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Foreign aid and conflict in Somaliland

Foreign aid to Somaliland has fostered authoritarian rule and contributed towards conflict in the eastern city of Las Anod. In recent months, the apparent miracle of democracy has fractured as conflict has led to hundreds of deaths, and hundreds of thousands displaced. Jethro Norman writes there is a clear international dimension to the crisis. Those in Washington, London and Brussels are oblivious to the problem right under their nose: the consequences of their own aid and investment strategies. 

By Jethro Norman

On 18 May Somaliland marked its 32 year since independence. The date is known for being a day of colourful celebration and nationalist fervour in the capital Hargeisa, drawing in international visitors and journalists. This year, however, the celebrations were muted. Fighting in the eastern city of Las Anod has claimed hundreds of lives and displaced hundreds of thousands. The spiralling conflict has taken many international observers by surprise, and severely damaged Somaliland’s carefully curated reputation for peace and stability. It has also revealed a gaping blind spot in foreign engagement to Somalia.

From beacon of democracy to authoritarian rule

Somaliland declared its independence on 18 May 1991 following the collapse of the Somali Democratic Republic under Siad Barre. Whilst international recognition has remained elusive, Somaliland has earned the reputation of an island of peace, democracy and stability in an otherwise tumultuous Horn of Africa region. A little over two ago, as Somaliland celebrated its 30 year anniversary, a steady stream of journalistic and academic pieces heaped praise upon the de facto state, describing it as ‘a miracle on the Horn of Africa’, and ‘a beacon of democracy’.

This all started to change in December last year when a local opposition politician, Abdifatah Abdullahi Abdi, was assassinated by unknown attackers. Anti-government protests spread across the city, before morphing into an armed confrontation between the Somaliland Army and forces from the local Dhulbahante clan.

In February, the Somaliland army retreated to the outskirts of the city, as clan authorities renounced Somaliland and declared their intention to re-join Somalia. Since then, there has been a military stalemate: the Somaliland army has sporadically attacked the town, whilst forces inside Las Anod have been reinforced by clan-affiliated militias from across Somalia.

In a few short months, Somaliland’s narrative arc, carefully curated over more than three decades, has taken a dramatic nosedive. The fighting has drawn widespread international condemnation and the increasingly bellicose administration has even been threatened with US sanctions. Amnesty has called for an investigation into human rights and humanitarian law violations citing Somaliland forces indiscriminate shelling of Las Anod, including damage to hospitals and schools, and a number of civilian casualties.

How could this beacon of democracy mutate into a repressive authoritarian state, almost overnight? Quizzical analysts are finding answers in the usual suspects: from al-Qaeda linked terrorist groups to China, a dizzying array of actors are alleged to be behind the uprising. This is spurred on by the Somaliland government and its neoconservative allies in Washington who insist that the conflict is not local, but a conspiracy of international actors.

They are right – but for the wrong reasons. There is a clear international dimension to the crisis, but it is not transnational terrorism or Chinese intrigue that is destabilising the region. Those in Washington, London and Brussels are oblivious to the problem right under their nose: the consequences of their own ill-thought out aid and investment strategies.

Foreign aid fostering conflict

In its three-decade search for international recognition, Somaliland has long lamented a lack of international funding. Academics have suggested that, contrary to the conventional wisdom of the World Bank, the absenceof international aid at the crucial moment of Somaliland’s political formation may be a key reason for its success. Whilst this may have been true for Somaliland’s early years, it is no longer the case.

Emboldened by promises of peace and stability, international partners including the US, the United Kingdom, the EU, the UAE and Taiwan have all announced various infrastructure, trade and military cooperation initiatives and increased their diplomatic presence in the capital, Hargeisa. The multi-million-dollar investment by UAE’s DP World is transforming Berbera port into a 1 million container trade hub that is anticipated to reshape the regional economy. There has also been deepening security ties. The United Kingdom has funded and trained a controversial elite police unit, whilst Washington has been interested in establishing a new military base in Berbera.

This dizzying gush of international engagement intended to stabilise Somaliland has however had destabilising consequences for the whole region. Firstly, it has renewed hopes of Somaliland becoming internationally recognised as an independent state, dramatically raising the stakes, and intensifying competition amongst political elites over control.

The political crisis that emerged in summer of 2022 over delayed elections highlighted this increasingly fractious internal competition. In anti-government demonstrations in Hargeisa in August 2022, five civilians were killed in clashes with security forces, a grim harbinger of what was to come in Las Anod.

If the increased stakes of statehood have resulted in competition in the centre of the region, then it has done the opposite in the peripheries: uniting peripheral communities against Somaliland. Much of the recent infrastructural development is concentrated in the centre. The Berbera corridor for example, cuts a neat line of economic opportunity from Berbera, through Hargeisa, and into Ethiopia. This is an important dimension of the conflict in Las Anod.  The declaration to re-join Somalia made by traditional leaders in Las Anod decried an ‘economic embargo’ imposed by Somaliland designed to restrict the presence of international development agencies in the eastern regions. It is not only in Las Anod that resistance to the Somaliland state has grown. Over the last decade, movements to establish counter-administrations have emerged in three out of Somaliland’s six districts, including in the otherwise peaceful western region of Awdal.

The future of aid

This crisis highlights the need to re-design and refocus foreign aid and investment strategies. A skilful Somalilander elite, including a sizeable diaspora, successfully courted international partners and sold them a vision they desperately wanted to hear: of a fledgling state striving for peace and democracy. Aid and development has been criticised for becoming increasingly ‘bunkerised’ and securitised with international staff living in fortified compounds often sealed off from wider society and reliant on specific local partners for information. This situation makes it difficult for many international staff to travel outside of the central regions of Somaliland, and engage with the plurality of voices and political feelings within the territory.

