Barring some resources in Russia and elsewhere, South Africa claims more than 70% of global platinum production, and over 95.5% of known global reserves of this metal. In 2014, the country’s platinum sales totaled over R84 billion (upward of 7.5 billion USD). Despite its global dominance at the level of resource ownership and production, South Africa (from government to industry) has little input in the price-making process. Indeed it is a price taker. Instead, the ‘value’ and price of platinum is determined primarily by large banks in an institutional set-up that is a de-facto insider racket.
Historically, four entities largely determined the pricing process during two daily teleconferences. These proceedings were confidential and inaccessible to the public including traders, refiners and other participants. Some of the four members were involved in every aspect of the trade from warehousing to buying and selling it, laying the field wide open to anti-competitive behavior including price-fixing. Known as the London Fix, the process appeared quite literally a fix driven by global banking behemoths: Goldman Sachs, HSBC, Standard Bank, alongside one chemical company, Germany’s BASF. The members operated through a private company that determined the global reference price: London Platinum and Palladium Fixing Company Limited (LPPM). It is evident that the textbook idea of abstract global forces of demand and supply making prices is erroneous in this power-laden set-up where price-making is at the disposal of the few.
From 2007 until 2014, alleges the US-filed class action lawsuit (2014), members used privileged insider information to manipulate the prices of precious metals including platinum. The secrecy of the process allowed members to ‘execute trades…to make artificial the prices of physical platinum and palladium and platinum and palladium-based financial products…to reap substantial profits …while non-insiders were injured.’[1] To give roape.net readers a scale of the effect of damages: say, a South African mining company produced 580 000 oz at $1400 per oz or $812 million in sales; if the value-cum-price was artificially reduced by the price fixers by $100 per oz at a strategic point in the process, about $58 million in value would be ‘disappeared’ at that level of transaction, but be pocketed by others in the commodity chain that got the metal $100/oz cheaper than would otherwise be the case.
A high level source close to the LPPM members assessed that this price setting system violated the global administrative and regulatory standards of the International Organization of Securities Commissions (IOSCO). Notably, BASF declined to comment on the allegations due to ongoing litigation, while Goldman Sachs, HSBC and Standard Bank declined, or failed, to respond. [2]
On December 1 2014, responsibility for the LPPM system was claimed by the London Bullion Market Association (LBMA) replacing the old system with a new process: Cue the London Metals Exchange (LME). Part of the Hong Kong Exchanges and Clearing Ltd (HKEx) transacting more than 70% of the world’s non-ferrous metals, the LME won the bid offer to run a custom-built electronic system, facilitating digitized bidding and ordering processes, building in a mirror of sorts. This meant that an external body would now have access to information used to formulate pricing.
Yet the LBMA – regulating the price of gold and silver, too – operates along much the same lines of power as the LPPM did: an old boys’ club comprised of major London-based bullion banks. The platinum club itself has not been altered with the exception of one new member – UK-based Johnson Mathey. In effect, though control has been severed, influence over prices remains in the hands of a few powerful banks. ‘The pricing mechanism is dependent on their [the four members] participation,’ said Kathy Alys, spokesperson for the LME. The spokesperson declined to speak to the ongoing litigation against the members arguing that it predated LME’s involvement. But Mrs Alys confirmed the open door policy to other participants saying it ‘maximises the effectiveness of the price discovery process.’ In other words, the view here is the more players, including refineries and manufacturers, the better to break the bankers hold.[3]
The above described price setting mechanisms located in a cartel of banks and characterised by collusion of a few players matters for the political economy of price-taker countries such as South Africa, as we will see below.
The Great Divide
Some background first. Platinum is largely mined from South Africa’s Bushveld Complex, arguably the world’s richest platinum reserve. About 20 tonnes of ore must be processed to recover 1 or 2 ounces of platinum. The metal is the country’s second largest export revenue earner trailing behind gold. Platinum was known as platina or little silver during its discovery period in the 18th century. The mineral isn’t really used to adorn high fashion jewelry and therefore not as visible a metal as say, gold. But it has often traded at a similar premium to gold, silver, bonds and equities.[4] Its value lies in the superior performance of platinum as a super-metal with excellent resistance to oxidation and corrosion, good conductivity, and catalytic uses.[5] Most importantly, platinum is the future of clean energy through reducing GHG, poisonous gas and other emissions.[6]
South Africa is rated solidly among mining investors: from 140 countries assessed by the World Economic Forum (WEF) in 2015, the country took 1st place for strength of auditing, 2nd for regulation of security exchanges, 3rd for efficacy of corporate boards, 14th for investor protection, 24th for property rights etc.[7] What the WEF hasn’t assessed is to what extent the country has ensured that resources are strategically transacted: when, how and at what price. That the current price setting mechanism is grossly misrepresenting the role and power of South Africa in the global platinum industry is recognised by some; for instance, a former senior official from the Department of Mineral Resources (DMR) commented: ‘There is a need for a great debate on this – why South Africa isn’t playing a role in shaping price. This is a debate for the WEF.’
That said, one major question is: why is there not more pressure from South African actors to change the price making process? We tried to investigate this matter. Roger Baxter, CEO of South Africa’s Chamber of Mines, reports: ‘The fact is that platinum producers are price takers, with price determined by a combination of factors…A large portion of metal production is sold directly to long term customers …with specific reference to spot prices.’ That is, while the mining companies directly sell to clients, the price determined by the LPPM affects their revenue, and in so doing, the country’s take via taxes and royalties.
Speaking off record to people within the mining industry, we learned that some players don’t want more government involvement in price setting. One reasons for this is the perceptions of government corruption and inefficiencies, including the role of ‘patrons’ within the BEE (Black Economic Empowerment) sector; some therefore argued that business is better off with the laws of the ‘democratic market’ than a bigger role of government, even if that market is potentially ‘influenced’ by banks.
The knock-on effect of artificial undervaluation of platinum reported above, however, are distinctly political and socio-economic; for instance, the industry’s cost of production is perceived higher relative to market value, putting pressure on labour costs (between 35% – 50% of total industry costs) and pre-tax profits.
What the market sees
Scholars probing the makings of labour wages say that affordability of wages depends on the prices of platinum group metals (PGMs). Wages, then, are determined not simply by a country’s constitutional laws and the mining companies, but also, the banks directing global markets.
Since the Marikana shootings in 2012, intense protracted strikes endemically spreading throughout the mining industry decreased production. Platinum mining, employing over 130 000 people, can significantly – if temporarily – disrupt production if strikes are coordinated or, in this case, frequent. There is another interesting dynamic concerning price setting going on when it comes to wages in the industry: Lonmin’s former CEO Ian Farmer was paid R1.2 million per month excluding bonuses, shares etc. The miners received averages of R6000 per month in basic income, and lobbied for R12 500 per month.[8] The strike was eventually settled at R11 000 for some (slightly more or less depending on roles) with a R2000 bonus.[9] Yet in 2014, when platinum output, dropped, the new CEO, Bennetor Magara, earned R12 million in salary and R11 million in shares.
The injustice was not simply in the general level of wages earned at the lower bottom of the industry, but the wage disparity between classes of labour, i.e: CEO and Worker alike. Both ‘values’ are normalised by the abstract functions of the market. And though Lonmin is used as an example here, similar discrepancies and wage-setting injustices exist across the South African economy, prevalent in most industries and is not exceptional to mining.
As in the case of the pricing of platinum, the reference to the pricing of labour being an outcome of market effects and the ‘invisible hand’ is erroneous: the market’s reach is long or short depending on where and how governments, and constitutional courts, exert authority or remain absent. The catch-22 is also that BEE patronage has intertwined the interests of political elites with their corporate counterpart. South Africa’s government is itself conflicted: one party the African National Congress (ANC) dominates both government and BEE mining tenders held by powerful party members. Financiers to political parties are kept confidential as are party finances. The market, as ‘sole regulator’ of value – from humans to commodities – is kept in place for its fictive neutrality, its political-economic usefulness in not ‘seeing’ and therefore disguising socio-economic issues and conflicts, and not least, for passing the buck around contradictions informing South Africa’s political economy.
Whether erroneous or coherent, the platinum price fixed in ‘London’ (or other financial hubs) has real effects on price setting of blue collar labour in South Africa and elsewhere in the Global South. In other words: the prices for both the resource and labour remain legal (i.e. market-produced), whatever the injustice of it. It’s all to ‘the markets’ resulting in no ceiling for executive wage and no floor for labour wage.
In sum then, prices matter. Prices are political, so is the process by which they come about. Where countries hold the monopoly on finite resources and pricing is opaque, governments in Africa must revisit their role in price setting in the global industry, both for resources and for labour. After all, owning resources is one thing. The ability to develop those same resources in equitable conditions is another. The ‘market’ is only able to exact a certain value for labour and platinum where no other authority exerts itself – this includes the government.
This article was supported by Oxfam.
Khadija Sharife is the editor at the African Network of Centers for Investigative Reporting and a fellow at the World Policy Institute. She is the author of Tax Us If You Can: Africa (Tax Justice Network).
[3] The Discovered Price – i.e., the price achieved via the LME’s bespoke bidding platform – holds only if the difference between this LME assessed price, and the Member assessed price, is less than 4,000 troy ounces. If the imbalance is higher, the process is repeated. https://www.lme.com/~/media/Files/Metals/Precious%20Metals/LBMA%20Platinum%20and%20Palladium%20Prices%20%20Price%20Discovery%20Process%20Schedule%201.pdf
[8] Total cost to company http://www.smesouthafrica.co.za/August-2012/The-great-R12m-R10-500-salary-divide/
[9] Others earned more or less depending on different role: http://www.dailymaverick.co.za/article/2012-09-19-marikana-the-strike-ends-now-what/#.Vqt0ELJ97IU
‘South Africa can claim to have one of the world’s most redistributive public purses,’ argues Johannesburg Business Day newspaper associate editor Hilary Joffe, drawing upon World Bank research findings. This nonsense. The Bank’s silences about poverty and inequality speak volumes.
To illustrate this in next-door Lesotho, Stanford University anthropologist James Ferguson’s famous book The Anti-Politics Machine criticised the World Bank’s 1980s understanding of Lesotho as a ‘traditional subsistence peasant society.’ Apartheid’s migrant labour system was explicitly ignored by the Bank, yet remittances from Basotho workers toiling in mines, factories and farms across the Caledon River accounted for 60 percent of rural people’s income.
Ferguson explained: ‘Acknowledging the extent of Lesotho’s long-standing involvement in the modern capitalist economy of South Africa would not provide a convincing justification for the ‘development’ agencies to ‘introduce’ roads, markets and credit.’
Using Michel Foucault’s discourse theory, Ferguson showed why some things cannot be named. To do so would violate the Bank’s foundational dogma, that the central problems of poverty can be solved by applying market logic. Yet the most important of Lesotho’s market relationships – exploited labour – was what caused so much misery.
Three decades on, not much has changed. Today, the Bank’s main South Africa research team reveals a similar “Voldemort” problem. Like the villain whose name Harry Potter dared not utter, some hard-to-hear facts evaporate into pregnant silences within the Bank’s latest ‘South African Poverty and Inequality Assessment Discussion Note.’ Bank staff and consultants are resorting to extreme evasion tactics worthy of Harry, Ron and Hermione.
The Bank’s point of view
From the Bank’s viewpoint: ‘South Africa spent more than other countries on its social programs, with this expenditure successfully lifting around 3.6 million individuals out of poverty (based on US$2.5 a day on a purchasing power parity basis) and reducing the Gini coefficient from 0.76 to 0.596 in 2011.’
1) ‘Spent more than other countries’? Of the world’s 40 largest economies, only four – South Korea, China, Mexico and India – had lower social spending than South Africa, measured in 2011 as a share of Gross Domestic Product (GDP).
2) ‘Millions lifted out of poverty?’ In fact many millions have been pushed down into poverty since liberation from apartheid in 1994. Unmentioned is poverty that can be traced to neo-liberal policies such as the failed 1996-2001 Growth, Employment and Redistribution plan co-authored by two Bank economists, which made South Africa far more vulnerable to global capitalist crises.
The Bank’s South Africa poverty line was $2.5/day in 2011, the date of the last poverty census. In contrast, the official state agency StatsSA found that food plus survival essentials cost $124/month or about $4/day that year, and the percentage of South Africans below that line was 53 percent. (University of Cape Town economists argued convincingly that StatsSA was too conservative and the ratio of poor South Africans is actually 63 percent.)
For a net 3.6 million people, i.e. more than 7 percent of South Africans, to have been ‘lifted out of poverty’ is plausible only if the Bank’s much lower $2.5/day line is used. But by local standards, the number of poor people has soared by around 10 million given the rise of 15 million in population since 1994.
3) The Bank adjusts the Gini Coefficient (measuring income inequality on a 0-to-1 scale) ‘from 0.76 to 0.596’ by including state social spending that benefits poor households. But here another silence screams out. The Bank dare not calculate pro-corporate subsidies and other state spending that raise rich people’s effective income through capital gains.
Such wealth accruing through rising corporate share prices is enjoyed mainly by richer people when companies benefit from new, state-built infrastructure in their vicinity. Also ignored by the Bank, radically lower corporate taxes (from 48 to 30 percent) mainly benefit the rich in the same way. (Until the mining industry’s post-2011 crash, South African firms’ after-tax profits have been among the world’s very highest, according to the International Monetary Fund in 2013.)
Indeed the Treasury’s single biggest fiscal policy choice has been to condone ‘illicit financial flows.’ These escape through bogus invoicing and other tax avoidance strategies. The Washington NGO Global Financial Integrity recently estimated they cost South Africa an annual $21 billion from 2004-13, peaking in 2009 at $29 billion. The Bank dare not mention these flows or the resulting capital gains enjoyed by South African shareholders.
Capital gains are extremely important in raising the wealth levels of those who are already wealthy. To illustrate, the United States Congressional Budget Office calculated that, in 2011, the share of total US income from capital gains enjoyed by the top 1 percent of earners was 36 percent; for the bottom 95 percent it was only 4 percent.
In South Africa, shares on the super-bubbly Johannesburg Stock Exchange constitute much of household wealth. For aggregate South African households in 2011, wealth was composed of an extremely high 77 percent in the form of financial assets and 23 percent non-financial assets (in contrast to India where the ratio was 12 percent financial to 88 percent non-financial assets). This aspect of class apartheid appears to be beyond World Bank comprehension.
4) The Bank was most impressed by government’s ‘provision of free basic services (mainly water, sanitation, electricity, and refuse removal), and social protection mainly in the form of social grants, primary health care, education (specifically no-fee paying schools), enhancing access to productive assets by the poor (e.g. housing and land), as well as job creation.’
But the Bank evades vital details, such as how ‘free basic water’ was piloted in Durban in 1999 before becoming national policy in 2001. After a tokenistic 6 free kiloliters (kl) per month, the price of the second block of the water within the tariff was raised dramatically (in Durban and most municipalities). Overall, by 2004 the price had doubled. In response, the lowest-income third of households lowered monthly consumption from 22kl to 15kl, while in contrast, the highest-income third cut back by just 3kl/month, from 35kl to 32kl (they enjoy home swimming pools and English gardens). The Bank turned a blind eye.
5) Another unmentionable concerns the Bank’s largest-ever project loan: $3.75 billion granted in 2010 for the corruption-riddled, oft-delayed Medupi coal-fired power plant, the biggest now under construction in the world. Repayment of that loan plus other financing has hiked the price of electricity to poor people by more than 250 percent since 2007.
But neither the loan, the borrower, the project nor the soaring price of electricity are mentioned. Nor are Eskom’s special pricing agreements with the mining mega-corporations BHP Billiton and Anglo American, that cut electricity prices to a tenth as much as what poor households pay.
6) The Bank applauds a grant that ‘now reaches 11.7 million children. Grant payments have risen from 2.9 percent of GDP and now amount to 3.1 percent.’ But a meagre 0.2 percent of GDP suggests the amounts provided are tokenistic. The child grant of just $21/month is about a third of today’s StatsSA poverty line.
Ignoring quality in education
Another example, education, the single largest budgetary commitment, illustrates how dubious the alleged social spending benefits for recipients can be. Most public schools produce extremely low-quality education, thus locking in inequality with regard to life chances.
The World Economic Forum’s Global Competitiveness Report 2015–16 rated South African education as the worst of 140 countries in terms of science and mathematics training, and 138th in overall quality. As local expert Nic Spaul remarked after studying the 1994–2011 outcomes: ‘South Africa has the worst education system of all middle-income countries that participate in cross-national assessments of educational achievement.’
It’s not just class that plays out in educational inequality, but also race. The Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development observes that ‘in 2008, only 1.4 percent of working-age Africans held a [university] degree, compared to almost 20 percent of working-age Whites. This proportion for Africans has hardly increased since 1993, while the proportion for Whites has grown by 5.4 percent.’
Given such outcomes, it could just as easily be argued that inequality is amplified by the manner in which public education is provided to the low-income majority. This story is fairly typical of maldistributed state resources. As senior Treasury official Andrew Donaldson acknowledges, ‘In areas such as education, health care and urban transport, service provision tends to evolve in differentiated ways […] the result is a fragmented, unequal structure in which the allocation of resources and the quality of services diverge.’ Combined with semi-privatised systems, such public spending, he admits, ‘entrenches inequality between rich and poor.’
Other areas of state spending have similar biased effects, but the Bank simply does not consider large chunks of South Africa’s budget, e.g.:
13 percent for ‘Defence, public order and safety,’ which is likely to have a strong bias towards protecting the lives and property of wealthier classes;
10 percent for debt servicing, for which wealthy financiers and other bondholders are the main beneficiaries, taking their gains in deferred income (although a fraction of the working class who are fortunate to have a retirement fund also invests indirectly in debt securities); and
9 percent for aspects of ‘Economic affairs’ – economic infrastructure, industrial development and trade, and science, technology innovation and the environment – items that, arguably, disproportionately benefit corporations and the higher-income groups that own their shares.
The South Africans who cannot be named
Notwithstanding such evidence of pro-corporate bias, the Bank endorses government’s ‘apparently sound policy’ on redistribution because Bank researchers cannot grapple with the core problem that best explains why South African capitalism causes poverty and inequality: extreme exploitation systems amplified after apartheid by neoliberal policies.
To truly tackle poverty and inequality, only one force in society has unequivocally succeeded since 1994. That force is the social activist.
Their successes include raising life expectancy from 52 to 62 over the past decade (thanks to AIDS medicines access), reversing municipal services privatisation, cutting pollution and raising apartheid wages. But the organisations responsible – such as the Treatment Action Campaign, Anti-Privatisation Forum, South Durban Community Environmental Alliance and trade unions – are also, from the Bank’s viewpoint, South Africans who cannot be named.
As the pernicious influence of the World Bank researchers’ project grew in the past year, with numerous citations of their dubious data, I queried the work and received a series of (ultimately bureaucratic, denialist) emails from its officials.
Fortunately, upon asking the main Bank inequality consultant, Nora Lustig of Tulane University, why more accurate assessments of the state’s pro-corporate fiscal benefits were not attempted so as to offset the bias from only considering social spending, she took up the challenge with honesty: ‘Your questions are very valid. Regretfully, we have yet to figure out a solid methodological approach to allocate the burden/benefit to households of the list of interventions you list.’
And regretfully, the Pretoria regime’s pro-rich interventions continue, even though extreme pressure has recently arisen from credit rating agencies to reduce social spending, following a 2015 Budget that cut the real value of welfare grants by at least 4 percent. Much worse austerity is anticipated in the 2016 budget, to be announced on 26 February.
So beyond the flaws in measurement, the main risk of the World Bank research on South African inequality is its ghastly political bias. If the alleged improvements to poverty and inequality rates are accepted by the ruling elite as valid, their tendency to cut social spending on (bogus) grounds that already, ‘South Africa can claim to have one of the world’s most redistributive public purses’ is that much more tempting.
Resistance is bubbling up everywhere but the realm of ideologically poisonous research cannot be avoided.
Patrick Bond teaches political economy at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg and directs the University of KwaZulu-Natal Centre for Civil Society in Durban. A version of this blog was published on the CounterPunch website.
In a penetrating analysis of events in South Africa, Jonathan Grossman writes that the student mobilisations have directly challenged the myth of the rainbow nation. They have done this through direct action, disruption and interference bringing, as did workers at Marikana. This is still a movement confronted by the ongoing search for alternatives to the oppression and exploitation of everyday life, facing challenges of every kind including patriarchy and class issues in their own movement. But a new legacy of struggle is being built as an old legacy of struggle is being rediscovered and rescued. There is a narrative that says students did for workers what workers could not do for themselves, or that it was students who gave workers voice. However the reality was a deep solidarity between workers and students taking action. It was not about giving voice. Instead, it was about building the strength to force managements to do what they would not themselves have done. Grossman argues that the struggle for free education and against outsourcing in the public sector at the universities has to become the struggle for free education at all levels and free basic services. The struggle against the commodification of labour in the universities has to be made a struggle against outsourcing and for a living wage across the whole of the public sector. It can become part of a resurgence of the workers movement which can and must be in alliance with students and youth in struggle. This articles argues that these are themselves requirements for the renewal of the workers movement. The student movement is enriching all struggles in South Africa with a totalising vision of decolonising, bringing a resurgent vitality to the student worker alliance.
By Jonathan Grossman
In February 2015, a student activist at the University of Cape Town (UCT) symbolically defaced a statue of colonialist Cecil John Rhodes with human excrement. He did this as part of an emerging pattern of ‘poo-protests’ which had been developed in working class communities in the struggle for sanitation and other necessary services. RhodesMustFall (RMF) became the mobilising slogan and then the tag of a movement which rapidly developed from a focus on the statue to a much deeper broader focus on the continuing legacy of colonialism in everyday life.[1] In the face of mounting protest, the university authorities removed the statue. As exams approached in October 2015, students mobilised across many campuses around the demand for no fee increase. In the face of massive protests at Parliament, the Union Buildings administrative seat of government, and ANC national headquarters, a nervous government was rapidly forced to concede. Students have continued with a broader struggle for free education, as part of a deeper struggle for a de-colonising transformation across tertiary educational institutions and society more broadly. This is now reflected in a national movement #FeesMustFall.[2] In demanding free education the students are taking their place in a broader movement centred in working class communities, focused on services necessary in everyday life.
At one of the first RMF meetings, before the statue had in fact been taken down, outsourced workers in the UCT Workers Forum[3] brought their own set of ongoing demands, putting it like this:
Black workers built UCT with their own hands in the colonial past. Black workers were oppressed at UCT in the Apartheid past. Black workers were retrenched and outsourced at UCT in the post-Apartheid past. The first people to know about racism and sexism and exploitation at UCT are the black women workers. It is there in workers lives every day. … It cannot be that students can only learn if workers suffer. It cannot be that academics can only do their work if workers suffer. It cannot be that there is only education if capitalist bosses can make a profit. But it is all happening here at UCT. It must change for workers. Workers together we must change it….We are angry….Together in struggle and solidarity, workers and students we must change UCT! The time for the strike is coming.
The workers demanded what was in effect a doubling of wages ‘as a step towards a living wage in the spirit of Marikana.’ And continued, ‘This is a public sector institution. There should be no capitalist companies brought here to make profits. Education must be free. UCT must directly employ everyone working here. Workers must know that their job is safe. With decent working conditions. And comfortable lives. Outsourcing must end. The bosses must go. All the workers must stay.’
In 1999 UCT had been the first South African university to outsource.[4] The driving force was Mamphela Ramphele, later to become an Executive Director of the World Bank. Public sector outsourcing takes the provision of goods and services necessary to the functioning of even a very limited public sector in the capitalist economy and makes it dependant on private companies reaping a profit. It has a particular significance where the goods and services may not have been available to the working class – making extension of provision dependant on profit and private capitalist companies. The institution becomes an agent for redistributing public funds to the private sector. Underpinning the opposition to outsourcing was an opposition to privatisation in general and the vision of a public sector tasked with meeting needs as opposed to providing profits.
