It is often difficult to connect aloof South African President Thabo Mbeki, who has just been re-elected, with the sociable and very English-sounding revolutionary of 15 years ago, who moved between Zambia and London with little prospect of ever ruling his country. What is now left of his Englishness?
He was always steeped in English liberal culture. His father Govan (named after a Scots radical) was a hardline Marxist who spent 25 years in prison, but retained a love of English literature.
As a child of the struggle Thabo was not close to his father, but he was much more anglicized.
In exile he went to Sussex University in southern England, which provided him with lasting English friendships and a degree in economics but did not blunt his revolutionary convictions.
He recalled how he was taught about supply and demand, "other things being equal" and how his black colleagues complained: "Things obviously aren't equal."
He attracted many young English women, but kept his distance, eventually marrying Zanele Dhlamini, a black South African whose sister Edith had wed an English aristocrat. In London he was a charming and amusing companion, drinking and talking into the night with friends from very different fields: one became a leading art critic, another a Liberal Democrat baroness.
But he was always a dedicated member of the African National Congress (ANC).
When I first met him in London in 1985 he was already an accomplished diplomat and indispensable aide to Oliver Tambo, the ANC president.
I heard him many times arguing with right-wing businessmen and politicians, persuading them that the ANC would not ruin South Africa.
When the ANC was at last unbanned in 1990 Mbeki returned to South Africa and became a key negotiator for Tambo's successor, Nelson Mandela. He retained his pipe smoking, his love of Shakespeare and intellectual debate, but he had to beware the image of the "black Englishman" in the political struggle.
As the ANC came closer to power, Mbeki became more pragmatic, dropping out of the Communist Party and insisting the ANC abandon nationalization and come to terms with global capitalism. He was invaluable in dealing with both Afrikaner conservatives and Zulu dissidents.
An intellectual at heart and never an inspiring public speaker, he preferred operating behind the scenes. In private he talked like a master diplomat, fascinated by the political chessboard.
When the ANC won the first democratic elections 10 years ago Mbeki became Mandela's deputy and likely successor.
Mandela relied on him heavily, and often left him to chair the Cabinet: Mbeki can take much of the credit for the ANC's achievements in reconciling old enemies, and establishing a sound economy.
However, it was not Mandela who chose Mbeki as his deputy: it was the ANC executive and its allies -- as Mandela emphasized to me.
Mandela often appeared to favor Cyril Ramaphosa, and sometimes complained about Mbeki's tendency to surround himself with a few cronies and to be suspicious of potential rivals.
When Mandela retired five years ago, he gave way graciously to Mbeki, with tributes on both sides. Mbeki knew he was less imposing and less outgoing than his heroic predecessor, but there were advantages in a low-profile president.
In private Mbeki was as thoughtful as ever on most issues. He insisted on maintaining strict discipline over the economy, facing down the clamor from communists and trades unions -- a remarkable achievement.
He perceived the dangers from neighboring Zimbabwe, seeing dictatorial Robert Mugabe as living in a vanished age of imperialists and liberation movements.
But he was determined on "quiet diplomacy," avoiding a showdown that might precipitate civil war, forcing millions of refugees south.
There was one issue about which he appeared irrational -- AIDS. He belatedly abandoned his belief that it was not necessarily linked to HIV and has authorized massive anti-AIDS programs with international support.
But he still refuses to use his presidency to publicize and confront the problem, or to replace inadequate Health Minister Manto Tshabalala-Msimang.
His intransigence worried many old friends, including myself, who speculated about his motivation.
Was he exasperated by racist white critics who blamed blacks for vulnerability to AIDS? Or was he politically expedient, knowing many voters were also reluctant to confront the problem? Or was he too isolated to understand the reality?
As president he seemed insulated and defensive -- very different from the adventurous exile who enjoyed arguing with anyone. He appeared uneasy among crowds, reluctant to reach out.
Afrikaner satirist Pieter-Dirk Uys complained: "We've got a government of the people, for the people, by the people, led by a president who doesn't like people."
Mbeki's fiercest critics went much further: they thought that he was developing the paranoia that other African leaders had shown as they moved towards autocracy, and feared that, with his two-thirds majority, he would change the constitution to allow himself a third term in office in 2009.
Yet Mbeki has shown good judgment during most of his presidency, with the exception of his failure over AIDS.
He has retained his negotiating skills which held together his diverse, multiracial country and given it a stability few of his critics expected.
He remains essentially the same young exile I knew, an intellectual deeply influenced by liberal European culture and always aware of the limitations of power.
White South Africans will always expect him to show them special favors, but to preserve his leadership he must always show himself a true African. For without the support of the black majority he is lost.
After he has reconstructed his Cabinet, and delivered his inaugural speech next wee, we will see how successfully he can combine his English and African roots.
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