The answer is not to cut aid. Rather, there is a need for a more careful and equitable distribution of aid. This requires aid and development agencies to be more flexible and mobile. Another consideration is to engage diaspora organisations instead of international humanitarian agencies. Whilst this comes with its own set of risks, diasporic aid is less bureaucratic and can access areas that international practitioners cannot.

This piece builds on the arguments the author made in a longer analysis in an article for African ArgumentsConflict in Las Anod and Crisis in Somaliland: External Investment, Intensifying Internal Competition, and the Struggle for Narrative’ (3 March 2023).

Jethro Norman is a postdoctoral researcher at the Danish Institute for International Studies. His research and fieldwork has focused on East Africa (Somalia, Somaliland, Kenya, Tanzania, South Sudan), with expertise in humanitarianism, security, conflict and development. Jethro’s current research covers the politics of humanitarian assistance, trade and development in the Somali territories, with a particular interest in the role of the Somali diaspora.

Featured Photograph: A monument of a hand holding aloft a map of Somililand (3 May 2015).

A response to “The Pretoria Agreement: Mere cessation of hostilities or heralding a new era in Ethiopia?”

In a response to Fana Gebresenbet and Yonas Tariku’s recent Debate piece in ROAPE’s journal, ‘The Pretoria Agreement: Mere cessation of hostilities or heralding a new era in Ethiopia?’.  Mulugeta Gebrehiwot, Alex de Waal, Martin Plaut, Jan Nyssen, Mohamed Hassen, and Gebrekirstos Gebreselassie argue that the article reproduces the central narrative threads of the propaganda of the Federal Government of Ethiopia. This is, they argue, ‘false and potentially defamatory’.

By Mulugeta Gebrehiwot, Alex de Waal, Martin Plaut, Jan Nyssen, Mohamed Hassen, and Gebrekirstos Gebreselassie

In a response to Fana Gebresenbet and Yonas Tariku’s recent Debate piece in ROAPE’s journal, ‘The Pretoria Agreement: Mere cessation of hostilities or heralding a new era in Ethiopia?’ [the Debate piece is free to read until the end of the month] asserts foreign commentators on the subject are supporters of the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) and that claims of genocide are a TPLF propaganda ploy. This is false and potentially defamatory. It reproduces central narrative threads of the propaganda of the Federal Government of Ethiopia. Fana and Yonas suggest that new Ethiopian voices have somehow ‘reframed’ the debate, but they produce no evidence of such intellectual reframing. The Pretoria negotiations confirm that the Tigrayan Central Command considered the human losses in case of protracted war and made the decision to sue for peace at any cost; yet the AU process does not resemble Ndubusi Ani’s formulations (2019) of any ‘African solutions’. Subsequent to the Pretoria Agreement, the Federal Government is politically shape-shifting in response to circumstance, and the people of Tigray continue to suffer extreme hardships. Fana and Yonas show little nuanced political understanding or empathy, indicating the lethargy of public discourse in Ethiopia today.

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We are writing in response to the recent article ‘The Pretoria Agreement: Mere cessation of hostilities or heralding a new era in Ethiopia?’ (Fana and Yonas 2023). We are surprised that ROAPE, which since its founding in 1974 has been a bastion of academic rigor and a commitment to scholarship in the cause of progressive social change (Review of African Political Economy, 1974), cleared this piece for publication.

Fana and Yonas observe that foreign commentators took different and conflicting positions over the Tigray war. That is correct. Their allegation, that named critics of the Federal Government of Ethiopia (FGE) are supporters of the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) is neither substantiated nor correct. The determination of those who mentioned discontent among some Tigrayans over the TPLF decision to sign the Pretoria permanent cessation of hostilities, are ‘spoilers’ is false and potentially defamatory.

Fana and Yonas claim that their own analysis somehow transcends a polemical dichotomy among non-Ethiopians, pitting commentators who support the FGE against those who support the TPLF. This is not the case. Instead, the article reproduces central narrative threads of FGE propaganda. One of these is that an unprovoked TPLF attack on the Northern Command of the Ethiopian National Defense Force (ENDF) was the cause of the war. This is a propagandist claim which an increasing volume of well referenced academic work demonstrates to be false or at least ‘disguises more than it illuminates’ (Plaut and Vaughan, 2023, Assefa Fiseha, 2023). A second is that claims of genocide are a TPLF propaganda ploy. Thus, they reject out of hand the special forum in the Journal of Genocide Research on Ethiopia (Ibreck and de Waal, 2022), presumably because they prejudged the papers to be TPLF propaganda. On the contrary, the forum editors do not come to a conclusion as to whether genocide has been perpetrated in Tigray. The forum instead includes essays on historic violence in the Ethiopian peripheries, atrocities inflicted on the Oromo in the 19th century by the expanding Ethiopian empire, massacres by Italian fascists, and the Red Terror. The aim is to connect scholars of Ethiopia to scholarship on mass atrocities, on the basis that ‘recent violence in Tigray, or elsewhere in the country, cannot be understood in isolation’ (p. 85). Regardless of the qualification (genocide or ‘only’ genocidal intent), Fana and Yonas minimize what happened in Tigray in terms of massacres and deliberate starvation of civilians.

The authors suggest that new Ethiopian voices have somehow ‘reframed’ a debate distorted by foreigners, but give no indication of who has done this, where or how. To the contrary, we see no evidence of intellectual reframing other than privileging writers who happen to agree with the FGE. We see plenty of unsubstantiated ad hominem abuse. We see a coordinated effort by those associated with the current government to decry the record of the twenty-seven years of government by the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front as an unmitigated catalogue of political failures, all of them attributable to the TPLF. Again, we see no effort to undertake a critical, balanced assessment of the record of those decades.