Since outsourcing, worker demands had been taken to UCT in petitions, marches, protests and memoranda. Workers were met with a standard response: ‘UCT has investigated and decided to continue with outsourcing. Insourcing is now off the agenda.’ UCT was met with a standard response from workers. ‘It might be off your agenda. It stays on our agenda.’ In 2015 the demand for insourcing was adopted by RMF, echoed across a growing number of campuses and brought together in a national day of action on October 6. Despite some unevenness and inconsistency, the struggle of students embraced the struggle of workers for insourcing. On 24 October in the face of growing student and worker action, UCT became the first university to formally agree to insourcing.
Faced with ongoing campaigning by workers over years since initial outsourcing, UCT had been forced to concede that outsourced workers could meet and protest on campus. This removed one of the basic advantages to management of outsourcing: the displacement of disruption. It had also been forced to recognise that wages set in law and paid by the companies it hired were too low – and had interfered to set higher minimums. This was extended to other conditions of service and employment, like maternity leave, in a Code for Service Providers, initially adopted in 2006. This too removed some of the cost-cutting claims of outsourcing and the denial of responsibility for what happened to workers on whom UCT depended. UCT had been forced, even while denying this, to act visibly like ‘the real boss’, to recognise that the demand for insourcing would not go away. In the word ‘forced’ above is years of campaigning and protest action by workers against UCT. No number of reports, investigations or announcements did anything to change that. In the course of this struggle, most workers at UCT had become members of the main COSATU public sector National Education Health and Allied Workers Union (NEHAWU) despite COSATU policy which allocated them to different ‘industrial unions’. This sometimes involved forcing their way into the public sector union, a process which over years faced a combination from union officialdom of hostility, indifference, inefficiency, suspicion albeit with significant cases of individual support. In the face of similar responses, there had been formed a NEHAWU Joint Shop Stewards Council (JSSC). Over years, management faced ongoing pressure from ordinary workers, sometimes actively drawing support from their union, in an unyielding, vigorous, relentless persistence of the demand for direct employment and associated improvements. As exams approached in October 2015, there were two additional factors which forced UCT’s hand. One was a less visible legal process of workers united across all outsourced companies and through the NEHAWU JSSC declaring a dispute with UCT around wages and related issues. Although there were legal complexities which obstructed this process, and although it had become bogged down in internal bureaucratic problems inside the union, UCT knew that the move towards a strike was serious, and that it was planned to begin on the first day of exams, 26 October.
Above all else, there was the overwhelmingly visible consistent support from mobilised students who were determined and successful in generating the disruptive action at UCT which had not yet come from workers and which had forced management to close the campus in the weeks preceding exams.
On Friday 23 October, UCT management responded to the union dispute demands in the normal way. The following day, without any additional ‘research’, UCT abandoned its position, indicating its intention to pursue insourcing. In the face of continuing student and worker action, this was rapidly escalated into a decision to insource – again, without any of the research which they had always invoked as necessary. What workers had been saying for years was confirmed: UCT was responsible for outsourcing. UCT had the power to insource.
The myth of the rainbow: mists over continuities in everyday life
Change in South Africa came with continuities. The new South Africa for workers at UCT, as elsewhere, had meant outsourcing: retrenchments, cutting wages, reducing benefits, undermining unions. Over time, the issue of whether things were better or worse post-apartheid was an abstraction. Nothing was good enough. Across the working class more generally, generations saw their hope stolen; new generations saw hope being denied. Workers lost confidence that there could ever be solutions. Theft and denial of hope became mistrust – of politics, politicians, and most importantly of themselves each other, their organisations – any organisations.[5]
Insourcing agreement at UCT and the agreements which followed in other places are arguably the biggest single advances in the struggle against privatisation in post-apartheid South Africa. Those advances followed ongoing struggles in working class communities and the Marikana and platinum strikes. At Marikana, workers brought to the fore in the private sector and mines what had sometimes surfaced and sporadically developed in the public sector and communities. At its core was a developing anger and resistance to the continuities of apartheid experienced in post-apartheid working class life. The National Union of Metalworkers of South Africa (NUMSA) was emboldened by Marikana to become the first COSATU union to break from the ANC and the SA Communist Party. Students were emboldened by Marikana and the NUMSA break. Workers at universities were emboldened by students. Once this began to coalesce into an ongoing movement, everyone was emboldened by the movement. Black consciousness was revitalised by students from a history supressed by the myth of a rainbow post-racist South Africa in their thirst for what was inspirational and liberatory in everyday life and struggle.
The myth of the rainbow mists over the deep social structures of racial oppression which are denied, patriarchy which is trivialised, and the deeply socially structured exploitation of the working class which is rendered as ‘poverty and inequality’ – stripped from the capitalist relations and private ownership of which it is the product. This ideologised obfuscation has also been disguised by an earlier sustained myth of convergence: the part of official history which says that an anti-apartheid opposition of capital and the anti-apartheid struggle of the working class converged into a common unified struggle for non-racial democracy. [6]
The capitalist class post-apartheid has been able for much of the time to exploit this myth and promote its protection through invisibility – including of its own culpability under apartheid as the agent and beneficiary of systematic gross violations. Marikana and the platinum strikes were decisive in placing the role of capitalists at the fore and shattering the myth of convergence. The student mobilisations have directly challenged the myth of the rainbow. They have done this through direct action, disruption and interference bringing, as did workers at Marikana and other strikes, a new, qualitatively enriched challenge to the demobilisation on which the ‘negotiated settlement’ partly depended. Pursuing this challenge has necessarily meant confrontation with an ANC now running a bosses’ government in tightened collaboration with COSATU and the SACP. This is still a movement confronted by the ongoing search for alternatives to the oppressions and exploitation of everyday life, facing challenges of every kind including patriarchy and class issues in their own movement. But a new legacy of struggle is being built as an old legacy of struggle is being rediscovered and rescued.
UCT management forced to insource
UCT, the first university to outsource was also the first university forced by this movement to meaningfully and seriously commit to insourcing. Ordinary workers who laid the path of a sustained struggle against outsourcing now embraced and made real solidarity and support for students.
In this long history, workers interfered with the decisions and the control of management, but using only a small part of their strength. What was missing – and repeatedly acknowledged as necessary – was serious and decisive disruption. Initially separated in different unions, workers were under the stranglehold of a class collaboration Labour Relations Act which purported to give the right to strike and in fact, in much of lived experience, actually took it away. And while class collaboration meant a stranglehold of legalism and proceduralism, the necessary disruption was obstructed. Coming together in one union in dispute with UCT placed united strike action on the agenda. While that was happening, the students brought the disruption of direct action which forced the university to shut down. There was interference, and challenge which went wide and deep. Faced with the relentless demand, the threat of disruption coming from workers, the reality of disruption created by students and a deepening worker-student solidarity, UCT was forced to become the first institution to concede to the demand for insourcing.
After the about-face of UCT management, the JSSC signed an insourcing agreement without taking it back to workers for a mandate. At a time when protest action had closed UCT, they endorsed management’s call for a return to normal functioning – an end to student and worker action. Workers were left uncertain about the content of the agreement and the actual meaning of insourcing. They were also angered by the lack of democratic practice and the interference with a deeply felt solidarity with students in struggle. At a massive general meeting, workers had the chance to show this. Although the JSSC began the meeting with an apology, it was too little too late. For a moment, workers took their union back into their own hands through the displacement of the shop stewards, the ejection of the official, and the creation of a Workers Committee. It was the organic capacity of the working class in mobilised action. Even at the moment when they themselves make such assertion and defiance possible, workers were pressed to look for easier options: undermined and denigrated by everyday life, there was a quest for someone who knows better, is more important, with more resources, who can seemingly achieve what workers have been unable to achieve. The possibilities for substitutionism were there and could only be dealt with by consistent political respect for workers.
The Workers Committee seemingly disappeared almost before it appeared and has not functioned. The moment did not last, open to different forces who took advantage of it. This was a very particular situation but these were ordinary workers, taking the opportunity to express what is widespread across the working class. They created an extraordinary moment. When the same thing happens and is more sustained, widespread, firmly in the hands of workers, when it coalesces, is coordinated, affirmed, celebrated, organised together into a movement of solidarity and confidence of workers in themselves and each other, we will have the renewal of the workers movement which South Africa so desperately needs.
At times like that, workers leap over ‘stages’. Muck is stripped away, cast aside, and the organic capacity is freed. In fact, it is not exactly leaping over stages. It is doing in a moment what they have heard and thought about for years. It is all condensed and concentrated into that moment. It is why the protection of the moment becomes so important. And its protection can only be secured by its development. As one message in the social media platform of the UCT Workers Solidarity Committee said, ‘The hands of workers do all the work. Everything we need comes from those hands. The struggle of workers goes forward when its workers who take that struggle into their own hands.’
Workers have been struggling for insourcing at UCT for years. They have been fighting that struggle directly against UCT as the real boss for years. They have heard and said for years that UCT is not a good boss – there is no such thing. But it is the real boss. They have been hearing and saying for years that insourcing must come because there is no university without the hands of workers. On this basis, when UCT decided to insource – no worker said thank you. Instead they said that insourcing must not be about changing uniforms, it must be about changing lives. And their response was focused on that: what about job security, wages and conditions? Everyday control? Will life be different? It was a simple message, echoing a mood across the working class and its struggles against the continuities in everyday life, even in the context of a changed South Africa.
It is part of the hegemony of neo-liberalism that across the political spectrum, politics has been reduced to economics. Economics has been reduced to arithmetic. It is all about the arithmetic of managing the crisis: how many litres of free water? How much free electricity? How many jobs created by the Extended Public Works programme? How many children in school? How many new places in tertiary institutions? The arithmetic is deployed to make the argument that things are worse or that things are better. None of this addresses the encounters with oppression and exploitation, uncertainty, theft and denial of hope, yearning for something better. Increasingly amongst ordinary workers is a single message: it does not matter if things are better. Better is not good enough. Nothing is fine. Nothing is good enough.
No arithmetic can deal with that. It demands vision of alternatives. Solutions. And for that to happen, there must be an agent. Where is the power to create real solutions to all these problems? Where is the power to create something that is qualitatively different?
Decommodification: the basis of alliance and future struggles
Using the apparently objective criterion of merit as reflected in school results, the ‘top’ universities are already deeply and essentially elitist. There is a funnel of the deeply entrenched inequalities of the racist patriarchy of capitalism which serves to filter and exclude. At historically white universities, black students have illuminated the everyday meaning, particular depth and breadth of institutional racism. Many have challenged patriarchy. For increasing numbers of black students, extended access to higher education post-apartheid actually means being forced into unemployment or insecure employment with certificates and debts. All of this fuelled the student movement. For workers in the universities, it means being forced into employment where you and your work are denigrated as ‘non-core’ and unskilled because you do not have enough certificates. And you also have debts because of this. These worlds can connect directly when the black student and the black outsourced worker encounter each other in struggle. The certificate does not mean problems are solved. The absence of the certificate does not mean the educational institution can or does function without you. The pervasive ideology insists on both. And the university itself is core to the development, maintenance and dissemination of the ideology.
This tends to be reinforced by the ideologised conventional wisdom which represents the rolling capitalist crisis as a problem of a skills deficit to be resolved by skills development. For the individual, education is presented as the route out of poverty. For the society, skills development is the route out of unemployment. This ideoligisation does its job of both reflecting and distorting underlying realities, existing in the context of the competitive individualism and the drive for competitive productivity which capitalism demands. In the lived experience of an outsourced worker, the university is not in fact a site of education but a site of work and exploitation. And there is something particularly galling when the worker sees and must deal with the commodification of education: searching for school fees and associated costs for children in ‘township schools’, knowing that you can enter the university to clean but will not be able to qualify to enter to learn. Knowing that there is no university without the labour of workers, but having to deal with the drive to push down the costs of employing those workers as if they are an unwelcome expense in the way of education. In different ways, something similar is replicated across the public sector where the hands of workers are essential to providing the service, but the workers themselves are denigrated as non-core.
While it can be less brutal than the case of other services, commodification of education is pervasive. Its outcome includes a deep alienation of the human being whose value and contribution is reduced to a mark, a certificate and place in the queue to serve capitalist masters. In the case of the outsourced worker, forced to queue to serve capitalist masters, the value and the contribution are reduced to a poverty wage, insecurity, and the absence of the certificate. The skills deficit becomes a deficit of a human being. The commodification of education meets the commodification of labour and it leaves human beings denigrated, alienated and damaged.
The commodification of labour is an historically primary commodification, core to the very existence of capitalism. The struggle for free education is in continuity with all the struggles in the public sector – all the struggles against privatisation. It is about the commodification of services including health, education – and labour. In the recent struggles we have seen a meeting point: the commodification of education meeting the outsourced workers, a brutal instance of the commodification of labour.
Often forced into unemployment and debt; forced into employment and debt, the distance between the middle class black student and the black worker is bridged by the black student from working class backgrounds. As much as this makes for daily dehumanisation, so it also opens the door to solidarity and generosity of sharing between workers and students in struggle. A moment in history has occurred. Students are fiercely determined to define and own that moment. Like all the best moments of struggle, its value will lie also in the ways in which it is shared beyond and outside of itself with all who can live without oppression and exploitation. As such, it is a moment which belongs also to workers who brought to it their own demands together with a deep sense of solidarity and support for students. Social media was crucial to the building of the movement and the solidarity which it developed. It can also be a beguiling instrument of solidarity. One of the features of this student movement was the extent, depth and determined perseverance of support from workers for student activism and student demands. Of course this was shared by those student activists. The point about workers is that it went far beyond the activist layer. It was the ordinary outsourced worker who expressed, felt and showed a deep support and care for the students in struggle.
Building and renewing legacy of struggle
These insourcing victories against privatisation in the public sector remind us, as did workers who do not say thank you, that they are belated defence against an attack, not a step forward to a better life. Central to the theft of hope had become the loss of confidence amongst workers that there can be any real solution, and above all else, that they and their own class and self-organisation can bring that solution. There are emerging narratives which combine, although they come from very different places, to promote this. Amongst part of the left, the assessment is that students achieved in days what the trade unions/labour movement/workers failed to achieve in 20 years. From UCT management, it is the assessment that this struggle has been about giving the voiceless a voice. They merge all too easily into an assessment, sometimes stated, more often implied and hinted, which suggests that students did for workers what workers could not do for themselves, or that it was students who gave workers voice.
The fact is that after years of relentless campaigning and demands, one relatively limited instance of disruption, with some national co-ordination across campuses, succeeded in doing what 20 years of non-disruption had failed to achieve. At UCT, in the immediate event, that disruption came primarily from the actual action of students and the threatened action of workers. At University of Johannesburg, in the event, it came primarily from the action of workers. In both situations, there was the basis and the reality of a deep solidarity between workers and students taking action. It was not about giving voice. Instead, it was about building the strength to force managements to do what they would not themselves have done, forcing people to listen when they exercised power to ignore and reject what they heard. In all of the struggle and with all of the demands, there was only one which was rejected out of hand by UCT management: the demand that it guarantee workers the right to strike with protection, whether or not they followed the restrictive procedures of the LRA. Any management has the power to do that. UCT management in fact was forced to exercise that power under apartheid. But the demand was about freeing the power of workers – shackled as it is by myriad of constraints including the provisions of the post-apartheid law. As it happened, it was only when a tiny part of their power was freed by action that workers could seriously move forward, even if only in defence against the earlier attack of outsourcing. Extended into the broader struggle, it is the power of workers to stop production. It goes far beyond that – in the hands of the working class is also the power to produce. This is not about consultation, participation or voice. It is about who decides, on what basis, through what process – about power itself. Extended as it must be beyond the university and beyond the public sector, it is about the alternative to capitalist class rule – working class rule.
A living wage is not decommodification. But it is a necessary part of the workers struggle for decommodification. And, focused as it is on the core of the processes of capitalist profit generation, it can be turned into an organised challenge to profit making and made a transitional part of the struggle for socialism. It is interference with the ordinary processes of bourgeois price-fixing: about who decides the price, through what process, and according to what criteria. In the everyday of capitalism, all of these questions are given answers which reflect capitalist power derived from private ownership and protected by the state. In the hands of the workers movement, it is workers who decide, using workers democracy in organisation and action, on the basis of needs.
In the individualised, hierarchical structures of racist capitalist society, free education at the tertiary level is all too easily turned into an elitist privilege. In the capitalist logic of the market, if costs are not recovered in education, they have to be recovered elsewhere – a redistribution of commodification. In the hands of the workers movement, it can be turned into an essential transitional part of the struggle for socialism. It means decisions about all social services – including education – being brought into the hands of a renewed workers movement, pursued through organisation and action, and based on needs. And in the hands of such a renewed workers movement it cannot stay at the level of tertiary education, nor can tertiary education be based on who to exclude, not who to include, or about how to serve profits, rather than how to serve needs. The struggle for free education and against outsourcing in the public sector at the universities has to become – be made – the struggle for free education at all levels and free basic services. And the struggle against the commodification of labour in the universities has to be made the struggle against outsourcing and for a living wage across the whole of the public sector. It can become part of a resurgence of the workers movement which can and must be in alliance with students and youth in struggle. These are themselves requirements for the renewal of the workers movement.
As much as the public sector is corrupted, diseased and undermined, it embodies a residual sense of welfare, the common good, public services, the needs of the community. Pursuing the struggle against commodification on the basis of social needs provides further grounding for vision – a vision which once did and once again must extend to the end of private property which is the basis of commodification. The struggle against apartheid was precisely that – about negation. The future was about a vision, increasingly called by the name of socialism. It is happening again in a movement characterised by negation: decommodification, disalienation, anti- privatisation. The student movement is enriching it with a totalising vision of de-colonising, bringing a resurgent vitality to the student worker alliance.
There are accumulating signs of resurgence, a history which has not yet happened, but is being made possible and forged on the ground, carrying with it the hope of a new centre of authority in a renewed workers movement. Even in the face of the numerous challenges and obstacles, institutions, laws and politics of class collaboration are increasingly being directly and consciously defied and rejected. It may be visibly highlighted in a left movement amongst prominent individuals and groups of leaders – as in the NUMSA moment. But to be successful it must be shaped and depends on a series of struggles – events and processes of organisation and mobilisation – on the ground. It will have to build on struggles which have happened and are happening: characterised by solidarity, direct action against the capitalist class, willingness to disrupt in defiance of law and agreement, demands based on needs, workers control, organic organisations of struggle of the working class rank and file, and a vision of complete negation – an end to all forms of oppression and exploitation. In that, it is actually also renewing and revitalising the best of the legacy of struggle of the past. Above all else, it is creating a new experience which is allowing workers to build a resurgent confidence in themselves, their class and their capacity to collectively create solutions with trustworthy allies in struggle. It is best called the spirit of Marikana – not just a commission, a massacre or a tragedy, but the grounding of a workers’ future.
Jonathan Grossman in Senior Lecturer in the Sociology Department at the University of Cape Town. His writing and research focuses on the public sector and alienation in the everyday experience of working class life under capitalism. Jonathan is also an activist and socialist, assisting the organisation, mobilisation and struggles of outsourced worker in the public sector.
[2] See https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/feesmustfall?source=feed_text&story_id=1100412756669927
[3] On the UCT Workers Forum see Grossman, J. (2009). Renewed organising in the outsourced pubilc sector workplace of the global village: The experince of the Workers’ Forum at UCT. In V. Cornell, New forms of organising (pp. 202-217). Cape Town: International Labour Resource and Information Group Group .
[4] See Grossman, J. (2006). World Bank Thinking, world class institutions, denigrated workers. In R. Pithouse, Asinamali: University struggles in post-apartheid South Africa (pp. 93-108). Asmara: Africa World Press.
[5] This view of the transition is elaborated in Ngwane, T. and Grossman, J. (2011). ‘Looking back moving forward: Legacies of struggle and the challenges facing the new social movements. In Essof, S. and Moshenberg,D. Searching for South Africa (pp. 160-189). Pretoria: University of South Africa.
[6] On the myth of convergence see Grossman, J. (1997). The right to strike and worker freedom in and beyond Apartheid. In Brass, T. and van der Linden, M. Free and unfree labour (pp. 145-172). Bern: Peter Lang.
In recent years Western advocacy groups have achieved unprecedented success in mobilising Europeans and North Americans (particularly in the US) behind a ‘conflict minerals’ campaign to help end the conflict in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). They have also attracted strong criticism, both internationally and in the DRC, for the perceived negative impact of their work. Over the last three years I have been working on a documentary, We Will Win Peace, which is part of this critique. As one local activist told us during the making of the film, ‘the advocacy led by these organisations, we hadn’t understood the goal, as Congolese…If we had been informed before of their intentions, we could have done something.‘ Similarly, speaking to a group of small-scale rural cultivators, one said ‘we didn’t understand what was happening or why such a decision had been made…No-one explained to us what was going on.’ So what was the goal, and what is going on?
While it is important not to conflate the work of all DRC-focused advocacy organisations under the same umbrella, central to the success of the ‘conflict minerals’ campaign was the emergence of a dominant narrative that placed Western consumers at the heart of the solution. The story went that armed groups operating in the eastern DRC were raping women to access and control mineral resources, and that if Western consumers exert pressure on electronic giants like Apple and Samsung to stop purchasing these minerals, they can prevent rape and help end the conflict. In the US, celebrities and sports stars were engaged by the Enough Project to help promote the campaign, whose message appealed particularly strongly to student groups and middle and upper-class liberals.
Bukavu. Photograph: Seth Chase
The campaign eventually led to policy successes in both Washington and Brussels. In 2010 (and as We Will Win Peace documents), the Enough Project’s lobbying was instrumental in having Congress pass Section 1502 of the Dodd-Frank Act, which asks all companies registered on the US stock market to reveal their supply chains to the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) when sourcing gold, tin, tungsten or tantalum from the eastern DRC or neighbouring countries. In 2014, the European Trade Commissioner proposed European Union ‘conflict minerals’ legislation for discussion, which Amnesty International, Global Witness and a broad coalition of European NGOs are now lobbying to be strengthened.
The foundations of the ‘conflict minerals’ campaign can be traced back to 2001, when a UN Panel of Experts on the Illegal Exploitation of Natural Resources in the DRC submitted its first report to the Security Council, recommending an immediate embargo on the trade in minerals from the eastern DRC due to their systematic exploitation by armed groups as a means to finance their activities.[1] Numerous NGO and other reports followed, and in 2008, UN Security Council Resolution 1856 strengthened the UN peacekeeping force’s mandate to combat the issue.
However, there were three shortcomings to the ‘conflict minerals’ campaign that came out of this work. First, it misrepresented the causal drivers of rape and conflict in the eastern DRC. Second, it assumed the dependence of armed groups on mineral revenue for their survival. Third, it under-estimated the importance of artisanal mining to employment (particularly of young men), local economies, and therefore – ironically – security. Compounding these shortcomings, there was a fatal flaw to the US legislation enacted in 2010: at the time Section 1502 of the Dodd-Frank Act was passed, it was not possible for companies sourcing minerals from the eastern DRC to determine whether those minerals were or were not contributing to conflict.
As a result and due to confusion over the implications of the legislation, international buyers withdrew, and an effective mineral boycott enveloped the region. With minerals the only cash export of note from the provinces of North Kivu and South Kivu, and artisanal mining the main off-farm source of employment, the socio-economic impact on Congolese living in the region was severe, and continues to be felt today. Many lost their jobs or were forced into more precarious labour, as the legislation inadvertently (but quite predictably) strengthened the black market in smuggling minerals to ‘clean’ markets outside of the DRC (see this Open Letter, signed by a coalition of more than 70 Congolese and international experts, for a more detailed analysis of the campaign’s shortcomings and impact).
