Downing Street Years - Margaret Thatcher [312]
From Malaysia I went, via Singapore and Brunei, to Indonesia. Everything about Indonesia is remarkable. A state created out of some 17,000 islands, a mix of races and religions, based on an artificially created philosophy — the five principles of ‘Pancasila’ — it is a marvel that Indonesia has been kept together at all. Yet it has an economy which is growing fast, more or less sound public finances, and though there have been serious human rights abuses, particularly in East Timor, this is a society which by most criteria ‘works’. At the top, President Soeharto is an immensely hard-working and effective ruler. I was struck by the detailed interest he took in agriculture — something which is all too rare in oil-rich countries like Indonesia. He spent hours on his own farm where experiments in cross-breeding livestock to maximize nutrition were the order of the day. The architect of the technological and industrial base of Indonesia was Dr Habibie, a German-trained scientist of immense energy and imagination.
It was on the final day of my stay in Indonesia that I first realized that I had become an internationally known figure — and not just in Europe, the scene of so many bitter arguments, or in the United States, where I always received a warm reception, but in parts of the world entirely foreign to me. I flew up to Bandung to inspect Dr Habibie’s excellent Institute of Technology. As I got off the aeroplane I was met by girls throwing rose petals on the ground in front of me and then all the way from the airport by crowds five to six deep along the roadside crying ‘Tacher, Tacher’.
Later that day I arrived in Colombo, Sri Lanka. President Jayewardene I already knew and had liked at once. He was an elderly, distinguished lawyer of great integrity and someone who peppered his speech, as I am inclined to do, with talk of ‘the rule of law’, not a bad refrain for any politician. At this time he was beginning to be faced by Tamil terrorism, which ultimately Sri Lanka alone was not able to suppress. He explained to me in the car the various concessions he had made for regional autonomy — Sri Lanka is a relatively modern construct and real unification of Ceylon came only in the 1830s. I judged that if anyone could restore peace and order without large-scale violence it was such a man as this.
Early the following morning I set off for the opening ceremony of the Victoria Dam Power Station, which as I have explained earlier,* was largely paid for out of British Overseas Aid. Although it was still before 10 o’clock in the morning and we were well up in the hills, the heat was almost unbearable. First, I visited the power station and dam. Then there was a long march past of children in different costumes; dances were performed; flowers were thrown. The Sri Lankan minister with me made his speech. By now we were under a large awning and it was with relief that I saw that someone had brought him a glass of water. Then it was my turn to speak. But no water. By now the atmosphere was even more stifling. I was glad to get back in the car to be driven on to Kandy. The President came with me. But for some reason I still couldn’t get any water. Nearly five hours after leaving Colombo I reached the government guesthouse and I at last got my glass of water. I gulped it gratefully.
Next day I was due to address the Sri Lankan Parliament. It is easy to imagine my horror when, having been introduced by the Speaker, I looked around and found… no water. The Parliament building is magnificent inside and out: but it is also excessively air-conditioned and the atmosphere is dry as dust. Part of the way through my speech I had such a fit of coughing that I had to stop and wait until a glass of water was found for me. I had learnt my lesson. From now on a crate of fizzy Ashbourne water would accompany me on my travels.
I returned to Britain by way of India where I met Rajiv Gandhi for the first time since he had become Prime Minister after his mother’s assassination.