The most detailed account of the Pretoria negotiations, backed by documentation, is that published on the Kenyan website The Elephant shortly after the deal was signed (Concerned African Scholars, 2022). What this confirms is that the Tigrayan Central Command (both TPLF and non-TPLF military leaders) made the decision that the combined forces of the ENDF, the Eritrean Defense Force and Amhara regional forces were determined to continue their offensive, regardless of the human cost on both sides, and that the international community would do nothing to stop them. Consequently, they sued for peace. Those who trumpet the Pretoria Agreement, such as Fana and Yonas, imply that ‘might is right.’ Those who approach the agreement in a critical light, are concerned that the lesson to be drawn is that mass atrocity and starvation may be effective tools of war.

The authors also suggest that their dismissal of foreign scholars is consistent with an anti-colonial, ‘African solutions’ political stance. This is at odds with the one source they cite (Ani, 2019). Additionally, the AU process does not, in fact, resemble any of Ani’s three formulations—African agency, following indigenous African principles, and African-led innovation. It has, at most, a partial resemblance to ‘African agency’, but only in the limited sense that African Union officials held tight to the control of the process. The AU did not invoke any of its norms, principles and mechanisms during almost two years of conflict and starvation.[1] The last-minute agreement it brokered raises more questions than answers when measured against the norms, principles, and mechanisms of the organization itself.

The authors claim that the Pretoria Agreement is ‘a turning point marking… the beginning of the end of ethno-nationalism’s hegemonic centrality to national politics.’ To the contrary, we submit that one of the features of the current FGE is political shape-shifting in response to circumstance, and this includes embracing the multinational nature of Ethiopia governed under a federal arrangement just in new configurations.

Some seven months after the Pretoria Agreement, the people of Tigray continue to suffer extreme hardships. Millions remain displaced. Large areas, including Western Tigray, are still occupied by Eritrean and Amhara forces, contrary to the stipulations of the Agreement. Humanitarian assistance is not commensurate with needs. Rehabilitation of the health, water and agricultural infrastructure destroyed in the war—much of it looted or wrecked by the deliberate actions of the ENDF, EDF and Amhara forces—has not yet begun. We are surprised that the editors of a journal which has long prized its solidarity with subaltern populations and their struggles for self-determination, chose to publish an article which makes almost no reference to this suffering.

There is a wider phenomenon of denying, minimizing or misrepresenting the horrors that have been inflicted on the peoples of rural Ethiopia, notably Tigray. Over the last two years, academics, journalists and human rights investigators in Ethiopia have been facing an attempt to make as difficult as possible to ascertain facts and even worse, impossible to establish an accepted minimum basis of agreed facts (Aljazeera, 2021; Committee to Protect Journalists, 2022). This is a deliberate and coordinated campaign. We shall write about this separately.

For our purposes here, it suffices to write that Fana and Yonas, based in Addis Ababa, appear indifferent to the horrors suffered by their fellow citizens in Tigray and elsewhere in Ethiopia. This stands in contrast to the lead author of this rebuttal, Mulugeta, who has been in Tigray throughout the war and witnessed firsthand the sufferings of the civilians in Tigray. Fana and Yonas show little nuanced political understanding or empathy, which is a discouraging indicator of the health of public discourse in Ethiopia today.

Fana Gebresenbet and Yonas Tariku’s recent Debate piece in ROAPE’s journal is available to read for free here, ‘The Pretoria Agreement: Mere cessation of hostilities or heralding a new era in Ethiopia?’

Mulugeta Gebrehiwot is the founding director of the Institute for Peace and Security Studies (IPSS), Addis Ababa University and a senior fellow at the World Peace Foundation. Alex de Waal is the Executive Director of the World Peace Foundation at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University. Martin Plaut is a Senior Research Fellow at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies at the University of London. Jan Nyssen is emeritus professor at Ghent University and a physical geographer. Mohamed Hassen is a professor of history and expert in the history of the Oromo people and Ethiopia. Gebrekirstos Gebreselassie is a researcher based in the Netherlands, and the founder and chief editor of Tghat.

Featured Photograph: A man passes a destroyed tank on the main street of Edaga Hamus, in the Tigray region, Ethiopia (5 June, 2021).

References

Ani, Ndubusi, 2019. ‘Three Schools of Thought on “African Solutions to African Problems”.Journal of Black Studies, 50.2, 135-155.

Assefa Fiseha, 2023. ‘Tigray: A Nation in Search of Statehood?International Journal on Minority and Group Rights.

Fana Gebresenbet and Yonas Tariku, 2023. ‘The Pretoria Agreement: Mere cessation of hostilities or heralding a new era in Ethiopia?Review of African Political Economy, DOI:

Ibreck, Rachel, and Alex de Waal, 2022. ‘Introduction: Situating Ethiopia in Genocide Debates,’ Journal of Genocide Research, 24.1, 83-96.

Plaut, Martin, and Sarah Vaughan, 2023. Understanding Ethiopia’s Tigray War. London, Hurst.

Notes

[1] At a meeting of the UN Human Rights Council on Sudan on 11 May 2023, the Ethiopian delegate voted against a resolution calling for a ceasefire and human rights reporting, on the grounds that it was not a timely move, and an ‘African solution’ along the lines of Pretoria would be appropriate. Sudanese democracy activists demurred saying they could not wait for two years for such steps.