Today, the policy solution pursued in the DRC by a range of foreign companies, NGOs and donors revolves around an expansion of the Congolese state into areas formerly beyond its control, in order to establish and oversee mineral certification and traceability systems that can attest to their ‘conflict free’ status. Early evidence from artisanal mine sites piloting the first of these systems suggests the process is catalysing the previously lethargic formalisation of artisanal mining, and with it the establishment of formal land tenure agreements.[2] In so doing, the process provides conditions that might be amenable to forms of post-conflict (capitalist) development that has eluded the region for so long. However, this is contingent upon internal dynamics beyond the control of external actors, and will not take place overnight. Indeed, this is an oft-heard refrain by those who defend the campaign and the impact of Dodd-Frank 1502. While conceding that the short- and now medium-term impact has been harmful to many Congolese, the argument is made that the policy is aimed at long-term change.
Filming We Will Win Peace. Photograph: Ben Radley
Meanwhile, ‘en attendant’, the change enacted negatively affects the lowest classes of labour and already marginalised social groups by accelerating and creating new processes of dispossession, economic exclusion and social differentiation (albeit built on pre-existing inequalities). Herein lies the main tension in the work of Western advocacy organisations, and the reason they attract such strong critique: there is a heavy dissonance between their stated constituency and their actual constituency, or who they work for and who they work with. Reading the reflections of the radical American organiser Saul Alinsky, two major themes are apparent in his work.[3] First, the need to simplify your message to mobilise people from apathy to action. On this point, the ‘conflict minerals’ campaign has been extremely effective. Where the campaign falls short, however, is the second theme in Alinsky’s work, which is how close he always was to the constituency he represented. He either lived in the community he was helping organise, or he had been invited in to help them pursue solutions to problems they themselves defined (to paraphrase Alex van der Waal, himself a strong and vocal critic of what he has labelled ‘designer activism’).[4] Yet the relationship between advocacy organisations headquartered in Western capitals and their supposed constituency of marginalised or disadvantaged African groups is far more tenuous.
This is because often, the organisations have no permanent presence in the countries affected by their policy successes. Even for those who do have an in-country office much of their time is spent working with government, business and other elites in national and provincial capital cities. The majority of people who stand to be most affected by the policy outcomes of their advocacy, living in rural and peri-urban areas, will not have met them nor know who they are. One of the most striking elements during the making of the film was the difficulty of finding Congolese people in these areas who both knew about and were supportive of the ‘conflict minerals’ campaign, beyond a narrow but influential consortium of church leaders. Indeed, many bemoaned the lack of engagement with the Congolese classes and social groups who stood to be most directly impacted by policy change in Western capital cities. While the advocacy organisations use images of the poorest and most vulnerable in their marketing material, in reality they work predominantly with elites, and the disruptive and contingent process of state-building they engage in and promote often works against the very people they claim to represent.
And so, to return to the ‘conflict minerals’ campaign, organisations such as the Enough Project claim that progress is being made, and critics counter that on the contrary, harm is being done. There is truth to both claims, but they are focused on different aspects of the same process. To resolve this tension and to respond to the criticism, Western advocacy organisations are faced with a choice. They could change how they market their interventions and talk about their work. Helping strengthen the state in peripheral countries such as the DRC is a legitimate pursuit, not least as history tells us that an interventionist state is a necessary prerequisite to lessening dependency and advancing capitalist development in the Global South. However, it will likely be difficult to mobilise people and funding around long-term goals that are contingent and that entrench new forms of class conflict that negatively impact the poorest and most marginalised.
Alternatively, and perhaps more realistically, they could reorient their efforts to working not just for but with the non-elites they use to promote their public image and in whose name they justify their external interventions. What their work would lose in structural impact, it would gain in honesty and legitimacy, both in the DRC and abroad. The groups and classes of artisanal miners, peasants and other informal workers we spoke with would come to know more concretely who the organisations are, and influence more strongly the direction of their work. They would also provide more appropriate solutions to their own problems and struggles than the pursuit of overseas policy change which fails to respond to their local needs.
Ben Radley is a PhD candidate and film-maker based in Kinshasa and working on the re-emergence of industrial mining in South Kivu Province, with a focus on how foreign direct investment enters into and influences local labour and accumulation regimes.
Notes
[1] Vogel and Radley (2015) ‘Fighting Windmills in Eastern Congo: The Ambiguous Impact of the ‘Conflict Minerals’ Movement’, The Extractive Industries and Society 2: 406-410.
[2] Verbrugge, Cuvelier and Bockstael (2015) ‘Min(d)ing the Land: The Relationship between Artisanal and Small-Scale Mining and Surface Land Arrangements in the Southern Philippines, Eastern DRC and Liberia’, Journal of Rural Studies 37: 50-60.
[3] Alinsky, S, 1971. Rules for Radicals. New York: Vintage Books.
Rehad Desai writes in the aftermath of last year’s elections in Mozambique, how the country has seen a massive social uprising in the urban areas. Dozens have been killed, beaten and imprisoned as the state has attempted to restore order. The revolt has taken place in the context of disputed elections, economic stagnation and crisis, which has seen the ruling Frelimo party hold onto power with increasing repression.
By Rehad Desai
The Mozambique general election results were announced in late October 2024. The Electoral Commission declared the ruling party, Frelimo, the outright victor in the Presidential, National and Provincial elections. Since then, the country has witnessed an unparalleled social revolt concentrated in the country’s urban areas. Over 100 people have been killed. With the ongoing revolt and repression, by the beginning of January this figure had climbed to an estimated 278.
The upturn in protest is happening in a wider economic context where the country’s economic growth has been stagnant since 2016, despite recent exploitation of natural resources.
The steep rise in the death toll is a result of increased police repression against a largely unarmed populace. They have refused to accept the imposition of the modified election results announced by the government appointed Constitutional Council, the apex court of the country, at the end of December. The judges declared that indeed irregularities had occurred, and went on to decrease the ruling party’s margins of victory. But they still declared Frelimo the overall winner, without providing any substantive evidence as to how they calculated their voting figures.
What is Frelimo?
A potted history of Mozambique’s ruling party is required to help fully grasp why the country is unravelling, creating an uprising of discontent.
Frelimo began its life in 1962 as a nationalist movement dominated by the urban African elite. It was located in the country’s capital in the south of the country, that shares a long and entwined history with the people and economy of South Africa. The geography becomes important because Mozambique has one of the largest coastlines on the continent, stretching a full 2,700km. With an economically weak colonising power, the central and northern parts of the country became a zone of intense extraction. The high degree of naked oppression and exploitation undermined its policy of assimilation, designed to the local Black elite. They instead looked to the wave of anti-colonial revolutions occurring across the world.
It proved impossible for the Portuguese colony to maintain a firm grip on the entire country. Armed resistance to colonial conquest first emerged from the Makonde peasants in the Cabo Delgado region and only ended in 1921. The geographical terrain lent itself to the prosecution of guerilla warfare during the 1960s, allowing Frelimo to create liberated zones with the support of the Mozambique African National Union. The turning point was the Carnation Revolution, initiated by Portuguese soldiers against their own dictatorship in 1974. This led to the rapid collapse of the colony as the settlers fled. Frelimo soon declared a ceasefire. Rather than winning power militarily, or politically through mass support at home, it was handed to them. This was the context of what locals have dubbed ‘the first war’.
Independence occurred at the height of the Cold War between the US and the USSR. It was formally declared in 1975. following negotiations between Frelimo and Portugal. Angola, another former colony, soon fell under similar circumstances. It spurred on the confidence of all those who sought an end to the brutal racism of settler colonialism and the cherished goal of national self-determination.
Mozambique’s most southerly and economically developed region borders South Africa, and the country was deeply integrated into the regional capitalist system, an economy dominated by its militarily aggressive apartheid neighbour. They wasted no time in destabilising the country. Consequently, Mozambique had very little choice but to join the Russian economic orbit, where continued military support for its army was traded for political influence. Unsurprisingly, in 1977 Frelimo the movement transformed itself into a political party, declaring itself ‘Marxist Leninist’ and a one-party state. Aware that isolation would doom the nationalist project, it provided bases for the neighbouring liberation movements to train combatants. We all sang the Miriam Makeba song, Mozambique, Aluta Continua.
Solidarity with the people of Mozambique has been replaced with support for the Frelimo regime, intent on holding onto power at any costs. Since 1994, the ruling party has been compliant in the reintegration of its economy, largely on the terms laid out by South Africa’s economic elite. Many of Frelimo’s leading party members have personally benefitted from the new order of things.
A proxy war?
South African and Rhodesian military offensives against its neighbour were supported by the US. Renamo emerged from Frelimo’s internal frictions that followed its alignment to Russian ‘communism’, aided significantly by its aggressors. Renamo was able to muster local political support in the densely populated north-central part of the country, due to Frelimo’s policy that curtailed the power of the rural chiefs in favour of a party led by urban-based intellectuals. A deeply impoverished peasantry fostered recruitment into the armed sections of Renamo.
A civil war ensued, dubbed ‘the second war’, which led to the loss of over one million lives, a high percentage lost in the Cabo Delgado region. Conventional wisdom viewed the conflict as a proxy war. But it also had deep internal roots that were simultaneously social, political and linguistic. The Macua and Makonde in the north, the Sena and Shona groups in the central parts of the country, and the Shangaan in the south, all experienced power and benefits from independence differently. Only the educated African elite had a command of Portuguese, entrenching the divide. Rural Southern African culture and religion did not sit well with the imposition of autocratic control, accompanied by a programme of ideological conversion.
Democracy only if you turn a blind eye
The emergence of multi-party democracy in 1992, and the reintegration of the south of the country into the Southern African economy, buoyed the emergence of a new and powerful economic elite. The 1990s saw investment limited to the south of the country and added to the notion that the Shangaans (Frelimo) are only interested in looking after themselves. Renamo did spectacularly well in the first elections held in 1994, and there is a strong likelihood it won the 1999 elections. The refusal of international observers to view the final tabulation process raised deep suspicions regarding the official outcome.
The negotiation process to a multi-party democracy ensured the electoral process remained fully and legally under the Frelimo-controlled Election Commission. Membership of the Commission was determined by the party share of the vote. There has been no in-built transparency of the final tabulation process, so elections have been marred by fraud for twenty-five years. Joseph Hanlon is a respected senior academic and analyst who has reported on the country for over four decades. He recently penned a comprehensive report on the history of electoral fraud committed by Frelimo.
A culture of impunity developed alongside a rapid transition away from a state-driven economy to a free market economy. The World Bank and the IMF made support conditional on speedy structural economic reform, in exchange for state loans in the early 1990s. Growth remained consistent for the first decade, but given the weakness of state institutions, a free for all for those with political connections was created. It was the return of the Wild West, a new context in which leading journalists like Carlos Cardoso could be gunned down in broad daylight for his investigative reporting into economic crime.
A struggle for resource wealth
The accumulation of wealth by the new elite was not something that could be hidden. Rather it was flaunted. At the same time, state subsidies to keep transport and food cheaper were gradually being eroded, creating the first waves of street protests by 2010. Around this time, some of the largest deposits of coal and gas in the world were discovered in the country. Corporations were soon queuing up to get in on the act, within an overly intimate relationship between government and big business. David Harvey has titled it an era of Neo Liberalism as Creative Destruction. A cauldron of dissent was in the making, opening new avenues of struggle.
Negative proof can be found in the civil war in Cabo Delgado region that began in 2017. This followed the exploitation of one of the world’s largest offshore gas deposits. Its roots began with unresolved conflicts over local timber, graphite and diamond resources. These represented local grievances, in many instances, and resulted in state-led repression. The region’s ‘third war’ was a result of many interlocking local and international factors that have recently been studied. The establishment of the gas extraction industry in the far north of the country followed the same pattern as coal mining in the Zambezi.
Community claims to the resources are ignored. The only beneficiaries are the politically connected elites, who receive the crumbs left on the table by the international corporations. The local populace is left to watch as their agricultural and fishing livelihoods are adversely affected. They see themselves as excluded from job opportunities. This is seen by many in academia as the primary driver of conflict.
The Islamists were handed this fertile soil to root their support among the disaffected, particularly among the large number of youth. Their Islamist view, that the natural resources should belong to the people, also clearly resonated. This led to a large military presence of Rwandan, Ugandan and French soldiers to quell the ongoing insurgency, once it became clear that local military were not able to contain the revolt. Presently only the Rwandan military, financed by the EU, remain.
The initial response of the state to local grievances around gas extraction was highly repressive and made the resistance that was emerging more unified. Perhaps the government’s tyrannical response is best understood in the context of the huge loans secretly signed and sealed by the government. This was done on the basis that the country’s recently discovered resource base would allow the country to repay the loans.
The ‘hidden debt’ is known as the ‘tuna bonds scandal’, in which $2.5 billion was loaned in 2012 -2014 by international banks to pay for naval expenditure. It was hidden from parliament and only discovered in 2016. It forced the country to default that year on its sovereign debt owed to the IMF and World Bank, plunging the country into an economic crisis, devaluing its local currency. This is estimated to have cost the country a staggering $11 billion, or an entire year of the country’s GDP, pushing a further two million people into poverty.
A rentier state and class has become openly visible. [1] Shorn of its former radicalism, Frelimo, was embroiled in one corruption scandal after another, and until recently no party or oppositional movement was willing to organise itself against the imposition of this new form of class power. But the increasing disaffection of the ‘Povo’ (the ordinary people) has been most clearly expressed in the urban municipalities. Here, oppositional political forces have emerged to challenge the hold of Frelimo. However, its continued control of the Electoral Commission has ensured that the provinces and the capital Maputo would stay in its hands, much to the chagrin of Venancio Mondlane, the present day leader of the opposition. Hanlon’s report states that Renamo was the clear winner in Maputo in the 2023 municipal election, so Venancio Mondlane should have been the Mayor.
The municipal elections in 2023 were in many ways a turning point when it came to openly brazen fraud. According to Joseph Hanlon:
There was much more central orchestration with little attempt to keep it secret. In the registration, obvious night time registration and busing in outsiders in municipal buses, as well as the WhatsApp group in Beira, look like flaunting power. The Frelimo control of polling station staff with even a book of all polling station staff in Matola, was intentionally provocative. Again, there were no restrictions on the press, CIP or the CIP Eleições – this was the publicity Frelimo wanted. And the final and most public step was the CNE and CC ensuring Renamo did not win Maputo and Matola, despite the overwhelming evidence that they had the most votes. Whereas 1999 had been hidden, this was very public.
The 2024 national elections followed suit. Blatant rigging from above and on the ground by those with vested interests in holding office led to calls for a recount. The Podemos (the Optimist Party for Development), a centre left grouping running for the first time, came second and officially obtained 25% of the vote.
Elvino Dias, a highly respected lawyer acting on behalf of the organisation’s presidential candidate, Venancio Mondlane, claimed he had possession of the original election tabulations, claiming that victory belonged to Mondlane. A week later Dias was gunned down in death squad fashion. A similar fate met a senior leader of the new party. Police statements brushed aside the killing of the latter as a conjugal dispute.
Mondlane fled the country for his safety. The streets erupted following his Facebook call for a phased general strike. Outrage led to spontaneous anger, to be expressed at state institutions. Frelimo party offices and police stations were specifically targeted. Mondlane’s militant call for protest action galvanised people from across society, leading to numerous internet shutdowns. His anti-corruption and ‘take the country back’ messaging clearly captured the imagination of the disaffected, and particularly the youth. The average median age of Mozambicans is 18.
Who is Venancio Mondlane?
The 50-year-old Mondlane, a university-qualified engineer, first courted popularity through his prosperity-based evangelical preaching. He has praised Brazil’s Bolsonaro, met with Portugal’s far right Chega, whose autocratic rule was overthrown by the 1974 Carnation Revolution, and welcomed Trump’s victory as a protection of American morals and family values. He launched his political career through the MDM, a centre right splinter from Renamo.
In 2023 he decided to run in the presidential elections. He needed a political home, and Podemos needed a presidential candidate, so negotiations began. This led to him becoming the Podemos presidential candidate. This occurred despite his open embrace of neoliberalism, while the party is committed to democratic socialism. A classic marriage of convenience was born. The deal between the two that has recently come to light provides exclusive influence for Mondlane over who gets selected to enter parliament.
To date, the protest movement for democracy has seen hundreds killed, and thousands injured and arrested. Mondlane returned to Mozambique in early January and multi-party talks began, hoping to extract further concessions from the regime. Constraints clearly exist regarding the development of an opposition capable of challenging the electoral autocracy of Frelimo and the repressive machinery of the state. But constraints can also be the progenitor of innovation. Unleashed by a charismatic militant right-wing preacher, the entry of the masses into the arena has begun. The regime will be hard pressed to get them to leave. The power to repress should not be equated with the power to rule.
Mondlane called for suspension of the protest movements strikes action and has placed a series of demands that amount for an amnesty for those arrested and detained and free medical support for those injured. Initially he did not rule out accepting an offer to join the government if his conditions were met, but yesterday he backtracked and stated he will not join the government if invited to do so. This had led to the call for low key protests, which have seen the arterial roads into Maputo, the capital to be blocked following the reintroduction of toll fees. The strategy is designed to keep his support mobilised for the first 100 days of the new Presidential rule of Danile Chapo, the Frelimo candidate and is based on 30 measures which is part of what he calls a ‘Decree’ which involves peoples courts following an ‘eye for eye’ approach to justice to stem the wave of extrajudicial killings launched by the police.
Whether the embryonic movement can be harnessed by its progressive activists to move beyond a Mondlane leadership, riddled with contradictions, remains to be seen. Unless the movement squarely confronts the class power the neoliberal agenda of the IMF and World Bank has restored, it will quickly lose momentum. History teaches us that clarity and political coherence are essential for any democratic oppositional movement to confront that power.
A version of this blogpost appeared as ‘Enter the Povo’ on Africa is a Country.
Rehad is a South African socialist activist, writer and documentary filmmaker. He is currently completing a feature length project on Mozambique, utilising footage shot over a 20 year period.
Featured Photograph: Electoral Commission of the city of Pemba in Mozambique (2023).
Notes
[1] A rentier class is a class whose wealth primarily comes from passive income, such as rents, dividends, or interest, rather than active work or productive activities.
Maha Ben Gadha and Imen Louati report on a two-day workshop held in Tunis, 21-23 February 2025 and convened by the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation. The workshop was part of a collective book project that aims to provide African perspectives on a just socioecological transformation, and served as a critical space for examining the global capitalist order and developing a framework for a decolonised and equitable post-capitalist future.
By Maha Ben Gadha and Imen Louati
The North Africa office of the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation convened a workshop in Tunis, 21-23 February 2025 entitled A just socioecological transformation: An African perspective. The meeting served as a crucial forum for a collective book project, edited by Maha Ben Gadha and Imen Louati. The book’s overarching objective is to challenge the prevailing global economic order which perpetuates accelerated forms of economic domination and ecological plunder in Africa, and to envision an alternative grounded in environmental and social justice, and radical equality.
The book will feature contributions from scholar researchers and activists from across Africa and the Global South. Participants who are also authors in the forthcoming publication included Essam el Korgheli, Matteo Capasso, Mabrouka Mbarek, Razaz Basheir, Asume Osuoka, Maurice Carney, Osama Diab, Emilie Reyes, Safouane Azzouzi, Ndongo Samba Sylla, Fadhel Kaboub and Liu Yé. Ben Radley is also a co-author and other Europe and US based participants in the workshop and overall collaborative project included Corrina Mullin and Ray Bush, Elisa Greco and Giorgos Velegrakis.
During the two days of the workshop, the authors presented their draft chapters and discussed the main thematics of the book. Participants also shared a vision for Africa’s future. Members of the Review of African Political Economy (ROAPE) editorial working group contributed to the project’s review process and the book’s concluding final statement: a manifesto advocating for action and solidarity. Below is a summary of the panels, presentations and debate.
Unmasking contemporary imperialism
The workshop’s opening panel, moderated by Corinna Mullin, provided a critical examination of the enduring legacies of imperialism. The contributors’ analyses revealed that contemporary imperialism transcends mere economic or military dominance, operating as a multifaceted system that actively shapes knowledge production and manipulates financial mechanisms, and controls the movement of money and labour.
Epistemic violence
El Korghli and Capasso argued that contemporary imperialism operates through a ‘constellation of interventionism’ and ‘cognitive warfare,’ aiming to control the ‘ideological-material conditions’ of populations. They supported this claim by analysing the US Congress Global Fragility Act and its impact on knowledge production in Libya, highlighting instances of ‘epistemic violence’ which are practices that aim to undermine and suppress Southern knowledge production that serve to dismantle the intellectual and cultural foundations of resistance. This includes the deliberate erasure of alternative epistemologies (epistemicide), the destruction of educational infrastructure (educide), and the physical targeting of knowledge spaces and individuals (scholasticide), as tragically evidenced recently in Palestine. They concluded with an invitation to a broader theoretical reflection on the kind of knowledge that needs to be produced in Africa that actively ‘delinks’ from imperialism and its military, financial and ideological tools.
A materialist approach
While recognizing the importance of tracing the historical roots and enduring impacts of contemporary imperialism, M’barek advocated for a dialectical and materialist approach, showing the interconnectedness of economic, social, and political factors, by tracing value extraction within capitalism, and focusing on the dynamic movement of money and labour. She used the Tunisian political process after 2011 to expose the financial manipulation that happened, and deployed Modern Monetary Theory (MMT) as a lens to analyse the currency mechanisms used to reinforce imperial control. She underscored how the notion of ‘imperial rent’ effectively captured the extraction of value from the often-unseen social reproductive work performed predominantly by African women, which underpinned global capital accumulation. Critically, she highlighted the structural nature of racism as a tool used by imperialism to divide the working class and maintain racial divisions.
Resisting green imperialism: Toward ecological justice
The second panel of the workshop featured Asume Osuoka, Rezaz Basheir, Safouane Azzouzi, and Maurice Carney, and was moderated by Ray Bush. The panel critically examined the ways in which seemingly progressive ‘green’ initiatives can perpetuate neocolonial control and resource extraction highlighting the dangers of ‘blind environmentalism’ and growth-led policies. From the discourse of fossil fuel divestment to the design of ‘green cities,’ these case studies demonstrate the hidden strategies employed to perpetuate value extraction. Understanding these strategies is essential for developing effective resistance to them.
Blind environmentalism
Highlighting the disconnect between the expectations of Western environmental groups and the lived realities of communities in the Niger Delta, Isaac Osuoka exposed the inherent contradictions within the dominant climate discourse, particularly concerning fossil fuel divestment and carbon trading mechanisms which often lead to a new form of land grabbing in African countries, perpetuating existing patterns of exploitation.
Seemingly, in the name of northern Green transition, Maurice Carney detailed the ongoing exploitation of the Congo’s resources, particularly critical minerals like cobalt, highlighting the historical continuity of extractive practices from the colonial era to the present and the devastating human and environmental costs in the rain forests and the mining basin. He exposed the role of corporations, governments, and international institutions in perpetuating this exploitation, and highlighted the work of the Basandja Coalition struggle in resisting it.
Razaz Basheir used case studies from Kigali, Kampala, and Addis Ababa to challenge common ‘green mobility myths’ in East African cities. She highlighted how the frameworks promoted by international institutions like the World Bank often fall short in addressing the region’s realities. Her work focused on the unique challenges of African urbanisation, such as fast-growing populations, informal transport systems, and ongoing energy poverty. Basheir showcased how ‘green projects’ driven by global capital, reinforce existing power structures and exacerbate inequalities, emphasising the need for industrial policies focused on low-polluting manufacturing, and the expansion of public goods and services, for a genuine urban African well-being.
