The privilege of being snubbed by the queen

Someone once asked Jackie Onassis what she remembered most about her state travels through the world with JFK, and she unhesitatingly replied: “The smell of fresh paint.”

People tend to spruce up their places before a visit by the famous, including painting over the cracks, literally. Such was the case at Rhodes House in Oxford in 1983. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh were to visit during the 80th anniversary celebrations of the Rhodes Scholarships.

Rhodes House is an imposing Herbert Baker design, close to the centre of Oxford with its magnificent spires, and easily recognisable by a huge copper-clad dome with a Zimbabwe Bird perched on top — all smartly cleaned for the occasion.

Everyone who was to be introduced to her majesty personally was invited months in advance and briefed in detail. Line after line of workers, officials and dignitaries were readied for the privilege to meet the queen, and perhaps to exchange few idle words.

Other guests, in this instance some 650 Rhodes scholars from all over the world, gathered in the gardens of Rhodes House, where the queen and duke would do a walkabout — inside ropes, where the chance of a meeting or chat was much diminished.

One group of dignitaries invited for a personal introduction to the queen was the father and son/daughter combinations who had won Rhodes scholarships. At that stage only three such pairs existed, one being my late father, Piet Koornhof, and me. He was a minister in the cabinet of the apartheid regime at the time, and I was in my third year of studies at Oxford.

Britain in 1983 was still basking in the patriotic glory of the Falklands War victory, Margaret Thatcher was well ensconced on her political throne, and for the royals public scandal and an annus horribilis were still quite unthinkable.

Months before the royal visit, but after the invitation to be personally introduced to her majesty, I was summoned by the warden of Rhodes House, Sir Robin Fletcher. In his inimitable stuttering way Sir Robin brought the stunning news that my father and I had been disinvited from meeting the queen. The instruction had come straight from the palace, and nothing was to be done about it. The queen would not meet a member of the SA cabinet.

To compensate for this decision I would instead be allowed to accompany the Duke of Edinburgh during the garden walkabout (inside the ropes), but the queen would not be met under any circumstance. This news caused a flurry, of course, but it did not take the SA cabinet long to instruct their minister to just stay away.

Subtle inquiries from my side made it clear that the palace was not to be moved on this one. The real reasons behind the snub became clear only some years later. There was the rather persistent (and to some, irksome) rumour that SA had supplied the Argentinians with French Exocet missiles, Mirage spare parts and other weapons to fight the British during the Falklands War.

The SA government chose to remain neutral in the conflict. But the HMS Sheffield was sunk by an Exocet missile, and the queen had a son doing duty in the war. Supplying weapons to people shooting at her ships, troops and son did not endear SA to the queen.

Added to the mix were British sanctions against SA, a position opposed by Thatcher. The queen, protector of the Commonwealth, was concerned about what British support for the SA government would do to the unity of the organisation. This led to quite a clash between the queen and the Iron Lady three years later.

Refusing to meet a cabinet minister was one of the first shots fired across apartheid SA’s bows from the queen’s side. Little did the Iron Lady know what was still to come.

As a descendant of people interned by the British during the South African War I do not have a natural affinity towards Queen Elizabeth II. The snub was not a personal affront — it was the right message after all — but it was one that the queen’s prime minister did not want to send. The queen rarely took a stance on political matters, and this snub was one such occasion, done in the interest of the Commonwealth.

What the British Empire and Commonwealth stood for, and is still being concealed, is another matter. Maya Jasanoff, professor of history at Harvard University, recently wrote in the New York Times that the queen helped obscure a bloody history whose proportions and legacies have yet to be adequately acknowledged.

So, what do we do with empire and monarch, in particular people who suffered under British rule? The way Nelson Mandela treated the queen was brilliant, but the likes of him come along only rarely. My great-grandmother, who survived a British concentration camp, had her own take. She told me as a 16-year-old boy how they were loaded onto wagons by British troops, their farm was burnt down, and they were taken to a camp with the vilest conditions, where many of her relatives died.

I was immensely impressed by her lack of ill will towards the British. To the contrary, she had respect for Queen Victoria, the monarch who ruled the British Empire during that time. She had no tolerance for recrimination and hate; there were too many lives to be rebuilt, and that is what they did.

She and my great-grandfather, a survivor of a British prisoner of war camp, were married for 71 years, just a tad longer than the reign of the recently deceased queen. But my great-grandparents were privileged in other ways. Black survivors of that war suffered very different fates.

• Dr Koornhof is a business person from Stellenbosch. His father served as a cabinet minister under John Vorster and PW Botha. Neither Johan nor his father ever got to meet the queen.