The June Days – Senegal’s struggle for justice

Since the start of the month, Senegal has seen major demonstrations, rioting, and violence. In an interview with ROAPE’s Leo Zeilig, Ndongo Sylla explains what is happening. Supporters of opposition leader, Ousmane Sonko, are furious at the regime’s attempt to frustrate next year’s elections by framing Sonko on false charges. Sylla examines the social and political forces that are engulfing the country and threatening to overturn the political class and the neo-colonial settlement.

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Leo Zeilig: Senegal was rocked by protests last week after opposition figure Ousmane Sonko was sentenced to two years in prison on 1 June – yet he was not found guilty of rape. Can you briefly explain the background to the charges and what happened?

Ndongo Sylla: In February 2021, Ousmane Sonko, Senegal’s leading political opposition figure, was accused of repeated rape and death threats by Adji Raby Sarr, a young employee of a massage salon he was visiting during the curfew period at the height of the covid-19 pandemic. His arrest in March 2021 led to violent demonstrations across most of the country for five days. 14 deaths were recorded. Calm was only restored when Macky Sall decided to release Sonko. Sonko and his lawyers claim that he is the victim of a state plot. What evidence did they put forward in favour of their hypothesis? The woman who owns the massage salon, despite the intimidation she had suffered, denied the plaintiff’s accusations. To put pressure on her, during her interrogation, she was separated for several hours from her premature baby whose life was put at risk. According to her lawyer, she was offered money to change her testimony. A woman who also worked for the massage salon contradicted the plaintiff’s claim and revealed that the latter asked her to be left alone in the room with Sonko. The gynecologist who examined the plaintiff maintained that he had no material evidence to prove a possible rape. He was subsequently intimidated. The gendarmerie officer in charge of investigating the complaint found the plaintiff’s statements contradictory and suspected a political plot. He also claimed that his investigation report had been falsified with the aim of charging Sonko. He was eventually fired from the gendarmerie. The “unfalsified” investigation report that discharged Ousmane Sonko ended up with a famous Senegalese journalist, who commented on it extensively in a video that went viral. For this, he was jailed for several months.

The plaintiff herself confided about the alleged rape intrigue to her marabout (religious guide), who recorded their telephone conversations without her knowledge. These recordings were widely circulated on social media. The plaintiff admitted to having contacts with important figures in the regime who want to see Sonko fall. Before the judge, the plaintiff confirmed that it was indeed her voice that could be heard on the phone recordings  but specified that she was deliberately lying in order to cheat her marabout. She said she had also lied about her initial statement that she was “pregnant”.

Between March 2021 and June 2023, the plaintiff and her lawyers claimed to have compromising videos. Before the judge, they produced no tangible evidence to support their accusation. According to Sonko’s lawyers, given the absence of any material evidence, the case should have been dismissed from the outset. They saw the decision to hold a trial based solely on the plaintiff’s statements and alleged traces of sperm (unidentifiable) as part of an attempt to liquidate a political opponent.

Sensing that the rape charge was difficult to establish, the prosecutor, in his closing argument, asked the judge to re-characterise it as “corruption of youth”. Sonko, having chosen not to attend the trial, was tried in absentia. As a result, his lawyers were not allowed to speak in court. The final verdict acquitted Sonko of the charges of rape and death threats, but sentenced him to two years’ imprisonment for “corruption of youth”, a charge that had not previously been brought, and which came as a surprise to everyone, including Sonko’s lawyers. This conviction comes on top of another recent one for “defamation”, which apparently renders Sonko ineligible to run in the forthcoming elections.

When the verdict was announced on 1 June, unprecedented violent demonstrations engulfed the country. Roads were blocked everywhere. Bank branches, supermarkets, petrol stations and public infrastructures were ransacked and looted. The homes and cars of certain politicians from the ruling coalition were torched, as were courthouses and public buses. The same applies to the premises and archives of the Faculty of Letters and Humanities at Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar. Even if a complete assessment is not yet available, the economic losses are undoubtedly colossal.

Well-equipped but small in number the Forces of Defence and Security (FDS – police and gendarmerie) were subjected to the fury of demonstrators. Some members of the FDS were killed by the demonstrators or unwittingly by their own colleagues. Demonstrators sometimes managed to seize police vehicles and set them alight. Overwhelmed, the police sometimes used young people as human shields, as attested by a viral video investigated by the Al Jazeera TV channel. UNICEF has publicly called for an investigation into the matter. The FDS also attacked the demonstrators and fired live ammunition at them, resulting in a number of deaths. Despite the claims of the Senegalese authorities, it has been established that the FDS cooperated with armed henchmen who were recruited to suppress the demonstrators. The army came in to reinforce the FDS, notably to protect a few strategic locations, but without taking part in the repression. It received a triumphant welcome from demonstrators in some Dakar neighbourhoods, as online videos show.

Can you talk us through the protests? Tragically at least 15 people were killed by the security services. Where have the protests been? What cities? Who has been in the streets, and are workers mobilising, and what has been the position of trade unions, and civil society?

Demonstrations took place in most of Senegal’s 14 regions. Dakar and Ziguinchor (stronghold of Sonko, who is mayor of the region) were the epicenters of the protests. The 23 deaths – not 14 as you report – including three children, recorded between June 1 and 2 by Amnesty International came from these two regions. The Red Cross assisted around 360 people wounded in these two regions. As in March 2021, young people mobilised in early June this year.

In my opinion, the most symbolic image of this popular uprising is that of an ordinary woman, dressed in a loincloth, dragging, with difficulty, a tire to be burned.