In contrast to the urban focus, Azzouzi addressed the role of design in rural contexts. He reviewed the role of design in perpetuating extractivism and neoliberal paradigms. He argued that design, often presented as a solution, is in fact used as a tool for cultural imperialism and the creation of new markets for exploitation. Azzouzi called for a shift from object-centered design to value-centered design, emphasising the importance of commoning and community economies. He used the example of the Oasis in Tunisia, to show how local communities can use commoning and autonomous design to resist the destruction of their livelihoods.
The discussions emphasised the need to move beyond localized victories and false enemies, to confront the systemic forces behind global inequality and ecological devastation. Building on the previous panel’s analysis of the ‘worldwide law of value,’ this session illustrated its practical impact through exploitative practices, reinforcing the necessity for anti-imperialist and decolonised approaches to fundamental transformation. The central question became: how to break free from economic dependency and dismantle unequal power structures to build a truly just and equitable society? The subsequent panel addressed these critical concerns, exploring concrete strategies for decolonised development, and establishing the conditions for sustainable, autonomous, and feminist radical transformation.
Rethinking sovereign development: Economic alternatives for Africa
The second half of the workshop featured Emilia Reyes, Ndongo Samba Sylla, Osama Diab, Fadhel Kaboub and Liu Yé, and was moderated by Maha Ben Gadha. Each contributor offered distinct yet interconnected critiques of the prevailing global economic order and proposed radical and complementary alternatives to it. Emphasis was placed on the need for economic sovereignty, ecological sustainability, social justice, and Global South solidarity.
Emilia Reyes called for a radical rupture with the capital-centric system, challenging ‘collapsology’ and right-wing narratives, advocating instead for a feminist-informed delinking strategy that prioritizes the ‘logics of life’ over the relentless accumulation of capital. This strategy entails the active dismantling of the imperialist capitalist system, not simply its reform. She emphasised the necessity to challenge the ‘sexual division of labour’ within any sovereign development framework. This vision called for a fundamental rethink of what we mean by ‘development’—one that puts social well-being and environment at its core. It must go beyond financial metrics to include both paid and unpaid forms of economic activity, ensuring the essential conditions for life itself.
Ndongo Samba Sylla shed light on how transnational corporations continue to exploit Africa’s resources, exposing the deep power imbalances at play. He emphasised the urgent need for African nations to regain greater control—both technically and physically—over their export sectors. He then went on to examine the recurring debt crises, methodologically demonstrating why the continent remains vulnerable despite past debt relief initiatives and commodity booms. He used the MMT (Modern Monetary Theory) lens to unpack the concept of ‘external constraint’ and exposed how profit and dividend repatriations far exceed debt service, and how foreign earnings from the export sector reveal the true source of economic plunder. The contribution of Sylla provided a powerful critique of the conventional understanding of debt and development and a crucial understanding for African countries on how to manage real resource constraints. He urged African countries to strengthen their control over export sectors, prioritise locally resourced projects, and engage in strategic economic diplomacy to achieve effective national sovereignty.
Building upon Sylla’s exposure of systemic resource plunder, Osama Diab argued that many Global South countries, particularly in Africa, are trapped in an export-led development paradigm that perpetuates their economic vulnerability. He advocated for a radical shift towards a ‘less for more’ approach, using this approach in very concrete ways for many commodities characterised by low price elasticity of demand, demonstrating that exporting less could actually increase revenues, while simultaneously mitigating the severe ecological devastation caused by relentless resource extraction. He proposed the formation of commodity alliances to counter the power of global monopolies and advocated for controlled production cuts, drawing parallels to historical and contemporary examples of successful interventions.
Addressing these national economic vulnerabilities necessitates a broader understanding of Africa and the Global South’s position within the global economic order and the evolving dynamics of international relations. This understanding is essential to effectively leverage geopolitical power.
Fadhel Kaboub’s intervention centered on the imperative of decolonising the global economic order. He envisioned a unified Global South, with Africa playing a pivotal role, leveraging its renewable energy resources to disrupt the current hierarchy. He advocated for strategic technology partnerships, particularly with China, to reposition the Global South as a central force, rather than a new dominant power. Kaboub also demonstrated the practical application of Modern Monetary Theory, showing how nations with monetary sovereignty can finance their development internally, ensuring economic autonomy through strategic investments. That is, a strategic approach to industrial policy emphasising the importance of redefining ownership models and ensuring equitable distribution of value. He also stressed the need for collective security pacts and food security strategies to counter imperialist pressure.
Liu Yé analysed the transformation of China’s international development cooperation and China’s engagement with the Global South, emphasising the importance of understanding multipolarity as a stage for manoeuvre rather than a fixed end goal. He explained that recent economic challenges and a revival of Maoist-era solidarity have driven China to re-engage with the Global South. Liu Ye stressed the necessity of understanding the nuances of China-Africa relations for achieving genuine equality, emphasizing it as a dynamic, ongoing process.
The ‘Rethinking Development’ panel, enriched by audience contributions, critically examined delinking and alternative development models. While recognising the challenges of collective action and geopolitical risks, the discussion also addressed the very definition of progress. Panellists advocated transformative action centred on social justice, economic sovereignty and ecological integrity. This included building grassroots alliances, reorienting industrialisation towards essential needs, and implementing appropriate technologies for local empowerment. Central themes were prioritising ‘life’ through decolonised feminist perspectives, and highlighting the need to overcome the ‘crisis of imagination’ to envision post-capitalist futures.
A Manifesto and Call to Action
The workshop served as a critical space for examining the global capitalist order and developing a framework for a decolonised and equitable post-capitalist future. The Manifesto for African Liberation, signed by all participants, is its culmination, and will serve as a powerful conclusion to the book.
Maha Ben Gadha is a researcher, activist, and advocate for social and economic justice, particularly within the context of North Africa and the broader Global South. She is senior economic program manager at the Rosa Luxemburg foundation. Her work focuses on issues of development, decolonization, and alternative economic models. She is co-editor of Economic and Monetary Sovereignty in 21st Century Africa, published by Pluto Press.
Imen Louati earned her PhD in Ecology and Evolution from Sorbonne University in 2015. Since then, she has worked as a researcher and program manager with both national and international organizations. Her research focuses on topics such as food sovereignty, access to water, to energy and to natural resources, trade agreements and the influence of financial institutions on public policies, energy transition and just transition. She works to supports actors in North Africa who are striving to develop transformative socio-ecological alternatives.
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Siayabulela Mama attributes South Africa’s water crisis to government failure, financial mismanagement, and a lack of accountability. He argues that the financialisation, inefficiency, and corruption of government-appointed Water Boards have deepened inequalities in water access. Intended to ensure supply, these corrupt institutions have instead become emblematic of systemic failure. Mama urges a shift towards prioritising people over profit in water management.
By Siyabulela Mama
South Africa is facing one of its most pressing crises: water scarcity. From the Nelson Mandela Bay Water Crisis in the Eastern Cape to the unfolding shortages in Johannesburg, Gauteng, and Komani, Eastern Cape, millions of South Africans are grappling with dry taps, unreliable supply, and deteriorating infrastructure. This crisis is not just about low rainfall or climate change—it is deeply rooted in governance failures, financial mismanagement, and lack of accountability. Yet, amid public frustration and growing despair, one key institution remains glaringly absent from national discourse: the Water Boards.
Water Boards are government-appointed entities responsible for ensuring bulk water supply to municipalities, industries, and communities. They play a crucial role in managing South Africa’s water infrastructure, operating dams, treatment plants, and distribution networks. In theory, they should act as the backbone of the country’s water security. However, in practice, many of these institutions have become plagued by inefficiency, mismanagement, and corruption, leading to worsening water shortages that disproportionately impact the poor and working-class communities.
The African National Congress (ANC)-led government, which oversees these institutions, has been slow to address the deepening crisis. Years of financial mismanagement, cadre deployment, and neglect have hollowed out water governance, leaving infrastructure in decay and many municipalities unable to pay their dues to Water Boards. In turn, this has led to service disruptions, with ordinary South Africans suffering the consequences. Townships, rural areas, and lower-income neighborhoods are particularly vulnerable, as they often experience the longest and most severe water cuts.
At stake is not only the daily survival of millions but also the country’s economic stability and future development. Without reliable water supply, agriculture, manufacturing, and even basic public services like hospitals and schools face severe setbacks. The failure to secure water resources is deepening inequality and eroding public trust in the government’s ability to manage essential services. If left unaddressed, South Africa’s water crisis risks becoming a full-blown humanitarian disaster, with dire political and social consequences.
The Rise of Water Boards and Their Expanding Influence
The history of South Africa’s Water Boards goes hand-in-hand with the financialisaton of water. Once government entities designed to handle water management across regions, Water Boards have increasingly adopted a more privatised approach. This has led to the corporatisation of water, where access to this basic human need is seen as a commodity to be bought and sold rather than a right.
In recent years, the business-driven priorities of Water Boards have made the poor and working-class communities more vulnerable. While the elite and wealthier sectors can afford to buy water or have reliable access to it, poorer households bear the brunt of these board’s inefficiencies and neglect. Water, instead of being a public service, has become an increasingly expensive service, leaving those at the bottom of the social ladder to fight for basic survival.
In regions like Nelson Mandela Bay, where supply systems are collapsing, Water Boards have done little to address the root causes. This failure stems from mismanagement, lack of investment, and, at times, outright corruption within these institutions. The reality is clear: they’re more interested in balancing budgets and appeasing financial stakeholders than ensuring equitable access to water for all.
From Nelson Mandela Bay to Joburg and Komani: A Pattern of Neglect
The water crisis in Nelson Mandela Bay was a harsh wake-up call. However, rather than spurring meaningful action and reform, it has instead exposed the persistent and systemic problems within Water Boards across the country. The water crisis in Johannesburg, one of South Africa’s largest and most economically important cities, is a case in point. Despite the significant financial resources at the disposal of the city’s Water Board, Johannesburg residents are still left with rationed, unreliable access to water. In Komani (Queenstown), a smaller town, water shortages have been compounded by infrastructure failures, poor maintenance, and, most disturbingly, neglect from Water Boards entrusted with oversight and resource management.
These examples show a clear pattern: inadequate investment in infrastructure, delayed maintenance, poor planning, and an absence of accountability. Water Boards are playing a dangerous game of brinkmanship, prioritising financial stability over long-term water sustainability. Communities are left stranded, and working-class families are subjected to the daily indignity of water scarcity, facing health risks, loss of livelihood, and a declining quality of life.
The Financialisation of Water: How Water Boards Perpetuate Inequality
Perhaps the most insidious aspect of the Water Boards’ failure is their role in the financialisaton South Africa’s water system. The trend of viewing water as an asset to generate revenue, rather than a fundamental right, has created a system that benefits private interests while worsening the plight of the poor. Water Boards have become increasingly entangled in this business-driven approach, prioritising their own financial survival over public service.
This is evident in how tariffs are structured. Water rates are rising in many regions, pricing out large segments of the population. Those who can’t afford these rates face disconnections, and a deepening cycle of poverty is further entrenched. The financialisation of water doesn’t just make water more expensive—it shifts the burden of a national resource into the hands of a few, while the majority struggle to pay for what should be theirs by right.
Accountability and Transparency: Where Are the Calls for Reform?
It is time for South Africans to ask the difficult questions: Why are we not holding Water Boards accountable for their failures? Why is the national conversation about the water crisis ignoring these institutions and their role in exacerbating the situation? And, perhaps most importantly, why are these boards still allowed to operate with impunity when it is clear they are failing the very people they were meant to serve?
Water Boards must be restructured to ensure they are aligned with the public good. The focus needs to be on accountability, transparency, and a commitment to sustainability over profit. More investment is needed in infrastructure and technology, particularly in rural and underdeveloped areas. Additionally, there must be a concerted effort to reduce the financial burden on the working class, through subsidies, progressive tariffs, and mechanisms to address historic inequalities in water access.
The Path Forward: A People’s Water System
To tackle the water crisis head-on, we need a radical shift in the way water is managed in South Africa. The financialisation of water must end, and we must return to a system where water is managed as a shared, public resource. This would require a reimagining of the role of Water Boards — transforming them from profit-driven institutions into truly accountable entities that prioritise access to water for all, not just the wealthy few.
At the heart of this reform is the recognition that water is not just an economic commodity but a fundamental human right. Until Water Boards are held accountable, and until we take back control of our water resources from private interests, the people of South Africa will continue to suffer.
The working class can no longer afford to wait while Water Boards fail them. If South Africa is to overcome this crisis, it’s time to put the people — not profit — back at the center of our water system.
Siyabulela Mama Organiser at the Nelson Mandela Bay Water Crisis Committee and Spokesperson for the Assembly of the Unemployed.
In this review of Adam Hanieh’s recent book, Crude Capitalism: Oil, Corporate Power, and the Making of the World Market, Amina Adebisi Odofin draws out its connections to the Niger Delta, Palestine, and the global system of exploitation. The violence of extraction, Odofin argues, is not limited to oil fields or ecological degradation. The violence of extraction extends to the erasure of entire futures, including the future of life itself.
By Amina Adebisi Odofin
Adam Hanieh’s latest book, Crude Capitalism: Oil, Corporate Power, and the Making of the World Market, offers a critical exploration of the intersections between resource extraction and global capitalism, exposing the forces of dispossession and exploitation that sustain corporate empires and the modern world system. By dissecting how fossil fuels and other resources are embedded within the logic of capital and empire-building, Hanieh illuminates the profound costs of this system. While his primary focus is on the Gulf countries and the Middle East, his framework can also be applied to Africa, particularly the Niger Delta, where oil extraction has long exemplified these dynamics.
The discovery of oil’s commercial potential in the Niger Delta dates back to 1956, just before Nigeria’s independence in 1960. Under British colonial rule, the British corporation Shell (back then Shell BP) was granted a monopoly over oil extraction. Archival records from the British National Archives reveal the exploration licenses granted to Shell were valid for 30 years, ensuring continued control of Nigeria’s oil by its colonial rulers even after independence.
This arrangement exemplifies what Ghanaian scholar and first Prime Minister of independent Ghana Kwame Nkrumah termed “neocolonialism,” where political independence masks continued economic domination. Although Shell’s monopoly ended with Nigeria’s independence, American oil companies like ExxonMobil and Chevron swiftly moved in, mirroring their expansion into Gulf countries during the same period, as well explained in Hanieh’s Crude Capitalism.
A sample of water that was retrieved from the Eleme Wetlands in the Niger Delta (author copyright)
In Crude Capitalism, Hanieh discusses how oil is invisible, but so is its pollution. Oil’s destructiveness isn’t always obvious. It’s not just oil spills sitting on the surface of land or sea; the harm can be invisible, like polluted air or toxic rain. I remember interviewing an ecofeminist activist in her front yard in the Niger Delta. It started raining, and I thought nothing of it in the 40-degree heat. But she rushed inside, warning me that the rain, polluted by gas flaring, could burn my skin. It’s these quiet devastations that reveal the deeper scars of oil extraction, slowly eroding health and ecosystems while remaining unnoticed by the wider world.
Connecting Nigeria and Palestine
If you didn’t know about Nigeria’s ecological catastrophe triggered by oil, it may be because antiblackness is a global phenomenon, shaping what is considered worthy of attention. Even environmental discourses, which claim to prioritize life and sustainability, often reproduce these hierarchies of value. The invisibilisation of Black and Indigenous suffering and environmental destruction in places like the Niger Delta reflects the deep entanglement of antiblackness with ecological thought.
Some ecologies are deemed worthy of preservation and care, while Black and Indigenous environments, such as the Niger Delta or Palestine, are treated as disposable, sacrificial zones existing solely to serve Western consumerism or white supremacist structures. The largest and wealthiest environmental organizations have remained silent on the ecocide that is been taking place in Gaza for well over a year. The ecological resistance is also invisibilized: the movement against oil capitalists in the Niger Delta started way before the arrival of Western-led international environmental organizations—think of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the Ogoni Nine.
The oil infrastructures that dominate the landscapes of the Niger Delta, particularly those operated by corporations like Shell, have destroyed ecosystems, poisoned communities and ingrained structural violence. These dynamics are not isolated and spill beyond the borders of the Niger Delta. They connect to other geographies of extraction and dispossession, such as Palestine. For 466 days now, Palestinians have been live-streaming their genocide to the world, after resisting and continuing to resist settler colonialism for over 76 years. The Zionist entity, Israel, has been sustained through global networks of capital, political power and resource flows, including oil, as demonstrated by Hanieh in his book.
Both Nigeria and Palestine share a history of British colonial rule, which laid the groundwork for their current struggles. In Nigeria, British colonial policies ensured that the wealth from oil extraction remained under external control, as evidenced by Shell’s 30-year agreements secured before independence. Similarly, in Palestine, British colonialism facilitated the establishment of Zionist structures, which have since evolved into a system of ongoing dispossession and occupation.
The Legacy of the Biafra War
Unlike the six-day war in the Middle East, which was fought between different nations, the Biafra War is also known as the Nigerian Civil War. The conflict lasted from July 6, 1967, to January 15, 1970, following the southeastern area’s proclamation of independence as the Republic of Biafra. This region encompasses the majority of the Niger Delta territory. The underlying causes of this internal conflict were multifaceted, encompassing ethnic divisions, governmental instability, and most significantly, the struggle for control over oil resources.
The people from the Niger Delta felt the oil revenues were mostly concentrated in cities like Lagos and Abuja, while they were being pushed into poverty, despite living on top of these oil fields. The war saw devastating fighting between the Nigerian government, backed by European powers, and Biafran forces. A Nigerian blockade caused mass starvation, leading to one to three million deaths, who were mostly civilians. Biafra surrendered in 1970, and Nigeria adopted a “no victor, no vanquished” policy, but the war left lasting scars on the nation’s ethnic and political landscape and the control of oil.
Despite the brutality of the civil war, oil giants like Eni (a global Italian gas and oil company) and Shell unapologetically maintained their operations, showing no signs of halting their activities. We see similar behavior happening today in Palestine where Shell and Eni are granted licenses of exploration a few weeks into the genocide in Gaza. Searching for oil and gas amid genocide somewhat exposes the moral and ethnic compasses of these fossil corporations and how much they value fossils over human lives.
This connection exposes a broader truth, that violence of extraction is not limited to oil fields or ecological degradation – although this is what mainstream environmentalists will push forward, as an attempt to depoliticize climate catastrophes. The violence of extraction extends to the erasure of entire futures: the futures of students, of knowledge and of life itself.
Israel’s destruction of all the universities in Gaza has eliminated spaces that fostered resistance, creativity, and hope. This is what a Black ecology reveals when we take a closer look at oil: that the logic of racial capitalism and colonialism are not confined to one place or time. They operate across borders, binding Nigeria, Palestine, and other sites of struggle into a shared history of extraction, violence, and resistance.
Amina Adebisi Odofin is a Nigerian Moroccan PhD candidate at the Conflict Research Group at the University of Ghent. She researches the enduring colonial legacy of petro-politics in the Niger Delta, examining its intersection with gender and its spatial manifestations across the region’s landscapes.
Featured Photograph: A miniature of the spillages of the Niger Delta, found at the lobby of a civil society organisation (author copyright).
For 50 years, ROAPE has brought our readers path-breaking analysis on radical African political economy in our quarterly review, and for more than ten years on our website. Subscriptions and donations are essential to keeping our review and website alive. Please consider subscribing or donating today.
Salvador Ousmane paints a damning picture of the African military juntas that came to power in Burkina Faso, Niger, and Guinea in recent years. He argues that they have failed to address security concerns and poverty in their countries while reneging on their promises to hold free elections and restore civilian rule. Instead, these juntas have launched sustained attacks on human rights, suppressing political protests, civil society organisations, and trade union activists. Yet, Ousmane sees hope in the resilience of trade union activism, which continues to persist despite these repressive conditions.
By Salvador Ousmane
The main claims by the West African military juntas, when they took power in Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger, was that they would quickly address the security issues in their countries. In each case, they have failed to do so. If anything, the insurgency by armed militants is getting worse, especially in Burkina Faso and Mali. According to the Armed Conflict Location & Event DataProject (ACLED), nearly 13,000 people, most of whom were civilians, were killed in 2024 in these three countries. This was a small reduction compared to the year before.
In addition, the military are extending their rule with promises of elections and a return to civilian rule being postponed or forgotten. The increasingly authoritarian military rulers are inflicting further attacks on human rights in each of these three countries, and in Guinea, as we show below.
According to Jean-Hervé Jezequel, Directeur of the Sahel Projet at the International Crisis Group, in early February, the nationalism of the military juntas of the Sahel “is taking an increasingly authoritarian and brutal turn. Civilians are paying a high price in rural areas and critical voices are increasingly being silenced. There have never been as many civilian deaths in the Sahel as in the last two years; the arrests of journalists and human rights defenders are silencing opposition and sclerotic democratic life.”
Despite this the trade unions are still able to organise and are beginning to act to improve the conditions of their members. However, much more is needed to reduce the levels of poverty, inequality and corruption that are the main drivers of insecurity. The attacks on human rights by the four military juntas makes it more difficult for the trade unions to organize.
The anti-French rhetoric of the juntas has clearly tapped into a deep feeling of injustice at the historic and current actions of the French forces. Requests for French soldiers to leave were announced in November last year in Chad and Senegal, two other West African countries. Côte d’Ivoire has also confirmed a drastic reduction in French troops. The military governments were able to organise large rallies in support of their nationalist policies. But as the insecurity continues and living conditions for the popular classes do not improve, this support appears to be waning. The rallies are now less frequent and smaller than in previous years.
The insecurity across the Sahel also has deep roots in the poverty and inequality across the region made worse by climate change. The armed militants are able to exploit these economic grievances which will have to be comprehensively addressed before lasting peace can be achieved. Insecurity across the region has already lasted decades.
Military based responses inevitably lead to civilian ‘collateral damage’ which can extend the insecurity, especially where relatives and families can link their loss to ethnic or community-based alliances. Across the world, especially where such uprisings gain even a measure of popular support, there is no military solution. The US forces failed in Vietnam and Afghanistan, the French and UN forces have similarly failed across West Africa.
The failure of Russian forces to save the former President of Syria, Bashar al-Assad, casts doubt on the extent to which Russian forces in West Africa will be able to protect the military juntas. Moving military support from France to Russia may not prove effective. These regimes will only survive if they are prepared to address the socio-economic injustices in their countries.
Burkina Faso
“The human rights situation in Burkina Faso is very worrying”, said Drissa Traoré, Secretary General of the International Federation for Human Rights (IFHR) in early October. In addition, the National Commission of Human Rights is concerned about the arrests and kidnappings of citizens by unidentified individuals and outside of any adequate procedures.
Over two years after Ibrahim Traoré’s coup d’état, human rights organizations paint a bleak picture of the violation of basic freedoms. IFHR denounces in particular the arbitrary arrests of opponents of the junta, the forced recruitment of civilians into the army, the disappearance of defenders of freedoms and the end of freedom of the press. Street protests have been banned in Burkina Faso since the Traoré led coup in September 2022.
This situation has been made worse by the introduction of anonymous hotlines. In September 2024 alone, 726 denunciations were made and these resulted in at least 350 arrests. In October, a meeting of about 50 journalists complained about the disappearance of four of their colleagues who are thought to be “in the hands of the military”. The junta is also considering the re-introduction of the death penalty.
IFHR also shares its concern about the increase in disappearances of human rights activists and the growing repression of dissident voices. “We are witnessing a resurgence of arbitrary arrests and pressure on journalists and activists”. Several prominent figures found themselves sent to the front to fight against Islamic militants, including human rights defender Daouda Diallo and former foreign minister Ablassé Ouédraogo.
In 2023, Amnesty International said, “public figures were abducted or arrested and forcibly disappeared, including the national president of an organization representing pastoralists’ interests” who are blamed for the insurgency. In addition, in late November 2024, the junta announced that it had frozen the goods and assets of around 100 people. They were accused of “participation in acts of terrorism and financing terrorism”.
