Tiny Rowland: No longer the "Unacceptable Face of Capitalism"
By Jean Shaoul
29 July 1998
Rowland "Tiny" Rowland, former boss of Lonrho, the
African-based mining conglomerate, has died at the age of 80.
Obituaries of the man once dubbed by Conservative Prime Minister
Sir Edward Heath as the "unacceptable face of capitalism",
described him as one of a dying breed of buccaneer entrepreneurs
such as media mogul Robert Maxwell and financier Sir James Goldsmith.
Rowland was, in many ways, the real face of capitalism, bereft
of the cosmetic niceties in which it is usually dressed.
Rowland's goal was to make money, and lots of it. He let nothing
and no one stand in his way. He did not seek the approval of the
establishment, nor honours from it. Politicians and governments
existed for no other purpose than to enable him to make a killing.
The most fulsome tributes to Rowland came from African politicians,
including South African President Nelson Mandela and former Zambian
President Kenneth Kaunda. After he was elected, Mandela awarded
Rowland the country's highest honour. He said, "He made an
enormous contribution, not only to South Africa, but to the whole
of Africa."
This is not surprising. Rowland was one of the first businessmen
to befriend the emerging nationalist movements in Africa and disparage
colonial rule. It was widely assumed that he owed his "success"
to his willingness to bribe the newly elected post-colonial governments.
When a biography exposed this as his modus operandi, he
did not offer to refute it. He played a key role in brokering
the Lancaster House talks of 1979, which settled the political
future of Rhodesia and led to the formation of Zimbabwe, in order
to secure Lonrho's financial interests.
Tiny Rowland was born Rowland Walter Fuhrhop in 1917 in an
internment camp in India. His father, a wealthy adventurer, was
German and his mother Anglo-Dutch. After the First World War,
the family returned to Germany where Rowland went to school and
later joined the Hitler youth movement.
In 1934, the family moved to Britain where he was sent to board
at a minor private school. There his experience in Hitler's youth
movement proved useful when he joined the school's Officer Training
Corps and became a corporal.
After leaving school, he joined the family merchanting business.
When war broke out, his brother, who had returned to Germany,
joined the Wehrmacht and fought in Hitler's army throughout the
war. The British once again interned his father.
Despite becoming a British national and changing his name,
Rowland was interned with his father and other German-born immigrants
on the Isle of Man. He spent three months in the Peel camp for
high-risk Nazi sympathisers. Although he denied any such sympathies,
his wartime records are still a secret. His subsequent history
suggests that he may have become a British spy. Certainly his
fellow detainees thought he was an informer.
After the war, he left Britain to seek his fortune in Africa,
leaving behind an unpaid tax bill. Settling in Southern Rhodesia,
dubbed as "God's own country" by white businessmen and
landowners, he set about a series of business ventures that were
to bring him to the attention of Angus Ogilvy. Later to marry
into the British Royal family, Ogilvy was seeking someone to run
the mining company, London and Rhodesian Mining and Land Company,
later renamed Lonrho.
Despite his dubious background, Rowland passed the scrutiny
of a senior Lonrho director, Sir Joseph Ball, a former member
of the British secret service MI5 who played a key role in Home
Defence during World War II.
Rowland transformed Lonrho into a major corporation. At its
peak in 1989, Lonrho's profits were £272 million, up from
a mere £158,000 in 1961, the year he joined the company.
His method was to jet round Africa, buying up African mines through
his connections with local politicians whom he did not hesitate
to bribe. His biggest coup was the acquisition of the Ashanti
gold mines in Ghana, largely thanks to Lord Duncan Sandys, a former
Conservative cabinet minister who was chairman of the company.
Rowland ran the company as his personal fiefdom, with scant
regard for the wishes of his co-directors and contempt for what
limited financial rules there were. He drew no distinction between
Lonrho's and his own money. His wheeling and dealing, and particularly
the purchase of rights to the Wankel (rotary) engine, led to huge
debts.
When forced to bring prominent non-executive directors onto
the Lonrho board to supervise the company, Rowland simply ignored
them or lied to them. He made sure he got his own way by granting
share options to the chairman, Alan Ball, and executive director,
Ogilvy, which made them dependent upon him. It was the ensuing
boardroom row and unsuccessful attempts to dislodge him that led
to Heath's famous remark in 1973.
Undeterred by the slap on the wrists by the British establishment,
Rowland turned to new sources of financial support in the Middle
East, then experiencing a boom based on the rise in oil prices.
It was at this point that he teamed up with a fellow wheeler and
dealer, Mohamed Al-Fayed, who was even more ruthless than Rowland.
He had bought up a string of newspapers in Southern Africa
to smooth the way for his predatory operations and silence any
opposition. He proceeded to do the same in Britain, becoming chairman
of the Sunday newspaper, the Observer, in 1983.
When Al-Fayed out-manoeuvred Rowland over the acquisition of
the famous Knightsbridge store, Harrods, Rowland pursued a relentless
vendetta against the Al-Fayed brothers in the media and the courts.
He spent £25 million of Lonrho's money in the process.
He used his connections with the ruling political circles to
force a Department of Trade and Industry investigation into the
Al-Fayeds' takeover of Harrods. Although the report was never
published, Rowland managed to get hold of a copy and brought out
a special issue of the Observer on a Thursday to publish
its findings.
The chief beneficiary of Lonrho's profits was Mr. Rowland himself,
owning as he did 20 percent of the corporation's shares. But in
the 1990s, Lonrho faced an entirely different situation. The African
states on which his profits relied were in a state of political
turmoil, which hit Lonrho badly. A boardroom coup managed to kick
Rowland upstairs in 1994, with a handsome pay-off of £2.7
million. There followed a break-up of the corporation, to the
considerable profit of all the shareholders, including Rowland,
who had kept a 7 percent stake.
Rowland's career personifies that of capital the world over.
His methods are standard practice today, and no contemporary politician
would bat an eyelid. In so far as he was then the "unacceptable
face" of capitalism, it was because Rowland did not take
the customary care to don the disguise of aristocratic "concern"
and "responsibility" perfected over decades by the British
ruling class. That mask has long since been discarded, as Thatcher
and her successors celebrated the ruthlessness and selfishness
of corporate money-grubbing.
See Also:
British Labour government
accused of helping organise counter-coup in Sierra Leone
[14 May 1998]
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