The trade unions were not involved in the protests. Neither did the “official” civil society organisations – those in dialogue with the government and donor agencies, which opts for other modes of action. Sonko’s party, the PASTEF, and his coalition (Yewwi Askan Wi) have called on the demonstrators to continue their “resistance”, arguing that this is a right recognised by the Senegalese Constitution. The same goes for the Y’en a Marre movement, which is now calling for Macky Sall’s resignation, and FRAPP (Front pour une Révolution Anti-impérialiste Populaire et Panafricain), a movement that has seen some of its members unjustly imprisoned.

Demonstrations in support of Sonko have also been organised by the Senegalese diaspora in several cities: Washington, Paris, Milan, etc. Following some attacks, the Senegalese Ministry of Foreign Affairs has temporarily shut consulates abroad. Social media have been an important place for information sharing (images, news and also how to circumvent state imposed restrictions on social media) and (emotional) mobilisation through the hashtag #FreeSenegal. It’s worth noting the recent emergence of diaspora-based cyberactivists who provide their numerous followers with information of varying quality on the situation in Senegal, while urging them to take to the streets to “get rid of” Macky Sall, or to orchestrate acts of sabotage against the property of those close to him or his supporters (e.g. burning down their homes). It should also be noted that, prior to the June events, hacker group Anonymous took down Senegalese government websites in “retaliation” for restrictions on liberties.

Who is responsible for the violence?

In the face of numerous destructions and the unfortunate death toll, Senegalese intellectuals who have dared to point the finger of blame at the government have been subjected to violent ad hominem attacks by its hired pens. But are these intellectuals wrong? I don’t think so. By calling for “resistance” and the law of retaliation, Sonko and his supporters have undoubtedly contributed to making things worse. But the worm was already in the fruit. Senegal would never have ended up in this situation if the current regime had behaved in a constitutional  manner, was mindful of the law and had not developed the habit of using the justice system against its opponents.

The unprecedented outpouring of violence from ‘both camps’  could have been prevented if Macky Sall managed in a fair manner, as he promised [see from 1h42], to “reduce the opposition to its simplest expression”. Instead, his regime started relentlessly hunting down Sonko’s party members as well as journalists and activists who dared to criticise his policies and rule. Before the events of June, over 400 people had been put in prison, a number that must have risen since then. Most of us know young people who, although not among the protesters, are languishing in prison because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The leader of Y’en a Marre, Aliou Sané, was arrested and put in prison for a few days by the prosecutor’s office on the grounds that he was taking part in the demonstrations. Having been lucky enough to be assisted by a lawyer and to appear before a judge, he was able to produce a video clearing him of the charges against him. But how many young people, unknown to the public and often detained in horrific conditions, are so lucky?

Against this backdrop of unprecedented government repression, freedom of expression has also been drastically curtailed. Reporters without borders released a report in early May showing a 31-place fall for Senegal between 2022 and 2023. A trend that has continued recently with the cutting off of mobile internet for several days, the suspension of the signal of the Walf TV, reputed to be “the voice of the voiceless”, and even of one of its electronic accounts where it is supposed to receive solidarity donations from ordinary Senegalese.

In French-speaking Africa, in the post-single-party context, the tendency of the regimes in power – faithful allies of Paris – is to use state power to choose their own opponents in elections. In the 2019 presidential election won by Macky Sall in the first round, his two main rivals – former Dakar mayor Khalifa Sall and President Wade’s son Karim – were eliminatedfrom the race following prison sentences handed down against them. To “rationalise” the number of presidential candidates, the regime introduced “citizen sponsorship”, which ECOWAS Justice Court considered afterwards as a violation of “the right of free participation in elections” that should end. That is still not the case. Moreover, Macky Sall has in the past years repeatedly stated that he is not entitled to a third term in office. This was confirmed in emphatic terms by his current Minister of Justice, a professor of constitutional law. But in an interview with a French magazine, Macky Sall now maintains that he has the right to do so, and that he reserves the right to decide whether or not to run for another term.

In 2020, in Côte d’Ivoire, Alassane Ouattara forced a third term, obtained an international arrest warrant for his main political opponent in exile and also introduced “citizen sponsorship” as an electoral guillotine. The same methods are still at work today. His rival Laurent Gbagbo is ineligible, having been struck off the electoral roll as a result of a well-timed judicial conviction.

When rulers abuse the law, persecute opponents and dissidents without a second thought, and restrict civil liberties, we should not be surprised to see a counter-power emerge in the form of popular protest and violence. This is not an excuse for violence, but a simple observation drawn from the lessons of history. As Mandela wrote in his autobiography The Long Walk to Freedom, “it is the oppressor who defines the nature of the struggle, and the oppressed is often left no recourse but to use methods that mirror those of the oppressor. At a point, one can only fight fire with fire.”

Many commentators have said that the movement in Senegal is the largest since 1988 (when former president Abdou Diouf declared a state of emergency as supporters of a defeated rival, Abdoulaye Wade, fought the police) – how do you measure the scale of the protest action, and how is it being organised on the ground? Can it be sustained?

Although the 1988 events sent Senegal into a state of emergency, it’s not the reference I’d choose. In terms of national scope, numbers mobilised and violence, the events of early June 2023 are, in my opinion, a repeat on a larger scale of the “five days of anger” of March 2021.

In terms of political significance, the events of early June are akin to the socio-political crisis of December 1962, which saw President Senghor, backed by France, get rid of Mamadou Dia, then President of the Council and head of the Executive. At the time, Mamadou Dia wanted to liquidate the colonial economy, and was banking on the creation of democratic rural cooperatives. His societal project collided with the interests of the dominant political class, the marabouts who controlled the groundnut economy, French capitalists and their government. These various groups set their sights on Senghor, a member of the Christian minority in a country whose population is officially over 90% Muslim.