The IFHR calls for a general mobilization to restore fundamental freedoms in Burkina Faso and guarantee the independence of the justice system. Some fifteen Burkinabe unions, united in a collective, called for a rally on October 31 in the capital, Ouagadougou to protest against “restrictions on freedoms” which they say have been imposed by the country’s military authorities.
Despite the increasing level of repression, the military are failing to address the insecurity. Human Rights Watch estimates that 6,000 people were killed in 2024, a record number of victims, illustrating the powerlessness of the military junta. Allegations continue about massacres by the army. In early February, for example, there was another massacre in the northeast of the country. Several dozen people were reported killed between the towns of Seytenga and Sebba, in the Sahel region of Burkina Faso.
Russian military personal are being used to personally protect Traoré. When he came to power he promised to stay only for 21 months. But this was extended by another five years from July 2024. In addition, Captain Traoré is to be free to continue his rule by being a presidential candidate when the elections finally take place.
In early February, a webinar was held to denounce the serious violations of the law. It was over a year since the lawyer Guy Hervé Kam, leader of the political movement SENS, was first detained for “undermining state security”. Lawyers had previously struck for a day in February 2024 and again, for five days in June. He was previously the co-founder of the “Balai citoyen” movement that led the protests against the former dictator, Blaise Compaoré, in 2014. Before that he was the lawyer for the family of the former president Thomas Sankara who was killed in the coup by Compaoré.
“This mainly concerns the restriction of individual and collective freedoms (which) result in forced disappearances of citizens, kidnappings of citizens by armed and hooded individuals, forced recruitment, measures to close press organs”, said Moussa Diallo, Secretary General of the General Confederation of Burkina Workers (CGT-B), the principal trade union centre in Burkina Faso. He was effectively sacked from his university lecturer post in April 2024 and is now in hiding to avoid being kidnapped or arrested. In October, the CGT-B said this was an “act of direct repression against the union and infringes on the right to freedom of association”.
In August 2024, the hospitals were paralyzed by a three-day strike by the National Union of Human and Animal Health Workers (Syntsha), to demand pay rises and compensation.
One glimmer of hope is that talks resumed in early February between the trade unions and the government. This was after four years of suspension. The discussions covered individual and collective freedom and the high cost of living. The trade unions are looking for implementation of promises made by successive governments since 2015. The dismissal of the trade union leader, Moussa Diallo was also raised.
Mali
The Malian military authorities, in power since the second coup of 24 May 2021, have continued to drastically restrict the civic and democratic rights. The last four years have seen a resurgence of arrests, arbitrary detentions, abductions, secret detentions and also of judicial harassment of anyone who expresses a dissenting opinion.
The four years of military rule have also been marked by threats and intimidation, kidnappings and arbitrary arrests of Malian journalists and opinion leaders. International media journalists have had their authorities denied. In early February, Daouda Magassa, a close supporter of the imam Mahmoud Dicko, was detained by State Security. Dicko was due to return to Mali in mid-February.
In late January, the army and members of the Wagner group were again accused of a massacre, this time of a dozen people in the region of Douentza in the centre of Mali. Half a dozen people had been reported to have been executed by the same forces in early December in the region of Timbuktu.
Despite this repression, the attacks by armed militants continue. On 7th February, for example, around 30 civilians were killed while travelling in a convoy guarded by the army and Russian mercenaries. They were travelling in the north of Mali about 30 miles from Goa. In response, the transporters of Goa went on strike. They were demanding not to be escorted by the army that made them a target for the militants.
In June 2024, 11 leading politicians were arrested for demanding the return to civilian rule. The same month, magistrates threatened a three-day strike to denounce political pressure and demand respect for judicial principles. In late November the Prime Minister of Mali was removed days after he criticised the junta for delays in the return to civilian rule. He was replaced by a military general.
Also in June 2024, the National Union of Banks, Insurance Companies, Financial Institutions and Enterprises of Mali (SYNABEF) held a three-day strike by banks and petrol stations and won the release of its secretary general, Hamadoun Bah after five nights in detention. Bah is also the secretary general of UNTM, the largest trade union centre in Mali. A coalition of political parties and associations (Synergy of Action for Mali) also called for protests against the high cost of living and power cuts.
Again in June 2024, the higher education union, SNESUP held a three day strike. They had several grievances, including the suspension of the Dean of the Faculty of Economics and Management and the implementation of the agreement recently reached with the government following the previous indefinite strike in 2023. They also demanded improvements in working conditions, salary increases, regularization of salary arrears and security for schools and universities.
At the end of October, the head of one of the cattle markets in the capital, Bamako, was arrested by state security. This was after a one day strike over the relocation of the cattle market. In addition, Daouda Konaté, secretary general of the prison guards’ trade union, was detained on October 25, for “undermining the credibility and security of the State”. Shortly before his arrest, he had criticized the Malian prison system.
At about the same time, the prison guards threatened to go on strike as Daouda Konaté, the general secretary of their union and another comrade were arrested. The union is particularly concerned about prison over-crowding in Mali and Daouda had made a statement about this a few days before his disappearance. At the end of October, the cybercrime prosecutor in Mali announced an investigation against Daouda Konaté and he was charged with “undermining state security”.
At the end of 2024, two trade unions of university lecturers announced a strike from 27 January, 2025 to 15th February, with automatic renewal. The strike concerns the immediate payment of a research bonus, agreed in 2017.
Presidential elections scheduled for 27 February 2024, which would have allowed a return to civilian rule, were again postponed in September 2023. In April and May 2024, the Malian military authorities organised the Inter-Malian Dialogue, national consultations aimed at proposing solutions to the political and security crisis in Mali. The dialogue produced 300 recommendations, including calls to “extend the transition period from two to five years” and to “promote the candidacy of Colonel Assimi Goïta in the next presidential elections“.
Niger
The military authorities in Niger have cracked down on the opposition, media, and peaceful dissent since taking power in July 2023, says Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch and the International Federation for Human Rights (IFHR).
On May 29, the justice and human rights minister issued a circular suspending all visits by human rights organizations to Nigerien prisons “until further notice“, in violation of national and international human rights law.
On August 27, 2024, Gen. Abdourahamane Tiani established “an automated data processing file containing personal data of people, groups of people or entities involved in acts of terrorism.” “Niger’s new counterterrorism order allows people to be labelled suspected terrorists on vague criteria and with no credible evidence,” said Human Rights Watch. Those included in the database face severe consequences, including being denied the ability to travel nationally and internationally, and having their assets frozen.
On 17th January, after the broadcast of a report on the effectiveness of government ministers, programs of the major private Canal 3 TV channel were suspended for one month and its editor-in-chief was suspended for three months. The editor was interviewed by the police and two days later he was released and the suspensions were lifted and the channel was back on air. Suspensions of several international media, such as RFI, France 24 and the BBC remain in place.
The editor of the daily L’Enquêteur, Idrissa Soumana Maiga, was imprisoned from April to July 2024 for “undermining national defense,” before being granted provisional release. In September and October 2023, journalist Samira Sabou was arrested and held incommunicado, before being granted provisional release, charged with disseminating information likely to disturb public order.
In early February, the International Red Cross were asked to leave the country.
The Trade Union of Magistrates of Niger (SAMAN) called for a 72 hour strike at the beginning of June, 2024 to defend judicial independence and protest against the intervention of the executive branch in judicial affairs.
In mid-September, two journalists’ unions expressed their concern about the disappearance since 1st September of their Ivorian colleague Serge Mathurin Adou, and demanded explanations from the authorities.
Negotiations opened between government ministers and trade union leaders in mid-October. Before the coup, the trade unions held a two day general strike to demand the harmonization of allowances for all state agents, the recruitment of contract civil servants in education and health to the civil service and the increase in the minimum wage. These demands remain to be addressed. However, in July the price of petrol was reduced from 550 à 499 FCFA (N1,500 to N1,350) and in August the fees and charges in public hospitals were reduce by 50%.
In late November 2024, one in 12 pensioners had their files deleted from the list of public sector pensioners. They already suffered delays and problems in being paid their pensions.
Guinea
A widely supported three-day general strike was held in February 2024. The call was launched by trade unions from the public, private and informal sectors, seeking a reduction in the prices of basic necessities and an end to media censorship. The unions also demanded and won the release of Sékou Jamal Pendessa, Secretary General of the Union of Press Professionals of Guinea. The strike received the support of the main political parties and most civil society organisations.
Michel Pépé Balamou, Secretary General of the National Education Union (SNE) and member of the National Negotiation Coalition for the union side, pointed out that the “fed up” feeling went beyond the trade union members:
“Beyond the union organizations, you will observe on the ground a generalized discontent of all workers, of the entire Guinean population in relation to the impoverishment in which they find themselves, but also the high cost of living, the increase in the price of basic necessities, without prior consultation with the unions.”
There was then a truce between the military and the opposition and civil society. In May, the military regime released Foniké Menguè and two other civil society leaders while civil society suspended its demonstrations.
But then, the Prime Minister said in late September: “We do not yet have complete and precise information on where they may be,” in response to a question about the disappearance, since July 9, of two activists from the National Front for the Defense of the Constitution (FNDC), Foniké Menguè and Mamadou Billo Bah. Since then there has been no news about their whereabouts.
In July, the Guinean customs also seized nearly a thousand copies of the autobiography of Foniké Menguè. The stock of books was being transported from Dakar. According to the Customs Directorate, it was seized at the land border with Guinea for reasons of “public order and public security.” At the end of October 2024, the junta dissolved about 50 political parties and suspended another 50. Earlier in the year the junta agreed to hold elections by the end of 2024 but then backtracked on this in July.
Earlier in October, the trade union centre, the National Confederation of Guinea Workers (CNTG) demanded the full implementation of the agreement of November 2023. This included the negotiation of a revised minimum wage for the private and informal sectors and improved public sector transport services.
At the end of November workers at the mobile company MTN were considering strike over the sale of the company to a local firm. The workers particularly criticized the management of MTN Guinea for “refusing to involve trade unionists in discussions and negotiations concerning points affecting workers in the sales process.”
In January 2025, miners were threatening to go out on strike. They were calling for improved living and working conditions for employees in the mining sector and an end to the delays in negotiations.
Conclusions
The military coups in West Africa have not addressed the key issues of poverty, inequality and corruption. Neither have they been able to address the high levels of insecurity. This was the main issue most of the juntas gave for removing the previous civilian governments. Where the insecurity is worse, especially in Burkina Faso and Mali, the military coups have led to a major worsening of human rights.
However, the trade unions have managed to continue to organise, although in some cases they have largely made their peace with the military governments. Perhaps in isolated cases, they are continuing to reassert their rights and to push for improvements in the conditions of their members. We can only hope that this will continue and that they are able to address the issues of deep poverty and inequality that led to and maintain the high levels of insecurity.
This assertion of trade union activism is also needed in the other countries of West Africa that are still ruled by civilian governments. Here poverty, inequality and corruption also remain major issues and will not change with the removal of French military forces or other largely nationalistic measures.
Salvador Ousmane is a Nigerian socialist who has spent years involved in activism, socialist organising and the development of radical organisations and ideas for an anti-capitalist future in Africa.
Feature Photograph: Pro-junta Demonstration in Bamako, Mali in 2021 ( Wiki Commons)
Africa’s health systems are deeply influenced by the structures of the global political economy. From international financial institutions (IFIs) to private health initiatives, the governance of health in Africa reflects stark inequalities. In this piece, Vivek N.D. explores how systemic issues within global health governance influence Africa’s health landscape, examine the environmental and economic factors worsening health crises and discuss the challenges faced by regional initiatives like the Africa Centres for Disease Control and Prevention (Africa CDC). The piece provides a critical analysis of the interaction between global and local factors, highlighting systemic flaws in Africa’s health governance.
By Vivek N.D.
Africa’s health crises cannot be disentangled from global health governance systems. The World Health Organisation reports a 34% global decline in maternal mortality from 2000 to 2020, yet Southern Africa still accounts for nearly 70% of maternal deaths. Persistent high rates in the region stem from challenges like limited access to quality care, inadequate infrastructure, poor socioeconomic conditions and low awareness of maternal health. These challenges are in turn closely linked to the structural adjustments imposed in the late 1980s and early 1990s by two of the most ruthless institutions at the heart of the Western neoliberal ensemble, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank. Historically, structural adjustment programmes (SAPs) mandated reductions in public spending, crippling health infrastructure across the continent.
Since the 2000s, the influence of private foundations and public private partnerships (PPPs) also underscores the asymmetric power dynamics in global health governance. Initiatives like the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation (BMGF) and the GAVI Alliance may have achieved measurable successes, such as increasing vaccination rates, but these achievements often come at the expense of systemic health improvements. Their initiatives prioritise disease-specific vertical programme-interventions (focusing on, for instance, TB or malaria), side-lining the broader social and political determinants of health including poverty, lack of healthy food options and poor environmental conditions.
Moreover, pharmaceutical companies play a pivotal role in perpetuating inequalities. Pharmaceutical companies, through WTO patent restrictions and profit-driven policies, have perpetuated health inequities especially for African people living with HIV and AIDS. Over the past decade, tens of millions of lives have been saved in Africa through the widespread use of antiretroviral therapy (ART), with 20.8 million of the 25.6 million people living with HIV in the region on ART by the end of 2022. However, rising HIV drug resistance, driven by genetic changes in the virus, threatens the effectiveness of all current medications, including newer antiretrovirals. As of 2023, the global cases of HIV and AIDS related deaths stood at 630,000. The figure for East and Southern Africa was 260,000, accounting for 42% of global deaths.
Africa’s health challenges are further compounded by the climate crisis, which is disproportionately driven by industrialised nations. Rising temperatures, erratic rainfall, and extreme weather events are worsening health outcomes across the continent. For instance, the incidence of malaria has risen sharply in the past 20 years, and is projected to further increase in East Africa as rising temperatures expand the habitats of disease-carrying mosquitoes.
The links between global neoliberal economic models and Africa’s environmental health crises are stark. For example, Kabwe in Zambia is one of Africa’s worst pollution hotspots due to toxic waste from a former lead and zinc mine, once owned by Anglo-American and other colonial companies, later nationalised and closed in 1994, but never cleaned up. Despite local protests and media coverage, efforts to hold these corporations accountable remain limited. Similarly, deforestation in the Congo Basin, driven by global demand for palm oil and timber, has disrupted ecosystems and heightened the risk of zoonotic diseases.
Industrialised nations bear significant responsibility for these crises, yet their commitments to funding climate adaptation in Africa fall short. As of 2022, developed countries provided USD 115.9 billion in climate finance to developing nations. At COP29 in Baku, Azerbaijan developed nations pledged to lead in raising USD 300 billion annually for developing countries by 2035. However, actual disbursements remain far below this target, leaving African countries to shoulder the dual burden of health crises and environmental degradation.
Global health institutions and partnerships, while instrumental in tackling specific diseases, often perpetuate dependency. Programmes like the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria (GFATM) have undoubtedly saved millions of lives. However, their disease-centric approach undermines the development of comprehensive health systems.
The African CDC, established to coordinate the continent’s public health response, faces significant challenges. It remains heavily reliant on external funding, limiting its ability to assert autonomy in health governance. Furthermore, the fragmentation of health priorities among African nations hampers the CDC’s ability to implement continent-wide strategies effectively. This reflects the broader marginalisation of African voices in global health decision-making.
The influence of multinational corporations further complicates the situation. Companies involved in global health initiatives (GHIs) often prioritise profit over equity. For instance, the Roll Back Malaria Partnership, while celebrated for its successes, has faced criticism for being highly dependent on donor contributions. In addition, its efforts are hampered as a result of initiatives being designed to privilege donor interests over local needs. As Seye Abimbola, et al. state, “Much too often, international donors and funding organisations who come as ‘saviours,’ prefer to fund projects that address their own interests, on their own terms. This, in turn, leads to a waste of resources, loss of local research interest, and lack of trust between grantees and donors.” Such dynamics expose the systemic inequalities embedded in global health governance.
The COVID-19 pandemic laid bare the inadequacies of global health governance. Initiatives like COVAX, which was said to have been designed to ensure equitable vaccine distribution, failed to meet their objectives. High-income countries hoarded vaccine supplies, leaving low-income nations with limited access. The COVID-19 pandemic starkly illustrated the ill-effects of vaccine nationalism: while wealthier nations secured over 70% of vaccine doses by 2021, Africa faced a severe shortage, with vaccination rates lagging behind the global average. As of 14 August 2024, 13.6 billion vaccine doses were administered globally, with African countries accounting for 863 million doses, fully vaccinating only 32.4% of the continent’s population.
This inequity reflects broader structural flaws. Intellectual property rights, enforced by the WTO, prevent the local production of vaccines in Africa. Further, in the context of Africa, persistent colonial extractive institutions have contributed to the technological and industrial underdevelopment of Africa’s pharmaceutical sector, resulting in a lock-in effect that hampers progress. Efforts by South Africa and India to secure a waiver on COVID vaccine patents faced strong opposition from pharmaceutical companies and wealthier nations, illustrating how global systems prioritise profit over public health.
Moreover, the pandemic highlighted the limited capacity of African health systems to manage large-scale crises. The reliance on external funding and expertise underscores the need for self-sufficiency. However, achieving this requires dismantling the systemic barriers imposed by global institutions and rethinking the political economy of health.
Global health governance must confront its structural inequalities. This requires dismantling the power asymmetries that prioritise the interests of wealthier nations and multinational corporations over the needs of vulnerable populations. Without addressing these systemic flaws, the goal of equitable global health systems will remain elusive. It is important to note the Africa CDC’s New Public Health Order launched in 2023 which aims to enhance health security in Africa through stronger institutions, workforce development, local manufacturing, increased investment and equitable partnerships. Reimagining health governance requires a fundamental shift in priorities. This includes holding multinational corporations accountable for their role in health crises, ensuring equitable funding for climate adaptation and empowering African institutions to lead the continent’s health agenda. Most importantly, it demands a departure from the disease-specific, donor-driven models that have dominated global health governance. The lessons of COVID-19 and ongoing health crises underscore the urgency of this transformation. Africa’s health systems must be strengthened not through external dependency but through investments in local capacities and structural reforms. Only then can the continent navigate the complex challenges of the 21st century and achieve health equity for its people.
Vivek N.D. is a writer based in Bangalore and founder of the Nenmi9 Fellowship. He specialises in global health governance, development issues, and non-traditional areas of international relations in relation to Asia and Africa. He has a PhD in Political Science from the University of Hyderabad. He has published extensively in academic journals and media outlets like Development in Practice, Geneva Health Files, and Geopolitical Monitor.
For 50 years, ROAPE has brought our readers path-breaking analysis on radical African political economy in our quarterly review, and for more than ten years on our website. Subscriptions and donations are essential to keeping our review and website alive. Please consider subscribing or donating today.
Presenting new research, Dylan Sullivan and Jason Hickel mount a devastating critique of the impact of structural adjustment in Africa in the 1980s and 1990s. Drawing on recent data on Africa’s material resource use, Sullivan and Hickel show how during this period structural adjustment programmes led to a significant increase in ‘unequal ecological exchange’, a process whereby African countries were compelled to export more materials, energy, and other resources than they received in imports. The difference between the two, Sullivan and Hickel argue, represented a transfer of real tangible materials from Africa to the capitalist world economy, for free.
By Dylan Sullivan and Jason Hickel
During the 1980s and 1990s, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank forced governments across Africa to implement neoliberal structural adjustment programmes (SAPs). SAPs compelled post-colonial governments to cut public services and public-sector production, remove labour market regulations and wage protections, privatize sovereign assets, and eliminate protectionist measures and industrial policy aimed at achieving sovereign industrial development.
These reforms dismantled the progressive policies that were then being pursued by African nationalists and socialists, who were seeking to build their industrial base and improve living standards following the catastrophe of European colonialism. Many African leaders and scholars – including Thomas Sankara and Samir Amin – emphasized that SAPs worked to re-impose the imperial relationship, by asserting Western control over national economic policy, cheapening African resources, and organizing production around exports to the imperial core in subordinate positions within global commodity chains.
Recent data on Africa’s material resource use – i.e., the total quantity of material stuff (in tonnes) used by African economies – provides new insights into how this crisis played out (see Figure 1). ‘Domestic extraction’ (DE) per capita refers to the total quantity of raw materials extracted from the environment in Africa – in other words, all the biomass, metals, minerals, construction materials, and fossil fuels produced by Africa’s mines, farms, forests, fisheries, etc. DE represents a fairly robust indicator of physical production. We see that per capita DE declined by over 10% during the 1980s and 1990s, under structural adjustment. This strongly suggests that SAPs induced a recession, or decline in physical production, which is consistent with data showing declining GDP per capita during that period.
Crucially, however, Africa’s ‘material footprint’ (MF) per capita declined by substantially more than domestic extraction (Figure 1). MF refers to the total quantity of raw materials consumed in Africa, including those embodied in imported goods and excluding those embodied in exported goods. The MF data shows that African consumption declined by 20% from 1980 through the 1990s, and only recovered to its previous levels in 2013. The decline in African consumption was more severe than the decline in production.
Of course, a decline in material use can sometimes result from efficiency improvements, but this normally only occurs in developed economies with strong technological endowment, and is accompanied by rising GDP. This is not what occurred in Africa, where GDP declined at the same time. Indeed, African countries were not operating at the technological frontier where such efficiency improvements generally occur – a problem which was exacerbated by SAPs that slashed public investment in technological development.
The data indicates that, after 1980, Africans were producing less, but they were consuming even less than they produced. Where did the missing output go? It was exported to the rest of the world, and without an equivalent material return.
Figure 1. Material resource use per capita in Africa (1=1980).
Source: materialflows.net.
We can see this pattern when we look at the export data. Figure 2 shows African exports from 1980 to the early 2000s, measured both in dollar terms and in ‘raw material equivalents.’[1] Note that raw material equivalents include primary commodity exports as well as intermediate and final goods, and all materials embodied in their production. This data confirms that, while Africa’s material consumption was declining, material exports were increasing at a rapid pace. In other words, it appears that Africa’s productive capacity and material output was redirected away from regional needs toward exports. However, even while physical exports were increasing, there was a decline in the total amount of money that Africa received for them. While the physical and monetary values of exports increased in tandem during the 1970s, there was a dramatic break in the 1980s and the two diverged. This indicates that Africa’s export prices were crushed, such that Africa earned less per unit of export (see Table 1).
Figure 2. Exports from Africa (1=1980).
Source: materialflows.net and IMF trade statistics.
It is worth pausing here to appreciate the value of assessing trade in this way. Assessments of conventional trade data – i.e., measured in monetary terms – suggest that Africa’s exports declined in the 1980s. But Figure 2 and Table 1 demonstrate that this is an illusion: an effect of declining prices. In reality, Africa’s physical exports increased while earnings on exports declined. This data adds an important new piece to the story of structural adjustment.
SAPs crushed African prices in several ways. They eliminated export controls and other government programmes aimed at securing fair prices for African farmers and producers. They also eliminated labour protections and caused mass unemployment, putting downward pressure on wages and prices, all while restricting public spending and forcing governments to pursue deflationary fiscal policies. SAPs effectively compressed domestic demand, cheapening resources and making them available to the export sector – a process known as income deflation.
Table 1: Exports from Africa to the world in the era of structural adjustment programmes.
Source: materialflows.net and IMF trade statistics.
As a result of these dynamics, African countries were compelled to export more physical goods to maintain the same level of physical imports in raw material equivalents. We can see this pattern clearly in Figure 3. While Africa’s material exports increased by 55% during the 1980s and 1990s, its material imports remained virtually stagnant. The difference between the two represents a free gift to the capitalist world economy – a transfer of real tangible materials from Africa to the rest of the world, for free. In 1980, Africa was already net-exporting 720 million tonnes of embodied materials to the rest of the world. By the early 2000s, this had increased to 1.5 billion. Structural adjustment forced Africa to double its exports to the rest of the world, while receiving no equivalent return, and while domestic consumption collapsed.
Figure 3. African exports and imports measured in raw material equivalents (1=1980).
Source: materialflows.net
These patterns help to explain why governments and capitalists in the Global North have been so eager to force SAPs onto Africa, despite the clear human costs. By reducing African consumption, crushing African prices, and reorganizing production around exports, SAPs led to a marked increase in ‘unequal ecological exchange,’ a process whereby African countries are compelled to export more materials, energy, and other resources than they receive in imports. By suppressing African export prices relative to imports, SAPs worked to increase the outflow of materials. Imports stagnated while exports increased. Africa’s productive capacities and resources which could have been invested in sovereign industrialization and human development were instead cheapened and exported to service accumulation in the imperial core.
[1] We adjusted the dollar value of exports for inflation using the US consumer price index, obtained from the International Monetary Fund.
Dylan Sullivan is a PhD candidate under a cotutelle agreement between Macquarie University, Sydney, and the Autonomous University of Barcelona. His research focuses on global inequality, poverty measurement, political economy, and socialist planning.
Jason Hickel is a ICREA Professor at the Institute for Environmental Science and Technology (ICTA-UAB) at the Autonomous University of Barcelona, and Visiting Professor at the London School of Economics and Political Science. His research focuses on global inequality, imperialism, and international development. His most recent books are “The Divide: A brief guide to global inequality and its solutions”, and “Less is more: How degrowth will save the world”.
Featured Photograph: The Board of Governors of International Monetary Fund in 1999 (Wikimedia Commons).
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Matthew Quest questions why C.L.R. James is not widely recognised as a founder of African Studies. He asks readers to consider why James’ contributions to the deep study of African history and culture are less known compared to his engagement with anti-colonial African party politics and political economy. Foreshadowing his forthcoming, thoroughly researched study, Quest begins to reveal how James challenged the imperial cultural apparatus as a teacher and learner of African Diaspora heritage who inspired continental African scholars.
By Matthew Quest
CLR James (1901-1989) is a founding father of the modern Pan African movement. Yet, why is he not more consistently recognised as a founder of African Studies? This is a provocation, an incitement to raise questions and research his legacies. After outlining a renewed case for James’ contributions, alert to the hindrances he faced, we will share some amazing facts. They are astonishing for their transcendence of narrow political-economy toward asking cultural questions many have falsely manufactured as beyond his ken. Perhaps this is a result that James’ outlook on African Studies is not that of a Europhile, but clashes with certain cultural nationalists, black capitalists, and hierarchical thinkers.
African Studies, separate from James’ engagement, has always been political. Post-colonial scholarship has tried to center ethical dilemmas associated with these pursuits. Still, certain epistemic and cultural questions can be quite challenging. Especially when the African continent was artificially estranged from world history due to white supremacy and empire, the African Diaspora heritage learner bore the burden of this exclusion. James was manifestly among those who strived to reclaim Africa’s place in the humanities and social sciences and ignited sparks toward the African renaissance.[1]
CLR James deserves his place as a founder of African Studies. Respected by African continental scholars, James helped cultivate many toward intellectual breakthroughs. James also stood by challenges to Area Studies, or the imperial cultural apparatus, who in the name of objectivity openly and subtly gathered knowledge of Africa to keep the continent subordinate.
Mindful of Degradation: Speaking to the ‘Angry’ and ‘Emotional’
Mindful of a common heritage of degradation and contemporary disempowerment, CLR James knew how to teach students of Africa who were often dismissed by official authorities as excessively ‘emotional’ and ‘angry’. A master teacher who demystified colonial myths about why Africans could not govern themselves, he also led profound discussions about the content of civilisations. James would always leave his audiences imagining how they would take responsibility for economic planning, judicial affairs, foreign relations, and all education and cultural matters. Far more than we realise, that is what African rites of passage socialised humans to do, whether subsequently enslaved, conquered, feudal aristocrat, modern administrator, or aspiring toiler.
Most have grasped James’ confession narratives about what he could not easily understand as a young colonial and as someone who was educated to be a member of the British literary middle class.[2] Certainly, the colonial mapping of the continent and its distorted discourses, caused James occasional confusion. Some, in the name of race-first Black Nationalism, mistakenly feel James had permanent Eurocentric blind spots as a result of his Graeco-Roman classical education. Yet, this was almost always the education on the continent and in the diasporas through which the pioneers of African Studies began their lives, a generation before and after CLR James. This was not paradoxical, so long as we keep in mind all African thinkers need not be readers and writers. Why has this disproportionately been left at James’s feet as an unresolved historical problem?
After his formal education had been completed, James was first discovering Africa. Whether at historically black colleges among African Americans, elite colonial schools in the Caribbean, or African continental missionary schools, most began with Latin and Greek language, European history and literature, and the Bible. And it was by these means that the proficient and insightful discovered ancient Egypt, Ethiopia, and Nile Valley Civilisations.
For those who were not raised within African rites of passage, some were able to learn (after leaping over obstacles) about African languages, cosmologies, the arts, West and Central African and other pre-colonial civilisations, after having had foundations that if were not unfit, or an impediment to learning about Africa, delayed a proper focus. Nevertheless, the Graeco-Roman classics, were for many a secret language of movable tropes and changeable analogies, that empowered cultural nationalisms and anti-colonial self-confidence in the best sense as found in the African world.[3] To be manifestly clear, this doesn’t mean that we should not begin with African languages and more focused pre-colonial cultural engagement today. Still, CLR James, whether he and the world knew it or not, was prepared to be a founding father of African Studies.
Stimulating the Coming Emancipation of Africa
Many are familiar with James’s contributions to anti-colonial politics, particularly in defence of Ethiopia, Kenya, Ghana, and Tanzania. CLR is remembered as mentor, colleague, and fellow traveller of Ghana’s Kwame Nkrumah, Kenya’s Jomo Kenyatta, Tanzania’s Julius Nyerere, and for a brief moment which must be revisited, Ethiopia’s Haile Selassie. But famously, from the perspective of taking seriously bringing a new society closer, he was also their critic.
It has been a mistake to think James was only interested in questions about the state, political economy, and party politics, and gave very little thought to deeper African cultural inquiry. Why has this historical challenge not been made to his Trinidadian comrade in Pan-Africanism, George Padmore, who engaged the substance of African cultures far less than James in his own legacies?
In fact, with proper research, James’ interest in the nuances of African cultures was intermittent but not invisible. Further, when we historically reconstruct his private life of reading, we are astonished at his perennial interest in African anthropologies broadly defined.
As is made clear in his 1971 lectures in Atlanta, CLR James’ The Black Jacobins (1938, 1963), about the Haitian Revolution, “had Africa in mind” and wished to “stimulate the coming emancipation of Africa.” James was clear, despite archival research, that he could only imagine what the Haitian Revolution had been while being alert to the struggles he had been living through in the 1930s – what the Ethiopians and emerging Africans were doing to fight for their self-directed liberating future. There could be no Black liberation, underlined James, without clearing minds of notions that Africa was historically and culturally inferior.
His A History of Pan African Revolt (1938, 1969), especially in its first edition, highlighted obscure rebellions of Africans not merely as workers and farmers, but as inspired by their own ideas emerging from their own ethnic groups, religions, and cosmologies. In many ways this built on the conclusion to The Black Jacobins that many ignore; the future African revolutions will not be led by doctors, lawyers, or the formally educated.
James’ later Nkrumah and the Ghana Revolution (1977) restored direct democracy and dual power to the anti-colonial revolt of 1947-1951 and discussed a political leader who would be a cultivator of the popular will, that included Ghana’s market women, industrial workers, and the ‘verandah boys.’ While unique personalities cultivate the popular will, such as Haiti’s Toussaint Louverture and Ghana’s Kwame Nkrumah, leading a revival campaign of everyday people’s self-governing capacities (which had been degraded and conquered), at a certain point the obscure toilers take the lead of the anti-colonial revolution.[4]
From Left to Right: Kwame Ture, Walter Rodney and C.L.R. James, Richard Douglass of the All Afrikan People’s Party. At a forum on Pan-Africanism and Class struggle at Howard University in 1974 (Credit Dwayne Wong Omowale)
The African proletariat is the chief actor of African History
James insisted that the chief actor in African history was the African proletariat (which he defined flexibly as the emerging enslaved, peasant-farmer, unemployed, and industrial worker). He underscored it is not leaders of party politics and the formally educated. Further, future movements would have to overcome the African nation-state for its elitist worldviews toward women and toilers in particular. As a historian, James had an unapologetic philosophy of history. He rejected pretences to objectivity and reason that believed everyday people (especially the barefoot) couldn’t govern society and that all there could be was reform of decrepit policies and revision of degrading elite representative government that was designed never to include the obscure African multitudes.
There is no question that Kenya’s Ngugi wa Thiongo, Maina wa Kinyatti, and Oginga Odinga; Nigeria’s Wole Soyinka, Kenneth O. Dike, Herbert Ekwe Ekwe, Olafemi Taiwo, Toyin Falola; Congo’s Jacques Depelchin and Ernest Wambia-dia-Wamba; Ghana’s Kofi Buenor Hadjor, Akyaaba Addai-Sebo, Charles Quist-Adade, and Vincent Dodoo; Somalia’s P.L.E. Idahosa and Hussein Adam; and Tanzania’s Issa Shivji, Arnold Temu, Bonaventure Swai, Godfrey Mwakikagile and James Karioki, among many others, have valued, and learned with James’ African Studies.[5] Scholars such as Terisa Turner and Leigh Brownhill, inspired by James, have centered women from Nigeria to Kenya in dynamic ways.[6]
CLR James explained that Walter Rodney’s generation (1942-1980) was able to more confidently pursue African Studies exactly because a series of diasporic thinkers and forerunners including Marcus Garvey, W.E.B. Du Bois, George Padmore, Aime Cesaire, and himself previously established there was nothing inferior about African historical and cultural achievement before they were born.[7]
James, like earlier African Diaspora heritage and continental heritage learners, relied also on European scholars who had been colonial travelers and administrators, but whose insights began to approach and transcend concerns with equality with Europeans. Emil Torday, Leo Frobenius, and Maurice Delafosse gathered knowledge useful to early scholars emerging from the burdens of enslavement, colonialism, and institutional racism. They were confident that Africans, despite being systemically undermined, were equal to Europeans, when this was something astonishing for official society to acknowledge. In their social organisation, ethics, and cultural judgment they were often superior.
Still, James was living through a turning point, where African continental scholars wished to arrive on their own authority beyond moral and philosophical mediation by European scholars. James responded to European and American authorities embrace of African history and culture as a belated acknowledgement that their own gathering of knowledge had been insufficient. This meant by a certain logic, Africa’s arrival or return to the world stage. Even W.E.B. Du Bois could suggest something “new” was always coming out of Africa, from the perspective of the African Diaspora heritage learner. This outlook quite frankly astonished many continental African scholars who are constantly told their homelands are a series of crises, burdens, and problems.[8]
James’ African Studies begins at a turning point in the 1920s where opinion makers from Marcus Garvey to Maurice Delafosse, recognise that as a result of slavery and colonialism, the world had a false idea of Africa. False representations from the era of pseudo-scientific racism, insisted Africans or ‘Negroes’ were seen as ‘brutes,’ ‘stupid,’ ‘savage,’ with ugly or substandard physical traits. ‘Child-like’ and ‘primitive’ Africans, especially in the arts, were also said to be ‘retarded’ or ‘backward,’ sometimes even in the liberal mind, as a result of unfortunate or environmental circumstances. Africans appeared as irrational tribes with faith lives based on fetishes and magic.[9] The lingering notions that Africans are underdeveloped or exist outside time, with no historical achievement or progress, are incomplete transitions from invented images, where colonisers alone were said to possess reason, beauty, and technological strength.
African Studies before James was a senior, appeared to exist at its best, to prove that the continent’s humanity might be equal to that of whites. It was difficult to find the words on global stages to illustrate how Africans were superior or simply had concerns that many Europeans didn’t relate. But also many feared to find Africans had the same contoured humanity as Europeans, where individuals and small groups exhibited profound ethics, while some conveyed nasty behavior and many lacked a larger social concern.
If colonialism was a mere episode in African history, and Africans always traded with strangers including Europeans, Arabs, and other Africans deemed outsiders, the question remained why had Africans and Europeans been relative equals in the Middle Ages only for Africa to know great disparities of power technologically and economically in the twentieth century.
CLR James, besides his classical education that he shared with pioneers of African Studies, (including Cheikh Anta Diop, Drucilla Dunjee Houston, William Leo Hansberry, W.E.B. Du Bois, Wole Soyinka, Ali Mazrui) explicitly rejected racial thinking. Many who evaluate racial disparities of power today inquire if one doesn’t think with race and color, how can one redress historically rooted and contemporary structural inequalities?
What Happens When We Think Racially with Our African Studies
CLR James made it clear when we think racially we prepare our minds to accept that some Black people will sit on the backs of others.[10] It is true too many overstated cosmopolitans who wield Marxist political economy also accept this. But, it is important to consider how such outcomes are justified.
Almost all who vindicate African humanity, in general, do not affirm everyday Africans governing society. Instead, what is defended is states and ruling elites above society, Black accumulators and managers of servile life. Culturally affirming African humanity does not inherently discard hierarchy and domination.
James at his best was not preoccupied with disparities in state and capital formation for he knew decimal points of economic progress was not how African toilers, barefoot or not, would know popular and direct self-government. The barefoot for James were not a lingering African and Caribbean stereotype with gratuitous pesky flies; they were a reminder of who the post-colonial state will in no way elevate.[11]
He most often did not contribute to the notion that the aspiring African national bourgeoisie was, or could be, a progressive social class. Their relative economic rise would do nothing for everyday Africans. Many advocates of progressive political economy not only thought so, but hesitated to support African labour revolts because of their distorted search for power above society.
James did not think discussions of precolonial civilisations should be the intellectual property of those who pursued power at the expense of subordinating ordinary Africans. Similar to Eusi and Tchaiko Kwayana, who led the African cultural revolution in the Western Hemisphere, it was made clear that cultural inquiry and class struggle could be reconciled. African culture and cosmological thinking is what one found in the obscure local people.[12]
African Studies, in Britain and the United States, were not institutionalised until after World War II (1941-1945) in the imperial cultural apparatus. On the eve of independence (the late 1950s and early 1960s) many continental universities had no such courses. In the African Diaspora while some professors and journalists struggled to defend heritage learning, this existed side by side with pseudo-scientific and institutional racism. These are the contexts in which CLR James emerged as a founder of African Studies.
It is striking that those who question CLR James’s affinities, rarely equally question many continental Africans’ lack of kinship for the homeland of the African Diaspora. For those who believe they know CLR James’s legacies fairly well, consider these propositions. In the 1930s, James inquiring what it meant to be an ‘international African,’ became aware of the racial and ethnic conflicts within imperial Ethiopia and which Amhara elitists had benefited. He was aware distinct from the authority of European colonial mythologies, that some continental Africans wielded a constructed Afro-Asian identity, that didn’t relate to everyday Africans, whom they believed were culturally inferior if not worthy of servile labour. For example, most Amhara did not identify with the Oromo or Somali, and when Haile Selassie became a global figure despite the Rastafari’s movement’s affinity for him, he proclaimed he was not a ‘Negro’ or ‘Black.’[13] This dilemma is a historical problem as found among many in Sudan and the Swahili coast as well.
In the 1920s-1950s, James was alert early to the Kikuyu cosmology and what it told him about rites of passage, the education of children and land’s significance for Africans and Kenyans specifically. He was even early aware (though he could be forgetful) that British colonisers were threatened by Kenyans’ wish for education in their own languages, particularly Kikuyu and Swahili. James was instrumental in getting Jomo Kenyatta’s Facing Mount Kenya published in the late 1930s.[14]
In the same period, James having read Emil Torday’s studies of the Bushongo (known today as the Kuba) of the Congo, concluded that before colonialism they had essentially lived a happy life. This was his initial pre-colonial gloss on the Haitian enslaved’s African heritage. But remarkably, he found that the monarch had little but ceremonial power, their homes and communities had a profound aesthetic vitality, and real political activity was distinguished by councils of labour and women.[15]
Before African Studies was Institutionalised: Lecturing About Precolonial African Civilisations
In late 1939 in New York City, James gave public lectures not merely on the political economy of slavery and colonialism as it impacted Africa, but also West African precolonial civilisations (i.e. Songhai, Mali, Mossi, etc) and Nile Valley antiquity. He was aware of Africans and African Diaspora heritage learners who saw Nile Valley civilisations as ‘black’ and thought the argument ‘clever.’ He also understood it was a mistake to think West African achievement in the Middle Ages was only a product of Arabic and Islamic influence. This was more than fifteen years before he wrote Every Cook Can Govern, his meditation on direct democracy in classical Athens.[16]
In the late 1950s, James felt the Ewe concept of time was crucial for understanding African market women in Ghana. He knew that all Ghanaian market women were not Ewe. However, what he had in mind is the way they organised the economics of wholesale-retail exchange with Europeans and Arabs, and how they prepared their work-week, essentially made them modern and cosmopolitans. They were independent women who expressed themselves in their own language and frame of mind.[17]
How many know that James’s effort to learn more about the Ashanti was repressed in his first sojourn to Ghana? Yet in his private life of reading he continued to study the political and cosmological implications of the sacred stools of the Akan, whether found among the Twi or Fanti speakers. James came to learn that the Ashanti and Akan more broadly do not see their ancestors as gods but intercessors.[18]
In the late 1950s and early 1960s, after the previous epoch where most African Americans played down their African cultural heritage fearful that white racist authorities would use these facts to take away their civic freedoms, James began to study and find that African cosmologies and philosophies, religion, medicine, arts, crafts, and scientific work cultures were intertwined. He increasingly was aware that if he didn’t study Haitian Vodou, Cuban Santeria, and African languages in Rwanda, Kenya, or Tanzania and emerging African literature properly – as a whole – one could sustain anti-African myths about “traditions” that existed outside time and progress.[19] James increasingly if intermittingly understood that the dead, living and unborn were in conversation in African ontologies.
Beyond Natives without Culture: In Search of African Cultural Survivals
In the same time period, James could intermittently argue that Afro-Caribbean people (not continental Africans) were “natives without culture,” and this placed them at an advantage for bringing a new society closer. Yet this was unsatisfactory to some Afro-Caribbean critics. At the same time, James increasingly placed the intellectual legacies of Jean Price-Mars in conversation with Caribbean Carnival as part of a larger and broader conversation in the region. Was Carnival always a mere festival of drunken and sexual revelry? James was insisting one cannot understand Haitian and Caribbean history and culture without centering the Afro-Caribbean peasant-farmer, their collective memory of assembling for communion rites and directly governing. Something no Afro-Caribbean politician has ever said before or since; James pioneered this outlook twenty years before.[20]
James continued to be interested in African cultural survivals in the Western hemisphere. Further, he recognised that by the late 1950s and early 1960s, continental Africans in Ghana, Nigeria, Congo, and Senegal wished to be in dialogue about them with Haiti, Brazil, and the Anglophone Caribbean. Twenty years before this was not so. With the rise of Nkrumah’s Ghana, the African heritage among African Americans is not as widely rejected as before. Heritage learners in the Americas increasingly find they have their origins in the Akan-Ashanti, the Dahomeans (today part of Benin), the Yoruba of western Nigeria, and the Bini or Edo people (Esan, Afemai, Isoko, and Urhobo) of eastern Nigeria.[21]
James found, from the perspective of absentee ownership, one could comparatively consider plantation systems in West Africa and the Americas. He was pleased to see the discourse on African religions as so many “fetishes” in decline. Further, he recognised the African Diaspora’s capacity to adapt their cosmologies to the Americas upon arrival. James affirmed that Africans had a facility with language both in West Africa and in the new world. Without closer study of African religions and languages, and James always had a mediating scholar to assist him, it made it impossible to see that Africans brought to the Western hemisphere their own capacity for moral philosophy and judicial affairs.
As James took part in wider discussions of rebel slaves in the United States, the Caribbean, and Brazil, the cosmological significance of their political thought became clarified to him. Further, their lack of fear of apparent suicidal action. Yet James foreshadowed these notions but there was no global conversation about this among scholars when he was writing The Black Jacobins in the 1930s.
In the late 1960s and early 1970s, James found that one could not overlook the significance of Yoruba sculpture and Ijala poetry for grasping history, religion, and contemporary thinking in Nigeria. Further, he found upon his visit to Nigeria few are aware, that a significant number of anti-colonial thinkers were placing local African histories and their cosmologies in conversation with Greek antiquity city-states and their communion rites.[22] These Nigerians included Wole Soyinka, Dennis Osadebay, and EJ Alagoa. But how many are aware James took interest in Duro Ladipo’s, Obatunde Ijimere’s and J.P. Clark’s plays without these concerns? Or the artist Prince Twins Seven-Seven? This modern African artist with cosmological themes was part of the cultural revolution that began to discard references to Picasso to legitimise African art. His inspiration was Oludamare. Whether James fully grasped this contention, we have evidence of his encounter with these amazing facts.[23]
In the 1970s, James lectured from Michigan to Mississippi, inquiring if his young Black Power audiences knew Africa had great precolonial civilisations. He would compliment his audiences, that he could see it in their eyes that they had a burgeoning consciousness.[24] He generously said that when he was their age he did not know of their presence or importance. In this epoch, at Howard University and Federal City College (now University of the District of Columbia), James taught in an environment where a Black capitalist oriented cultural nationalism predominated.[25] Many would be surprised to know while he of course leaned toward Julius Nyerere and Walter Rodney in his African Studies courses, he discussed widely with his students Cheikh Anta Diop’s African Origin of Civilization and Chancellor Williams’s The Destruction of Black Civilization. He taught about African art including the Tasili Frescoes that can be found in a national park in south-eastern Algeria. He also encouraged his students to watch the film Battle of Algiers. But he also stimulated discussion of Ewe proverbs, Congo masks and sculpture, and Akan cosmology’s relation to Christianity.[26]
In the 1970s and 1980s, James had an affinity for the Nyamwezi-Sukuma of northwestern Tanzania. Trying to penetrate an inner Africa, he found the history of these people was marked by long distance trade from the west to the east. Their heritage was not isolated or insular. When the contradictions and repression of Julius Nyerere’s Ujamaa experiment was finally exposed, James found they had created a “sungusungu” movement of popular committees to fight government corruption and crime among their own people. This initiative was a thoughtful self-directed response to the consequences of economic depression.[27]
Conclusion
Many can survey aspects of James’s teaching and learning and twist their face about his ideals and the limits of what he grasped about Africa, as he intermittently discovered and sustained understanding of African cultural foundations. Yet after middle age, what half-hidden but essential intellectual project has the reader taken up in relative isolation and disapproval to transform world understanding against the current?
From his early Caribbean years, CLR James was alert to African and syncretic forms of faith among toiling women. Also the place of Black domestic servants below higher paid Black wage earners contributed to his innovative grasp of the work cultures on the African continent. James saw in the African world a profound self-reliance among African market women, peasant-farmers, oilfield workers, dockworkers, and soldiers. He saw multi-directional flows of modernity through labour migrations. Science and technology, as knowledge for self-government, was most often gathered from below informally through workspaces. James knew advanced and global economic modes of production weren’t contained in imperial centers alone. Historical and economic development did not leave colonised Africans backward in any substantial way that impeded popular and direct self-government.
How many African cultural nationalists beyond hierarchy and domination are really concerned about this? Without a doubt, James while rejecting racial thinking meditated intensely on African cultures. This meant he never thought of African labour as an imperial or peripheral nation’s capital to be exploited and disposed.
James did not complete his journey in recognising and recording self-emancipating African toilers rooted in their own cosmologies, speaking their own languages, and conveying a heritage rooted in ethnic rites of passage, confronting not simply white imperialists but black officialdom. Nevertheless, despite his intermittent insights, he inspired others to find the words and methods about what he really tried to comprehend, and how we might improve on his understanding. The world of CLR James’ African Studies, beyond cheap gossip and hearsay, must be brought closer.