Senghor had used the judicial system to imprison Mamadou Dia for over 11 years in inhumane conditions. With Dia ousted, Senghor had free rein to create a monarchical constitution…at the cost of forty dead and over 250 woundedfollowing the twin elections of 1963.

In my opinion, this is the same type of struggle that’s being played out right now between Macky Sall and Sonko. But there are some differences. Unlike Dia, Sonko enjoys an enormous popularity rating among young people, a social group now numbering in the millions, most of them being “idle” (not in employment, education or training) and very much present on social media, a tool that enables a better circulation of information, whatever its quality, and helps to make visible the reprehensible acts that existing powers would be tempted to hide, censor or disguise.

Some people have been arguing that Senegal is no longer the vibrant democracy it used to be. What do you make of this claim?

Comrade, let me make it clear from the outset that so-called “representative democracy” was not originally designed to be representative of any “public interest”. Its purpose was to block democracy, understood as a regime in which the working classes sit in (and numerically dominate) the sovereign bodies of legislation and control. In the 19th century, the regime we now call “democracy” (representative/liberal) was known as “republic”, “elective aristocracy” and “bourgeois government”. It was only in the 20th century that this oligarchic regime came to be equated with democracy. That capitalism and democratic government were incompatible was self-evident to the American founding fathers, some of whom regarded democracy as “the worst of all political evils”. That’s why the words “democracy” and “democratic” are nowhere to be found in the current US Constitution, which was conceived against a backdrop of serious social unrest for which a constitutional antidote was needed. For those interested in this little-known history, I refer you to my own workon the topic and to those of John Dunn, Luciano Canfora and Francis Dupuis-Déri.

The so-called Western democratic countries have oligarchic governments (the rich make the sovereign decisions; note that it’s a mistake to consider the election of representatives  as a “delegation of power”, it is rather a way of influencing the formation of a sovereign body), but they have managed to achieve democratic performance (the conquest of important freedoms and better living conditions for the majority) due to historical factors that cannot be reproduced in countries under imperialist domination, and which I cannot dwell on here for lack of space.

The point here is to say that the idea that Senegal is a “democracy” is farcical. If the Western countries that are supposed to be “models” are not, how can “mimicking student” Senegal be? As in most French-speaking countries, which have imitated the French Constitution of the Fifth Republic, the one that General de Gaulle carved out for himself, the Senegalese political system gives excessive powers to the president, who is a kind of monarch by electoral right for the duration of his term.

However, with that said, it has to be acknowledged that Senegal has succeeded in forming a nation: ethnic and religious pluralism has not been a source of discord as in some countries on the continent. So far, there has been a culture of tolerance, peace, and hospitality among the people. These laudable aspects have nothing to do with – and do not derive from – the nature of the political regime, which has been and remains fundamentally despotic in its current practice.

Anger at President Macky Sall’s tenure is intense across the country, with very little support. What does Sall represent, and who does he represent. What is the balance of international (and specifically western) influence and power across Senegal and how are these dynamics impacting the political crisis?

For his supporters, Macky Sall is the president with the best economic record in Senegal’s history. They cite economic growth rates of around 6% on average per year before the pandemic, visible through modern infrastructures – such as a toll highway, a regional express train, a new airport, etc. – and social programs such as cash transfers, a measure recommended by the World Bank, particularly with a view to making poor households more “resilient”, and presumably preventing a social explosion driven by popular frustrations. But there is another way of looking at it.

Senegal’s economic growth has been driven by foreign currency debt, which has more than doubled since 2012 as a proportion of GDP. It has not generated any net creation of decent jobs, one of the main demands of the Senegalese people. Interestingly, the French Treasury noted in 2020 that Senegal’s Development blueprint – the Plan Sénégal Emergent  – has been highly beneficial to the French economy.

Assessing Macky Sall’s economic policy from the point of view of economic and monetary sovereignty, I’d say he’s mainly been concerned with defending foreign interests. He agreed to sign the Economic Partnership Agreements (EPAs) with the European Union, despite the fact that (i) most of the existing studies carried out by independent Senegalese experts and by ECOWAS [Economic Community of West African States] showed a significant negative impact, and (ii) Senegal’s status as a Least Developed Country (LDC) meant that he was under no obligation to sign them. Better still, he defended the signing of such agreements by other West African countries. Another example is the trade and financial sanctions against Mali. In January 2022, the ECOWAS member countries, under the auspices of their French-speaking counterparts, themselves under the orders of France, decided to sanction Mali officially to put pressure on the military government to hold early elections. An unspoken motive was that the French government also wanted to punish the new Malian regime, which had resolved to drive out the French military troops present on its soil. As a result, the Malian government, a member of the CFA franc zone, was no longer able to access its accounts at the common central bank and to its domestic financial system. It had to default on its debts. The problem was that these commercial and financial sanctions were illegal under domestic law, franc CFA monetary union and ECOWAS provisions.

Worse still, in Senegal’s case, imposing sanctions against Mali was tantamount to punishing itself. As an export destination for Senegalese products, Mali is more significant than all the EU countries combined. No government concerned with legality and its economic interests would have agreed to sanction a neighbouring country just to please France and the EU.

A final example: the government of Senegal awarded oil and gas exploration licenses to Total, despite the fact that Total had initially not even been considered in the call for tenders, and that its late bid was apparently not advantageous for Senegal. Shocked by such an outcome, the then Minister of Hydrocarbons, Thierno Alassane Sall, resigned and subsequently accused President Macky Sall of “high treason” in a book.