Featured Photograph: CLR James circa 1946, Photography by Carl Van Vechten, (Credit: Countee Cullen-Harold Jackman Collection, Robert Woodruff Library, Atlanta University Center)
Matthew Quest has taught African, Caribbean, and African American history at many colleges including Georgia State University in Atlanta and University of Arkansas at Little Rock.
[1] Martin, William G. 2011, ‘The Rise of African Studies (USA) and the Transnational Study of Africa,’ African Studies Review, 54.1 (April 2011) 58-83; Mama, Amina 2007, ‘Is it Ethical to Study Africa: Preliminary Thoughts on Scholarship and Freedom.’ African Studies Review, 50.1 (April) 1-26; Aubrey, Lisa Asili 2002, ‘African Americans in the U.S. and African Studies,’ African Issues,30.2, 19-23; Martin, William G. and Michael O. West eds. 1999, Out of One, Many Africas. Urbana: University of Illinois, 1999; Fyfe, Christoper ed. 1976, African Studies Since 1945: A Tribute to Basil Davidson, London: Longman
[2] See James, CLR. 1994. Beyond A Boundary. London: Serpent’s Tail. This is the main source for CLR’s political confession narratives of what he did not earlier understand as a result of his colonial education. Similar narratives can be found elsewhere in his archive.
[3] Ronnick, Michele V. 2004, ‘Twelve Black Classicists,’ Arion: A Journal of Humanities and Classics. 11.3 (Winter) 85-102; Goff, Barbara 2014,‘Your Secret Language:’ Classics in the British Colonies of West Africa. London: Bloomsbury; Greenwood, Emily. 2010, Afro-Greeks, New York: Oxford; Hairston, Eric A. 2013, The Ebony Column: Classics, Civilization, and the African American Reclamation of the West. Knoxville, TN: U. of Tennessee Press.
[4] James, CLR 1963 [1938], The Black Jacobins. New York: Vintage; James, CLR 1995 [1938, 1963] A History of Pan African Revolt. Chicago: Charles H Kerr; James, CLR 2000 [1971], ‘Lectures on The Black Jacobins: How I Wrote The Black Jacobins,’ Small Axe. 8 (September) 73; James, CLR 1977, Nkrumah and the Ghana Revolution. Westport, CT: Lawrence & Hill.
[5] See among other sources of African continental scholars affinity for CLR James: Thiongo, Ngugi wa 1972, Homecoming, Nairobi: Heinemann; Thiongo, Ngugi wa 2009, Something Torn and New: An African Renaissance, New York: Basic Books; Soyinka, Wole, 1975-1976, ‘Ch’indaba = Colloquium,’ Transition, 50 (October-March) 5; Shivji, Issa 1993, Intellectuals at the Hill: Essays and Talks, 1969-1993, Dar es Salaam: Dar se Salaam UP; Depelchin, Jacques 2011, Reclaiming African History, Dakar, Senegal: Pambazuka Press; Depelchin, Jacques 2005, Silences in African History, Dar es Salaam, Tanzania: Mkuki wa Nyota; Quist-Adade, Charles and Vincent Dodoo 2015, Africa’s Many Divides and Africa’s Futures: Pursuing Nkrumah’s Vision of Pan Africanism in an era of Globalization, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing; Falola, Toyin 2004, Nationalism and African Intellectuals, Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press; Dike, K.O. 1956, Trade and Politics in the Niger Delta, 1830-1855, Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press.
[6] Brownhill, Leigh 2009, Land, Food, Freedom: Struggles for the Gendered Commons in Kenya, 1870-2007.
Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press; Turner, Terisa 1994, with Bryan J. Ferguson, Arise Ye Mighty People: Gender, Class, and Race in Popular Struggles. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press; Turner, Terisa E. and Leigh S. Brownhill 2004, ‘Why Women Are At War With Chevron: Nigerian Subsistence Struggles and the International Oil Industry,’ Journal of Asian and African Studies, 39.1&2. 63-93; Turner, Terisa E. 2022, ‘Ethnicized, Genderered, Class Analysis.’ In Routledge Handbook of Ecosocialism, L. Brownhill, M. Lowy, T. Turner eds. et al. New York: Routledge. 39-48; Terisa Turner 1980, Interview with C. L. R. James, Undated Recordings, c.1980s, 4 CDs, CLR James Papers, Special Collections, Columbia University, New York, NY.
[7] James, C.L.R. 1982, ‘Walter Rodney and the Question of Power,’ In Walter Rodney: Revolutionary and Scholar, E.Alpers and P. Fontaine eds., Los Angeles, CA: UCLA CAAS. 133-134.
[8] Murunga, Godwin 2008, ‘Thoughts on Institutional and Intellectual Links Between African and Black Studies.’ African Development, (CODESERIA)33.1. 40-66.
[9] Delafosse, Maurice 1931, Negroes of Africa: History and Culture, Washington, DC: Associated Publishers;
Guillaume, Paul and Thomas Munro 1926, Primitive Negro Sculpture,New York: Harcourt Brace.
[10] Frank, Mackenzie 2015 [1985], Interview with CLR James, In Celebrating CLR James in Hackney, London. G. Bennett and C. Hogsbjerg eds. London: Redwords. 60-61.
[11] In 1932-1933, before CLR James became a revolutionary he was aware that any post-colonial government, from the perspective of the Caribbean before arriving in Britain for the first time, would in no way empower the barefoot. See James, C.L.R. 2014 [1932-1933], The Life of Captain Cipriani. With the pamphlet The Case for West Indian Self-Government. Durham, NC: Duke UP; James’s concern for the barefoot in Africa and the Caribbean can be found in The Black Jacobins, 265.
[12] Kwayana, Eusi 2013, ‘But a Visionary, Returning Exile, and Guest Activist Ready to Join In the Work of Nation-Building: CLR James’s Infuence on Guyana and Caribbean Politics,’ CLR James Journal. 19.1&2 (Fall) 199-227; Eusi and Tchaiko Kwayana 2023. Scars of Bondage. Atlanta: OOOA; Eusi Kwayana. 2012 [1972] The Bauxite Strike and the Old Politics. Updated Edition.Atlanta: OOOA; Kwayana, Tchaiko [Ann Cook] 1969, ‘Black Pride: Some Contradictions?’ In The Black Woman. T.C. Bambara ed. New York: Washington Square Press. 187-202. Quest, Matthew 2017, ‘Sister Tchaiko Kwayana: An Original Educator of the African World,’ Black Agenda Report, May 30; Kwayana, Eusi 2016, With David Hinds, The Legend: Post-Emancipation Villages in Guyana Making World History. Brooklyn, NY: Franklin and Franklin Press.
[13] Adi, Hakim 1998, West Africans in Britain, 1900-1960. London: Lawrence & Wishart. 70; Scott, William R. 2006, The Sons of Sheba’s Race: African Americans and the Italo-Ethiopian War, 1935-1941. Hollywood, CA: Tsehai. See especially Chapter 16 ‘Black or White: The Hamite Controversy.’; Jalata, Asafa 2009. ‘Being In And Out of Africa: The Impact of Duality of Ethiopianism.’ Journal of Black Studies. 40.2 (November) 189-214; Jalata, Asafa 2005, Oromia and Ethiopia: State Formation and Ethnonational Conflict, 1868-2004, Trenton, NJ: Red Sea Press. 65-102; Tibebu, Teshale 1996, ‘Ethiopia: The ‘Anomaly’ and ‘Paradox’ of Africa.’ Journal of Black Studies. 26.4 (March) 414-430; Tibebu, Teshale 1995. The Making of Modern Ethiopia, 1896-1974,Trenton, NJ: Red Sea Press.12-15.
[14] Huxley, Julian 1932, Africa View, London: Chatto & Windus; Kenyatta, Jomo 1938, Facing Mount Kenya. New York: Random House.
[15] Torday, Emil 1925, On the Trail of the Bushongo. London: Seeley, Service & Co.
[16] James, CLR 1996 [1939], [JR Johnson], ‘Destiny of the Negro: A Historical Overview,’ In CLR James on ‘The Negro Question,’ edited byScott McLemee, Jackson, MS: University Press of Mississippi; James, C.L.R. 1992 [1956], Every Cook Can Govern: Democracy in Ancient Athens, Its Meaning for Today. Detroit: Bewick.
[17] James, CLR 1977, Nkrumah and the Ghana Revolution. Westport, CT: Lawrence & Hill, 15; See also Agblemagnon, F. N’Sougan 1957, ‘‘Time’ in the ‘Ewe’ Culture.’ Presence Africaine. 14/15 (June-September) 222-232. James may have read this article in French. This was a special issue collecting contributions of the 1st Congress of Black Writers and Artists; Zaslavsky, Claudia 1999. Africa Counts: Numbers and Patterns in African Cultures. 3rd Edition. Chicago: Lawrence Hill, 1999. 71-72.
[18] James, CLR. Letters on Ghana. Robert A. Hill Papers, Rare Books and Manuscripts Archives, Butler Library, Columbia University, New York, NY. These letters were summarized and compiled without dates for his political organization, the Correspondence group. There are other relevant dated letters about his first sojourn to Ghana; Danquah, JB 2017, [1944] The Akan Doctrine of God,London: Routledge; Sarpong, Peter K 1971, The Sacred Stools of the Akan. Accra-Tema: Ghana Publishing Corporation.
[19] Jahn, Janheinz 1961, Muntu: the New African culture. M. Grene trans. New York: Grove Press.
[20] Wynter, Sylvia 1975, ‘Black Metamorphosis: New Natives in a New World,’ Unpublished Manuscript; Price-Mars, Jean 2004 [1926] ‘So Spoke the Uncle.’ [translated excerpts] In The Birth of Caribbean Civilisation. O. Nigel Bolland ed. Kingston, Jamaica: Ian Randle. 192-199.
[21] Herskovits, Melville 1958 [1941], Myth of the Negro Past, Boston: Beacon Press.
[22] ‘CLR James on Nigeria’ 1968, Unpublished Manuscript. CLR James Papers, Rare Books and Manuscripts Archives, Butler Library, Columbia University, NY; See Soyinka, Wole 1974, Bacchae of Euripides: A Communion Rite. New York: Norton; Osadebay, Dennis 1978, Building a Nation: An Autobiography, Ibadan: Macmillan Nigeria; Alagoa, E.J. 1964, The Small Brave City-State: A History of the Nembe-Brass in the Niger Delta. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press.
[23] Ladipo, Duro 1966, Oba Ko So (The King Did Not Hang) Ibadan: Institute for African Studies, U. of Ibadan; Ijimere, Obatunde c.1968, The Bed: A Farce. Based on a story by Sam Selvon. Oshogbo, Nigeria: Adeyemo Printing Press; Ijimere, Obatunde 1966, The Imprisonment of Obatala & Other Plays, London: Heinemann; Clark, JP, Three Plays, Ibadan: Oxford UP; See Henry Glassie. Prince Twins Seven-Seven: His Art, His Life in Nigeria, and His Exile in America. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010.
[24] ‘CLR James at Tougaloo College’ (1972). Thanks to Harry Cleaver for sharing with me this unpublished transcript; See also Quest, Matthew 2013, ‘CLR James and Kimathi Mohamed’s Circle of Black Power Activists in Michigan.’ Afterword to Organization & Spontaneity. By Kimathi Mohamed.Updated Edition. Atlanta: OOOA, 110; CLR in these lectures was particularly informed by the following two books: Davidson, Basil 1958, Old Africa Rediscovered, London: Longman; Levi-Strauss, Claude 1968, Race and History, 5th edition, Paris: UNESCO.
[25] McClendon, John H. 2005, CLR James’s Notes on Dialectics. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.3.
[26] Nielsen, Aldon L 2020, Correspondence with Author, Spring; Nyerere, Julius K. 1973, Freedom and Development. New York: Oxford UP; Nyerere, Julius K., Freedom and Socialism. London: Oxford UP; Rodney, Walter 1981. How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. Washington DC: Howard UP; Diop, Cheikh Anta 1989, African Origins of Civilization: Myth or Reality, Chicago: Lawrence Hill Books; Cunard, Nancy 1996 [1934, 1970], The Negro: An Anthology. Edited and Abridged by Hugh Ford. New York: Continuum; Lhote, Henri 1973, The Search for the Tassili Frescoes: The Story of the Prehistoric Rock-Paintings of the Sahara. London: Hutchinson.
[27] Abrahams, RG 1981, The Nyamwezi Today: a Tanzania People in the 1970s. New York: Cambridge UP; Campbell, Horace 1989, ‘Popular Resistance in Tanzania: Lessons from the Sungu Sungu,’ African Development (CODESRIA),14.4, 5-43.
In the European spring of 1845, Karl Marx wrote the now well-known line, “philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways; the point is to change it”. Here, Kenyan journalist and writer Mohamed Amin Abdishukri first interpets recent events in Kenya, arguing protests have been more reformist than revolutionary. He then details how, through sites of struggle such as Kenya’s first socialist library, Ukombozi Library, progressive social justice activists are working to bring revolutionary consciousness directly to the masses and encouraging them to imagine alternative realities that go beyond capitalism.
By Mohamed Amin Abdishukri
Towards the end of her lecture at the 2012 Mwalimu Nyerere Intellectual Festival in the University of Dar es Salaam, the late Professor Micere Githae Mugo posed the following question: “Are our minds liberated zones or occupied territories?”
Over a decade later, when Kenyans protested against the punitive IMF-backed Finance Bill 2024, when they stormed parliament, when they were gunned down in the streets, when they were abducted and tortured, when President Ruto dropped the Finance Bill, when the protests eventually diminished and the energy seemed to dissipate, when the discourse went to other fora away from the streets, I found Professor Mugo’s question haunting us with renewed urgency.
Without undermining the magnificent courage Kenyans displayed, the collective action, the resolve, and camaraderie that sent fear into the hearts of the political class some of whom had to escape like rats through underground tunnels when parliament was stormed, the #RejectFinanceBill2024 protests (and the subsequent #RutoMustGo movement) and the discourse that followed brought out the limits of action without consciousness.
In mid-August 2024, lawyer Morara Kebaso initiated the “Vampire Diaries” campaign where he went on a nationwide “de-launching” tour, dressed in Kaunda suits and mimicking the speech and mannerisms of President Ruto, inspecting and exposing stalled government projects and highlighting cases of corruption and mismanagement of taxpayers’ money. Kebaso gained meteoric prominence and amassed a large following across different social media platforms. His exposés not only increased the anger of Kenyans but they also sparked public debate and demands for accountability.
Since then, Kebaso has come under much scrutiny with some of his critics going as far as calling him the younger version of President Ruto. Kebaso has not done much to help his case and beat this allegation. He has shown glimpses of the kind of religious zealotry practiced by the evangelical Ruto, even repeating the same “God has chosen me” sentiment that Ruto used. Kebaso has also refused to account for some of the donations Kenyans raised for him citing security reasons and suggested that anyone who doesn’t support him is okay with the corrupt system. During the #EndFemicide march in December 2024, Kebaso made a mockery of a crisis that had torn through the country and stolen countless women’s lives, turning it into some men’s issue. “If they kill our women, who will we marry?” he asked, completely missing how most women are killed by their intimate partners.
Perhaps the worst of his many blunders is a remark he made on solving a defilement case through mediation between the parents of the victim and the perpetrator, a remark he made so casually while surrounded by his supporters in his office. When confronted about this on X (formerly Twitter), he dismissed this grave (and very political) issue as a trivial matter that is causing distractions away from the goal which is civic education and exposing the government’s corruption.
Kebaso is a representation of many Kenyan activists who have the same line of thinking and suffer from a “it’s not the system, it’s the people in the system” mentality. Most of them abundantly push for good governance, anti-corruption and civic education. Teaching people how the system works (or how it should work), how bills become laws, how taxes are collected and used, how to participate in the electoral process. Basically, showing people how to navigate existing institutions without questioning why these institutions exist as they are and who they generally serve. The result is a form of activism that may produce engaged citizens who know their rights but remain disconnected from radical community organizing and transformative political action.
***
Around the same time the #RejectFinanceBill2024 protests were going on, ride-hailing app drivers in Kenya rose up and protested against the low prices set by the multinational companies who owned these apps and the large percentage they took from the driver’s earnings. The drivers, in an attempt to reclaim control over the value of their labour, took things in their own hands and developed their own price list. Some went too far and turned to threats and violence against their customers – a problematic but predictable eruption of rage.
Here was a perfect moment for Kenyans to understand the drivers’ actions, to recognize how different forms of exploitation connect – how the same global capital that demands increased punitive taxes through the Finance Bill also demands that drivers accept low wages through app-based exploitation. Instead, most Kenyans responded with different Marie Antoinette-esque versions of “let them create their own apps.”
This response revealed two things. Firstly, many Kenyans are stuck in a bubble of individualism and selective solidarity. Secondly, and more importantly, many Kenyans suffer from a lack of an all-round political consciousness. The same Kenyans who could articulate detailed critiques of government taxation and state-imposed exploitation couldn’t – or wouldn’t – analyse private exploitation and economic colonisation by multinational corporations. The same Kenyans who recognised state power remained blind to corporate power.
This also explains why the #RejectFinanceBill2024 protests were more reformist (and reactionary) than revolutionary. The demands that Kenyans made largely remained within the framework of neoliberal capitalism. Kenyans rightly fought against a specific punitive bill and specific taxes but not as much against the logic and the system that makes such exploitation possible. The protests were rightly framed as a response to increased cost of living and economic hardship. But was there an adequate critique and analysis of the entire system of economic apartheid that has shaped Kenya’s history? Was there a theoretical framework to push beyond immediate demands into systemic change?
War of Position
The protests quickly morphed into the #RutoMustGo movement which had – and still has – the potential to be a truly revolutionary movement if we can agree on two things. First, the noun “Ruto” does not refer to William Samoei Ruto the individual, but rather the system that he represents, the system that produces Rutos. The second and more important thing we need to agree on is that ideological struggle must precede power struggle.
When writing about revolutions in his Prison Notebooks, the Marxist scholar Antonio Gramsci brings forth the distinction between a war of manoeuvre and a war of position. The former referring to the forceful deconstruction of the state’s power through direct clashes between revolutionaries and the state while the latter is more of a slow, long, counter-hegemonic social transformation; a pre-revolutionary phase that involves ideological and political education to awaken the consciousness of the masses and shift their thinking to what is possible outside the status quo.
According to Gramsci, the state (and by large the ruling class) maintains its dominance in society not just through political and economic power (which is usually coercive) but fundamentally through ideological and cultural control (which is usually consensual). This is what is known as hegemony and it maintains itself primarily through a network of institutions including schools, religious institutions, the media and even civil society.
Hegemony is at play when you see Kenyan media publish pieces that indirectly generate consent for state sanctioned violence, or when they produce documentaries covering constitutionally protected protests and instead of focusing on the victims of state violence during said protests, they portray politicians as victims. When you see Kenyans mass consuming self-help books, podcasts, and films that glorify hustle culture, hyperindividualism and capitalism, that is hegemony at play. When you see Kenyan students selecting university courses based solely on employability and the demands of the corporate world, that is hegemony at play. When you see schools and institutions of higher learning produce workers and not nurture thinkers, that is hegemony at play. When you see Kenyans support the Zionist apartheid settler colonialist state of Israel and repeat western imperial tropes of referring to Palestinians as terrorists, that is hegemony at play. When you see churches being funded by politicians and Imams having state Iftars with the president, that is hegemony at play.
Most intellectuals, in as much as they would love to be perceived differently, are also nothing more than tools of hegemony. They are mercenaries who have no desire to change the status quo, no revolutionary motivations for liberating themselves or the masses because they are beneficiaries of hegemony and therefore use their intellect to secure the dominance and authority of the ruling class. They do this either from within the establishment serving in different government roles as bureaucrats or from the outside as either members of civil society or the professional class. They are hegemony’s puppets, parrots and walking lies. They mediate between the masses and the established ruling class to dissuade any challenge against the regime. They are morally bankrupt individuals who should never be trusted.
So how and where do we counter hegemony?
Sites of Struggle
In August 2017, a group of veteran progressive social justice activists established Ukombozi Library in Nairobi – Kenya’s first socialist library. Starting with 1,000 rare and revolutionary books and publications from the secret library of the December Twelfth Movement (later Mwakenya), the underground movement that had kept the flame of resistance burning during the darkest days of Daniel arap Moi’s dictatorship throughout the 1980s and 1990s, the library was established on the first floor of an old building across the road from the main campus of the University of Nairobi.
Since then, Ukombozi Library has added more resources, initiatives and programs that serve as an arsenal against amnesia and more importantly, as a model of what Gramscian counter-hegemonic struggle looks like in practice.
A discussion held at Ukombozi Library, March 2020 (Wikimedia Commons)
At least once a week (usually on Mondays), for two hours, university students, young activists, artists, veteran activists, members of different social movements and social justice centres gather at Ukombozi and under the gaze of the portraits of revolutionaries hanging from the walls – Dedan Kimathi, Pio Gama Pinto, Thomas Sankara, Mao Zedong, Assata Shakur, Karimi Nduthu, Zarina Patel and others – form study cells reminiscent of the revolutionary formations of the ‘80s and ‘90s in order to share ideas, read, think, reflect, learn and unlearn. “The first lesson in any study session is the true history of Kenya, not the history taught by colonialists and post-independence ruling elite, but the real history,” Kimani Waweru, one of the library’s founders and coordinator says.
Through these history lessons, experiences of old struggles inform new ones and knowledge comes with an instalment of revolutionary consciousness. The fundamental questions of class struggle – land ownership, wealth inequality and capitalist exploitation – are examined through studying history and analyzing the material conditions faced by Kenya’s working masses.
Ukombozi Library is actively breeding what Gramsci referred to as “organic intellectuals”, individuals who emerge naturally from within a social class and help shape how that class thinks and understands itself through organising, linking theory and practice, connecting different struggles and thinking beyond the boundaries and limitations of hegemonic thought. And because of the emergence of these intellectuals who have gone on to organise their own study circles, the study sessions at Ukombozi are now carried out more on a need basis rather than the initial weekly sessions. “However, this is about to change again,” Kimani tells me. “We want to bring back the weekly sessions exclusively for new members.”
In pursuit of bringing revolutionary consciousness directly to the masses and encouraging them to imagine alternative realities that go beyond capitalism, Ukombozi Library conducts community outreach through film screenings in different informal settlements and rural areas across the country. The artists who are members of the library have also played their part in making complex ideas enjoyable and relatable through music, plays and poetry. “We want socialism to be sexy and attractive to people. Ukombozi Library is a place to deepen and advance socialist knowledge and practices in Kenya but we want to do that in a way that attracts people,” Dr. Njuki Githethwa, Managing Editor of Ukombozi Review, tells me.
Ukombozi Library has also served as an incubator for progressive movements. In 2018, the Young Socialist League—a student organization with study groups across multiple university campuses—began using the library as a study hub. They held political education sessions there, borrowed books and pamphlets, and used it as a space for organizing.
As members graduated from their different universities in 2019, the Young Socialist League evolved into the Revolutionary Socialist League (RSL), a political party with a comprehensive manifesto and a membership that goes beyond students to include working-class citizens, the urban poor, peasants, and other Kenyans who shared their vision of liberation.
RSL operates through cells—small groups of 10-12 members who meet regularly for political education and organizing activities. These cells have now spread beyond Nairobi to establish a national presence in various counties. And while RSL has since established its own space and operates as an independent political entity, its members continue to gather at Ukombozi Library for selected meetings, maintaining their connection to their organizational and educational roots. Other organisations such as the Kenya Leftist Alliance (formerly the Kenya Leftist Forum) also use Ukombozi’s space to conduct some of their meetings.
To maintain its ideological purity without interference, Ukombozi Library has gone to great lengths to avoid co-optation and receiving funding from the many (neo)liberal NGOs and foundations saturated in Nairobi. Despite the material and financial challenges this poses, it allows Ukombozi Library to steadfastly maintain its anti-imperialist position and continue with the war of position and ideological struggle without compromise.
Other sites of struggle include the many social justice centres, such as Mathare Social Justice Centre (MSJC) located in one of Nairobi’s oldest informal settlements and one with an illustrious history of resistance going from its emergence as an urban stronghold against British colonialism to its present-day resistance against neoliberal violence. Among its many activities, MSJC has produced reports on land grabbing and forced evictions, reproductive rights, ecological justice, commodification of education and rising food costs. And in everything it does and produces, the centre consciously exposes capitalism’s logic, its mechanisms, its deliberate creation of precariousness as a weapon used by the ruling class to control the masses. While mainstream NGOs and CBOs slice human rights into convenient funding categories, MSJC insists on seeing and fighting the whole beast.
The Mathare Green Movement (MGM), an initiative of MSJC, exemplifies this comprehensive approach to liberation. In a community where environmental justice might seem like a luxury compared to immediate survival needs, MGM demonstrates how ecological destruction is inseparable from economic exploitation. When they plant trees in spaces threatened by land grabbers, they are marking territory, claiming space, and asserting community sovereignty in concrete terms. This is how consciousness develops. Not through abstract theory alone, but through the recognition of how different forms of oppression entangle in daily life. This is the kind of thinking that results in what Professor Micere Githae Mugo would refer to as liberated minds.
What we saw once Kenyans retreated from the streets, is how easily a movement’s energy can be contained when it lacks consciousness. With the way the government is moving right now, reintroducing the finance bill that began all this in bits and pieces, with politicians going back to their arrogant speeches and display of opulence, with Kenyans being abducted and tortured on a frequency that has not been seen since the Moi era, the next uprising isn’t just coming – it is inevitable. The question is whether it will be another almost-revolution, another footnote in Kenya’s history of incomplete revolutions, another moment of rage contained and conquered by the ruling class, or whether it will be the beginning of total liberation brought by radical political education and consciousness.
Mohamed Amin Abdishukri is a journalist, writer and a digital creator whose content focuses on literature and political education.
This post was originally published here, on Ukombozi Review.
Featured Photograph: Young women protesting the Reject Finance Bill in Nairobi, Kenya, 2024 (Wikimedia Commons).
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In this interview, Pascal Bianchini speaks to filmmaker Billy Woodberry, regarding ‘Mario’, a film about Mário Coelho Pinto de Andrade, the Angolan liberation hero and founder of the Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola (MPLA) (in English, the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola), which has been the ruling party since Angola won independence from Portugal. Mario was selfless and committed, giving everything for a revolution and getting nothing in return.
By Pascal Bianchini (with many thanks to Andy Rector for additional editing)
Pascal Bianchini: I know that you are an experienced filmmaker but unfortunately, I haven’t seen your previous movies. Sorry about this. So, this interview will be focused on your film «Mário » about Mário Pinto de Andrade. Could you tell us who Mário Pinto de Andrade was, especially for people who have not yet seen the film?
Billy Woodberry: Mário de Andrade was born in Golungo Alta in Angola in 1928, but he grew up in Luanda. His father was a retired civil servant, who was active in the Liga Angolana, along with some other men, either lawyers or civil servants… When Mário was nine years old or so, his father sent him by train to go to his hometown to see his mother. Afterwards, he had to bring his brother back to Luanda to live with them. Mário says that one of his most important events in his life was to go back on the train with him and then, share a house with his brother who was two years older. Another important person, was a black priest he met. Mário was then a choir boy. He was invited by the seminary to study like his elder brother. However, unlike his brother, Mário decided to leave the seminary for the Liceo (high school) to do his last year before the examinations. Another significant point is that Mário was very good with languages. In 1948, he had the opportunity to study with a scholarship at the Faculty of Letters in the University of Lisbon, more precisely in philology.
Pascal Bianchini: At that time, many students from Portuguese colonies were gathering in Lisbon?
Billy Woodberry: Just after arriving in Lisbon, while he was living with other Angolan students, he met Amilcar Cabral and he joined a group that Cabral had formed, with many of the other figures who would become significant in the forthcoming national liberation movements: Marcelino Dos Santos from Mozambique; Aida Espirito Santo from São Tomé; and other Angolan students such as Agostinho Neto or Lucio Lara who were to become important figures of the [Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola]MPLA [in English, the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola]. They were gathering at the House of Students of the Empire (Casa dos Estudantes do Império) created by the government for the congregation of students from all over the Portuguese empire. It was intended as a place to socialize these students in order to assume the values of the educated native class and to encourage them to serve the Empire. In fact, it proved to be a fertile ground for meetings by this generation who would stand against colonialism. Had they not had this opportunity, it might have taken twenty years to ever come into contact with each other…
Pascal Bianchini: Here lies a paradox: the House of Empire has helped the African nationalists to organise themselves… What were their main activities in Lisbon?
Billy Woodberry: They were fairly serious young people, watching and noticing developments in the post-World War II era, especially the demand for independence in the other colonies, in Asia and Africa especially. In this process, poetry took a significant place. Through sharing poetry and also music, it was a way to realise a kind of awareness and consciousness. Another basis for later developments was the Centre for African Studies founded in 1951. They devised a program of study, to really know Africa, because they realized that their education was not focused on knowing the reality of Africa. They used to meet in the house of the Espirito Santo family, a house big enough to organise presentations. Mário would make a presentation regarding language, and the development of languages in different African countries, including in Angola, which had many different languages. Amilcar would do a report about agriculture, and land tenure, etc. They also took inspiration from the other African countries, and others who were thinking about Africa, or who had thought about Africa before. For instance, they were inspired by Leopold Sedar Senghor’s Negritude, in order to reject Portuguese assimilation. They realized that assimilation was an individual solution and not a solution for the whole society. So, their second language was French. It was very important and inspiring for them. The first publication they did was when they wrote in a special issue about students with Présence Africaine (‘the African Students Speak’).
Pascal Bianchini: Could they abandon their élite status and develop relationships with their own peoples?
Billy Woodberry: In Lisbon there was another important place: the African Maritime Club. It was set up by a group of dock workers. These workers in Portugal had connections with Africa, Brazil, etc. that could be of interest to the students. The other way around, the workers could find support from the students. Many of these workers were in fact autodidacts. They just never had the opportunity to study.
Pascal Bianchini: What about the political dimension of their activities?
Billy Woodberry: The main force of resistance to the fascist regime in Portugal was the Portuguese Communist Party. Some members of the group were actually members or very close to the party. However, for the Communist party, the first issue was to get rid of fascism. It was Mário’s primary position, and it was the same for his comrades who were even more involved with the PCP. The issue of independence for the colonies would come after. But at a certain point, they started to say that it should be possible for those fighting in the colonial context to organise autonomously in order to overthrow the colonial system. Then for this group––Mário, Amilcar, and Aida Espiritu Santo––their focus was about Africa with the idea that you should have an autonomous organisation, with the objective of overthrowing colonialism.
Pascal Bianchini: Then it was clearly political, not only cultural?
Billy Woodberry: They evolved fairly quickly from cultural issues to politics. For instance, Negritude was really important, as an assertion of the dignity of the black African people, but it was not sufficient to solve the problems. Some particular events may have triggered this evolution: in 1953 there was a massacre in São Tomé (the Batepa massacre where hundreds of people were killed). Mário was also concerned by this evolution. He was questioning his role as a student in Portugal.
Pascal Bianchini: A turning point in his life was his departure to France…
Billy Woodberry: He had been corresponding with Alioune Diop, and he decided that he would go to Paris. There, he enroled in the university to study sociology. At the same time, he was the secretary of the review ‘Présence Africaine’ and the secretary for Mr. Diop. He arrived in time to be a part of the organisation of the first Congress of Black Arts and Writers in Paris in 1956. It was a decisive moment for him because he met many of the African leaders and figures such as Césaire or Senghor but also Sekou Toure and Frantz Fanon. He also met important French people supporting the anticolonial struggles such as the publisher François Maspero and the filmmaker Chris Marker. He also met Basil Davidson, the British historian, who explained that Mário was the first of the figures of the liberation movement from Portuguese colonies that he encountered. He did very important work for the congress. He received the contributions and edited many of them though he never really assumed so much credit for that. However, he felt it was such a gift and privilege to have this experience. That was not something he was prone to, to brag a lot about himself. He was also able to bring some knowledge about what was happening in Portuguese colonies in Africa which was not widely known. The Portuguese state had been very effective in creating the idea that it was somehow less harsh than the others. This myth was propagated by Gilberto Freire, the Brazilian sociologist with his theory of Lusotropicalism. In ‘Présence Africaine’ Mário could combat that idea and differently publicise the reality in the Portuguese colonies; for instance, the forced labour and repression in São Tomé. ‘Présence Africaine’ was also a decisive moment in his life, because he met Sarah Maldoror there, who was to become his wife. She was a young actor, in a theatre troupe, the Griots. She was a dynamic force and a creative person.
Pascal Bianchini: Yes, and afterwards there is the creation of the MPLA (People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola). Could you tell us about the role Mário has played in this process?
Billy Woodberry: In 1957, Viriato de Cruz arrived in Paris. Since 1948 he had done a lot of cultural activities and activism, and he was under threat of arrest. So, he had to leave the country. He arrived in Paris with two documents. The program of the Angolan Communist Party in one hand and in the other, the program of the MPLA. Mário read it and said: “I think it’s good but the forces you describe here don’t exist yet”. However, the international and African context was changing very fast with the independence of Ghana, etc. Amilcar Cabral, Guilherme Espirito de Santo, Marcelino de Santos, Viriato de Cruz, and Mário, decided to form the Anticolonial movement (MAC), incorporating all four colonies: Angola, Mozambique, Guinea Bissau, and São Tomé. They started to build a political project and an organisation. In 1958, Mário was invited to the Tashkent Congress of Writers, where he could meet Nikita Khrushchev, and also a lot of African and Asian leaders and people that would become significant later. In 1959, he was in Rome to attend a second congress of the black writers and artists in 1959.
Meanwhile with Sekou Touré, who had refused the French community to attain a complete independence from France, they could have a base on the African continent. They also made contacts with Mohamed V, the king of Morocco. They also received support and aid in Morocco. Mário lived there for a time. But they realised that people didn’t take them seriously because they didn’t constitute national organisations tied to a territory. So, in Conakry, where a lot of them had gathered, they organised the MPLA. Mário became the president and Viriato da Cruz the general secretary of the MPLA. Then, to be closer to the country, they established themselves in Leopoldville, in Congo. But the situation was difficult for the MPLA because another organisation: Union of the Peoples of Angola
(UPA) with Holden Roberto was already established and had made contact with many organisations and forums in Africa, for instance in Ghana in 1958 at the All African Peoples’ Congress that Nkrumah organised. In Congo, the activists linked to MPLA could only create an organisation for the relief and care of the refugees fleeing northern Angola. It was possible because they had several doctors among their members. However, they eventually had to retreat from that project because they were under attack from the UPA who said that the MPLA was an organisation led by mestizos not real Africans. So, they had to close their office.
Pascal Bianchini: If we go back to Mário, he was the first president of MPLA, but he had to leave the place to Neto?
Billy Woodberry: Yes, but let’s say a word on Augustino Neto. After his medical studies, he went back to Luanda where he became a well-known doctor because he used to treat the people of the musseques (poor suburbs). Then there was a crackdown in Angola against the rise of anticolonial sentiments. Augustino Neto was arrested with Joaquin Pinto de Andrade who had become a priest. They were accused of propagating these radical ideas and both were imprisoned in Portugal. While the MPLA was set up, he was declared the honorary president of the organisation. It was partly done to protect Neto because they were afraid that the Portuguese would kill him. He was one of the first prisoners designated by Amnesty International. A campaign was made to free him. He was no longer in jail but under house arrest. Then, he managed to escape from Portugal and arrived in Leopoldville. In the first congress he was elected president. Then, a clash occurred with Viriato de Cruz who had been the first secretary general. Viriato decided to leave.
Pascal Bianchini: We can see that, since the beginning, in the MPLA there were important conflicts. Your film openly speaks about these conflicts. There is the first crisis of MPLA with the clash between Viriato de Cruz and Neto. Afterwards there is another issue which is important for Mário: The Revolta activa that occurred in 1974. Why did you choose to deal with these conflicts inside the movement? Because you could have, not hidden, but chosen not to speak so much about these internal problems?
Billy Woodberry: It’s part of the story of the movements. Because when you try to change society, internal contradictions may appear for various reasons, not always personal. And it’s the organisation’s responsibility to resolve them in the most productive way. These contradictions can sometimes explain things that occur later. I think that’s more helpful than pretending or being celebratory or simply denouncing one side against the other. To speak about Mário in this congress, when Viriato went out, shortly after, Mário realised he was voted off the committee. So, he resigned from MPLA for a time. He stayed in CONCP (Conference of Nationalist Organisations of the Portuguese Colonies) which was the larger organisation combining all of the liberation movements. Eventually, he kind of rejoined the MPLA where he was in charge for external relations when he was in Algeria. If we speak now about Active Revolt, they tried to democratise the movement but before they could really campaign on that issue, the Portuguese Revolution happened. Then, the other faction within MPLA with Chipenda, joined the FNLA (formerly UPA). A third of the fighters were with Chipenda (Eastern Revolt) and fought on the side of the FNLA which is significant. Besides, with the exclusion of the members of Active Revolt a lot of the intellectual capacity was lost, because these people were the more intellectually developed, etc.
Pascal Bianchini: As for Mário De Andrade because of his involvement in Active Revolt, he became a kind of a pariah for the official movement until the end of his life. In the film, you were telling the story of his passport. He wanted to get an Angolan passport, and they refused to give him this passport unless he wrote to apologise for Active Revolt, which eventually Mário refused to do. Until the end of his life, he was considered a dissident…
Billy Woodberry: That is part of the tragedy. Active Revolt was a movement that was not unreasonable. And they didn’t take up arms against the leadership to overthrow them. They just wanted to have a debate about the organisation. Why was it so necessary to exclude and crush these people? And it was not only Mário. It was for example Gentil Viana. He was jailed and he lost his sight in prison…
Pascal Bianchini: I have another question about another issue: the violence of colonialism, especially against the figures of the liberation movement. The film shows that the Portuguese used terrorist methods to target leaders from this liberation movement. I think the first one was Eduardo Mondlane, if I’m not wrong?
Billy Woodberry: Yes, it was in 1969.
Pascal Bianchini: But it was not only the Portuguese. The Portuguese were also backed by the French state. He had problems with the French police. It’s an important detail that you mention in this film.
Billy Woodberry: The Western powers were clearly in support of Portugal. West Germany sent them weapons, as did the Americans. NATO weapons were used in these colonies outside of the defence of the North Atlantic Treaty Alliance. The main exception were the Scandinavian countries. They were supporting the liberation movements in various ways. But what was important for instance in France was the support from leftist people, like Maspero. They were essential for the circulation of knowledge about the liberation movements. It was also the same in the United States. What must be said also is that the Angolans and the other liberation movements learned a lot from the Algerians. There is a photo where Mário appears at the United Nations, waiting for that vote about the Portuguese colonies: he was with three members of the Algerian diplomatic corps.
Pascal Bianchini: In your film, you talked about the relations between Fanon and Mário De Andrade. Could you explain their disagreement on the issue of revolution, social classes or racial analysis and so on. It’s an important point you made in the film…
Billy Woodberry: Mário disagreed with Fanon’s analysis about what he supposed was happening in the Angolan struggle for independence. Fanon thought that because Holden Roberto professed to be harsh and violent, he was the most serious one. Holden Roberto and his followers used to describe the MPLA people as a bunch of intellectuals, ‘mestizos’ or ‘assimilados’. Mário genuinely had a different analysis, because he knew something about that context. For him, Fanon’s ideas might have been in a way too general, and not specific to this context. Mário even thought that he misunderstood the Algerian revolution. It’s not every precept of Fanon he denied or rejected, but the absence of concrete analysis of the concrete situation. There was also another misunderstanding when Fanon in the name of the FLN made the proposal to the MPLA to train cadres to start the armed struggle. They replied to him that it was not yet possible because the repression was very harsh at the time. A lot of people were in prison. They weren’t making it up, this reason, because they were intellectuals afraid to fight.
Pascal Bianchini: Another significant period of Mário’s life is his stay in Guinea-Bissau when he was there for three or four years at the end of the 1970s. He was there in charge of the Ministry of Culture. How do you understand this moment in his life? Is it a kind of lesson given to other African leaders who turned their back on Pan-Africanism, becoming very nationalist, interested only in building their nation state? How do you understand Mário’s choice to live in Guinea Bissau? In the end it was again a tragedy that ended with a coup in 1980…
Billy Woodberry: Mário had always been very close to the people of the PAIGC. Mário had an official position in the CONCP. He was also very close to Amilcar Cabral, maybe the closest person to him. He knew and got on well with many leaders of PAIGC such as Pedro Pires; he had already started to work on the writings of Amilcar Cabral. Because after Amilcar Cabral was killed, there was this project with a contract that had been signed. When things went bad in Angola and his life was threatened, he decided to go to Guinea-Bissau to help them. Then, he was proposed as the Minister of Culture and he took the job with seriousness, with all his capacities. Luis Cabral, said to him: “As long as the Angolans are blind, take our house as your house. Come with us!” Then later, when that coup happened in 1980 and the split occurred, the people who were still close to him, and with whom he worked, were the Cape Verdeans, and they were PAIGC people too.
Pascal Bianchini: We can now speak about the end of his life in Paris in the 1980s. It was a return to Paris, as he was a student there in the 1950s. It’s a kind of paradox, to see him enrolled as a student in sociology at the École des Etudes en Sciences Sociales. I know Jean Copans quite well, the man who was the supervisor of his PhD. But a significant aspect, mentioned in your film by Sophie Bessis, the Tunisian historian and journalist, is that he was living in poor conditions, especially if you compare him to other people of this generation, who became African leaders of the independent States. At the end of his life, he was like a student, but a student in poverty. What’s the lesson, whether moral or political, that we can draw from the end of his life?
Billy Woodberry: First of all, we have to remember that when people like Mário made their choice to found and lead these movements, it was a radical kind of break with the career they could have had. They had their Portuguese expired passports and no more documents to travel… They had to get passports from other countries, newly independent States. The first time Mário got a new passport, it was in Morocco, then in Guinea, etc. He must have had 17, maybe 18 passports, but only five of them in his real name. The other thing is that joining a liberation movement was not a career move. You had to make profound sacrifices. Even if you consider Agostinho Neto, he was the head of State in 1975 and he died by 1979. He didn’t gain any fortune from petroleum. Amilcar Cabral, assassinated in 1973, didn’t leave a great fortune. Now if we take Mário, he could have had a big career, he had more publications than most academics who had books, articles, in multiple languages, but he had only a stipend from Cabo Verde, and sometimes some opportunities from UNESCO, because of his friends in the leadership of UNESCO, such as Henri Lopes. Mário never had an academic job though he was a man with vast knowledge. He could have gone to the USA or travelled elsewhere and gotten honorariums. But he was not interested in that because he and his comrades were working for a revolution, a transformation for all the people. Another thing to be said is that as a student in Paris, he had a subject he wanted to do. The research was important for him and as an enrolled student he had medical insurance, the opportunity to lecture or work in libraries.
Pascal Bianchini: I just came to a conclusion about the film. We can hear Mário saying that he will never regret what he had done with his comrades, that the essential project was attained: there was a colonial situation and now we are in a post-colonial situation; afterwards, the next generation will have to bring democracy and so on. However, in another passage of the film, five minutes before, Sophie Bessis, a journalist and an historian, was saying that he was obsessed by the question: “Why did we fail? We wanted to make the people free and happy, and you see what we have done”. I suppose it was your choice to put this together… How do you understand his position about independence and post-colonial state and so on?
Billy Woodberry: What he said to Sophie Bessis, who was one of the closest people to him, was what he believed. However, he did not want to bequeath despair to the next generation. He wanted them to continue and to fight. He never wanted people to be cynical. He wanted them to have their own experience. So, you have two different things inside Mário. His doubts, his pain, even despair, yes, it’s there. What he told Sophie Bessis, he meant it. But when he was speaking in a public forum, broadcast on TV, it’s not what he wanted to give to the future people.
Pascal Bianchini: About the way you made the film, what is remarkable is that it deals with a personal story, with a biographical trajectory about someone who had relationships with many people, as a friend, a brother, a comrade, and so on. But also, at the same time, you have the history of decolonisation, of the national liberation movement. How did you manage to follow these two parallel tracks in your film? It always shifts from one aspect to the other one, because Mário’s life was closely linked to this collective story? I suppose it must have been a lot of work for you to find the archives, the interviews, to read books and so on. How did you work to make this film?
Billy Woodberry: As Chris Marker says in his movie The Last Bolshevik, when you choose a figure, you realise that you’re making a story about a figure with a certain itinerary, and that you’re also making a story about a whole epoch, and so many related things. So, in this case, because of what Mário de Andrade was involved in, the moment when he comes about, the way that the process unfolds, the realisation of independence in African countries, etc., it allows us to suggest the larger context, the larger relationships and meanings. Reading books about this was a privilege and a pleasure. I am not tired of that thing. I have worked with different people. We were excited about the issue, and then it became a challenge of finding the best material and how to present it. We have a subject who was involved in that himself, who was generous towards others and gave us a lot of information about others and their contribution and describes different aspects of the process very well. The other thing is the idea of decolonisation. In fact, people are more interested in the concept, but they’re not so knowledgeable about the substance. They’re not interested in the leaders, and they’re not interested in the people. They’re interested in the symbols and the things to make arguments about it. But some people tried to make a difference and some of them were lost in the process. There is something to learn about that.
Pascal Bianchini: There is a long and fascinating interview with Mário. It’s a kind of autobiographical interview. How did you find this interview?
Billy Woodberry: It was in the archives of Portuguese television. The journalist who made that interview, Diana Andringa, was arrested with Mário’s brother Joaquim in 1971 and she speaks about this in the film. They had put some extracts online, but through her, we knew that it was longer than that. It belonged to public television. She only had the transcript, but we knew it was longer. First, they gave us the same ones that were online. We persisted pleasantly, and we were able to see the entire three hours. However, in this long interview, he doesn’t speak about the post-1970s years. He talks a bit more in a book-length interview with Michel Laban. That’s a good book and a good interview. The other one is Christiane Messiant[1].
Pascal Bianchini: A last word: what about the film now? We have a version in French, and an English one. It has been shown in several places.
Billy Woodberry: It has been shown in various festivals or other events in Rotterdam, Vienna, London, in Spain, and Montreuil in France, near Paris. I hope to also show the movie in Saint Louis in Senegal for a documentary festival.
[1] Michel Laban, Mário Pinto de Andrade, Uma entrevista, Lisbonne, João Sá da Costa, 1997, Christine Messiant, Sur la première génération du MPLA: 1948-1960, Mário de Andrade, entretiens avec Christine Messiant (1982). In: Lusotopie, n°6, 1999, pp. 185-221.
The film screened on 13 February 2025 at the 33rd Edition of the Pan African Film Festival in Los Angeles and will screen at DocLuanda in Angola, from 10 to 16 April, 2025. It premiered in theatres in Portugal on 28 November 2024 and stayed there a month and one half. It will be streaming in the U. S. on the Criterion Channel starting February 1, 2025 (https://www.criterionchannel.com/).
Pascal Bianchini is an independent sociologist based in Senegal. He has recently edited with Leo Zeilig and Nodongo Samba Sylla, Revolutionary Movements in Africa. An Untold Story (Pluto Press, 2024)
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Bukavu. Photograph: Seth Chase