With the imminent exploitation of oil and gas, Senegal has become a popular destination for world leaders. German Chancellor Olaf Scholz, President of the EU Commission Ursula Von der Leyen, IMF Managing Director Kristalina Georgieva, US Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen and others have all made the trip to Dakar. Each of them see Macky Sall as a valuable guardian of Western interests.

Unsurprisingly, the communiqués by Western countries in response to the recent uprising were as timid as those issued by ECOWAS and the African Union. They called for calm, but refrained from denouncing the government’s handling of the crisis, unlike organisations such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch.

Can ‘the streets’ – and the extraordinary history of social movements in the country – win out? Previously efforts to remake Senegal from below have failed, with (opposition) politicians, riding a wave of popular mobilisation, from opposition into government. Is there an alternative emerging from within the radicalising support base for Sonko?

The “streets” can never win outright because the people – the popular and dominated classes – do not participate in the exercise of “institutional power”, State power. Others must decide for them within the framework of the representative system. At best, the “streets” can act as a brake on despotic excesses and, if necessary, redistribute the cards within the political game. So far, this force has saved Sonko from prison on two occasions, in March 2021 and early June 2023. So far, Sonko enjoys “popular immunity”.

Let me give you an example. The Secretary General of his party, Bassirou Diomaye Faye, was arrested without a warrant and put in prison for posting a text on Facebook in which he spoke of the “beggarisation of the judiciary” (clochardisation de la justice – in French). Sonko took the same text and posted it on his Facebook page. Nothing happened. Because the government knows what will happen if it tries to put him in prison. At the moment, even though he has been convicted by the Senegalese courts, he still hasn’t been arrested…he is rather, according to his lawyers, ‘illegally sequestered’ at his home by the FDS since the end of May, without the possibility of leaving his home, receiving his lawyers, his party members, and so on. The ultimate aim of the demonstrators is for Sonko to be the victorious candidate in the next presidential election scheduled for February 2024. There are fears of a new cycle of violence when the government tries to stop him or his candidacy. For the time being, a temporary peace will likely be “bought” in exchange for the pursuit of a regime of impunity. But for how long?

What sort of alternative does a Sonko government offer the poor?

Sonko currently represents the hope of change for Senegalese youth and a significant part of the diaspora. Assuming he emerges from his legal troubles and becomes Senegal’s fifth president, he will be placed between the hammer of powerful enemies – the privileged inhabitants of the neo-colonial order and possibly the social groups and countries whose economic interests might be threatened – and the anvil of demands from the working classes, who expect an improvement in their living conditions, and from his own militants, who will want to be rewarded for their “sacrifices”.

To be frank, I fear that Senegal is heading for political instability. Why? Contrary to the “rosy” and apologetic analyses that extol the unshakeable strength of Senegal’s “social contract”, I understand Senegal’s relative political “stability” in two ways.

Firstly, until now the ruling class (including most intellectuals) has been satisfied with the neo-colonial pact with the French elites. As long as political struggles do not challenge this neo-colonial pact, the country can aspire to neo-colonial political stability. This is the same type of “stability” found in countries such as Cameroon, Gabon and Côte d’Ivoire (until the death of Houphouët Boigny). Before Sonko, the only challenge to this neo-colonial pact came from Mamadou Dia.

Secondly, Senegal’s political stability depended on one thing it didn’t have: strategic resources such as oil. All the oil-exporting countries that use the CFA franc have heads of state who are presidents for life: there are no presidential term limits (Gabon, Cameroon and the Republic of Congo), and often the simple majority system (one round) prevails.

A democratic jolt is therefore needed to prevent an undesirable scenario. However, I don’t see it coming from the “political class” or the intelligentsia, the vast majority of whom continue to demonstrate their inability to divorce themselves from the liberal thinking of Thomas Hobbes and Montesquieu, with a view to original, endogenous socio-political reflection.

As for young people, who make up the reality of the demos, the gerontocratic political system excludes them from decision-making bodies that decide their future. This leaves them only with the “streets” and social networks. And yet, beyond the partisan conflicts of the moment, we Senegalese should all listen carefully to the words of a young demonstrator (my translation from Wolof):

President Macky Sall […] we don’t even have enough to treat our poor sick mothers. We are socially marginalised people! Our little brothers and sisters no longer go to school. Life is expensive: a loaf of bread costs 175 CFA francs, a kilo of sugar 700 CFA francs. What is the price of a bag of rice? What’s the price of gas? Macky take pity on us! We have resources like oil, gas, zircon, gold. We have everything we need to develop our country! As soon as the gold from Sabadola [located in south-eastern Senegal] is extracted, its destination is France. France is one of the countries with the largest gold reserves. Yet they have no natural resources […] How many years has our oil been exploited? Our zircon? Our phosphate? We love our country! We believe in it!

Admittedly, the official destination of gold mined in Senegal is often Switzerland rather than France. But the message is unequivocal and straightforward: Senegalese youth aspires to an economy that serves the needs of the masses.

Ndongo Samba Sylla is Research and Programme Manager for the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation. He is the editor and author of a number of books including Africa’s Last Colonial Currency and a long-time collaborator and comrade of ROAPE. 

Featured Photograph: Protests against the arrest of opposition leader and former presidential candidate Ousmane Sonko in Dakar, Senegal, 5 March, 2021 (Leo Correa).

Forgotten drafts of Walter Rodney’s third visit to Cuba

ROAPE’s Chinedu Chukwudinma, unearths two previously unknown draft texts by Walter Rodney in the archives in Atlanta. He writes how Rodney was inspired by the lessons of the Cuban revolution, and that during a prolonged visit to Cuba between 1968-1969, he began to imagine a world without racism and inequality. Rodney argued that black people in Jamaica and the US could build a socialist society through a guerrilla revolution. Both texts concern radical development and class struggle which lay at the centre of Rodney’s work after 1970. Chukwudinma examines an incredible seven month visit to Cuba by the Guyanese revolutionary.  

By Chinedu Chukwudinma

Little is known about Walter Rodney’s visit to Cuba from November 1968 to June 1969. When I explored the Walter Rodney Papers in the Atlanta archive in the autumn of 2022, I only stumbled upon one correspondence about his stay on the island. It was a letter dated 4 July 1969 from the University of Dar Salaam (UDSM) to Pinar de Rio, the capital city of the most western province of Cuba. Its author thanked Rodney for his mail on 10 May, in which he applied for a “lectureship in African history”.

I can only imagine Rodney walking down the streets of the provincial capital named after heroes of Cuban independence, Jose Marti and the Afro-Cuban General Antonio Maceo. Perhaps his interest in the history of African slavery in Cuba led him to Pinar Del Rio’s tobacco plantations, which sprawled over plains surrounded by limestone mountains on the horizon. After all, it is the site of the world’s finest cigars. However, I can only say with certainty that the letter failed to reach the Afro-Guyanese historian in Pinar del Rio; he had already made up his mind and left Cuba for Dar es Salaam.

In this essay, I aim to bring attention to the details and motivations surrounding Rodney’s obscure journey to Cuba. I then shed light on the significance of his visit for his political development by presenting two unpublished drafts I suspect he wrote from Cuba. I argue they represent an expansion of Rodney’s case for guerrilla revolution in Jamaica and the United States in the aftermath of 1968, the year of global revolt.

Returning to Cuba again and again

It was not the first time Rodney had visited Cuba. During his undergraduate years at the University of the West Indies (UWI), he first visited Cuba only a year after the revolution of 1959 and again in early 1962. He returned from his journeys with literature, including Che Guevara’s Guerrilla Warfare. A decade later, Rodney remembered his travels with the utmost enthusiasm. “Because I was with Cuban students”, he wrote, “I got some insight at an early period into the tremendous excitement of the Cuban Revolution. One must live with a revolution to get its full impact, but the next best thing is to get there and see a people attempting to grapple with real problems of development”.

To live with the revolution, he planned a longer visit to Cuba in November 1968. But this third visit was motivated by peculiar circumstances. Only a month before his departure, the Jamaican government had banned Rodney from Jamaica upon his return from the Montreal Black Writers Conference. Rodney, who had spent nine months lecturing history UWI, had gained the respect of radical students, Rastafarians and unemployed youth for his Black Power agitation on campus and off-campus while raising the fears of Jamaica’s elite. So, when news of his ban spread, the masses rebelled against the Jamaican state from 15-16 October.

Brian Rodway’s banner to commemorate Walter Rodney’s birthday.

“The Rodney Riots” and “Rodney affair”, as they became known in newspapers, had raised Rodney’s international profile making him famous among activists, but notorious among governments. Forced to linger in Canada, Rodney arranged his travel to Cuba in between his frantic schedule of speaking at rallies and community meetings against his ban and giving interviews to the Canadian press. “He wanted a break and to do some writing,” said Patricia to me when reflecting on her husband’s banning. She continued with more information on his state of mind. “He was unsure whether he wanted to go back into academia”. Rodney had suffered a profound existential crisis. His time in Jamaica had left him bitter towards pretentious ivory tower academics, satisfied with learning and teaching for the sole sake of it. He was of a different breed. He was devoted to learning and teaching for the oppressed working masses who could change history. Doubting whether academia could support his aims, he went to Cuba to find himself.

There may have been a more pressing reason for his departure in November 1968. An acquaintance of Rodney’s in Montreal, Afro-Canadian activist Raymond Watts claimed he learnt about an urgent threat to Rodney’s life from the Montreal-Based Haitian socialist Dr Max Chancy, who was in touch with Cuban intelligence. In this scenario, the Guyanese historian left for Cuba because he received a tip that his life was in danger. This rumour, which is unfounded, somewhat satisfied my soul. I  have found Walter’s decision to leave his family for Cuba puzzling – he left between his wife’s near miscarriage and the end of her pregnancy. Although Walter had arranged for his wife and three-year-old son to accompany him, his family could not obtain a visa. When the Rodneys reunited in late October 1968 in London, Patricia was recovering from the tremendous hardship she suffered after her husband’s expulsion from Jamaica. Whilst in the middle of her pregnancy, Patricia had joined the UWI student protest to reinstate her husband. Because of police tear gas and repression, she was hospitalised almost losing her unborn daughter.

In December 1968, the tireless seven-month-pregnant Patricia moved her family to Tanzania to live with friends in a city she knew and adored. She has always praised her husband for performing his share of household chores, encouraging her to pursue her studies, and being a good and loving father. I found countless examples in Rodney’s life supporting her assertions. But, in those days, could the young historian have shown an aloofness toward family responsibilities at the expense of his own wants and desires? This would not be uncharacteristic of most men of his time and most today. Or did the couple agree that Rodney should leave for his safety? In March 1969, Patricia gave birth without a husband by her side. The couple’s second child was three months old when Walter returned from Cuba in June 1969.

Fragments of Rodney’s activities in Cuba

I found few details of Rodney’s third visit to Cuba. They begin with a strange, declassified CIA document from 1969. The document is a newspaper article that shares the information of a Cuban whistle-blower, once employed at the Cuban Consul in Paris. The Cuban defector had alerted the Americans that Rodney had travelled to Havana in November 1968 via Paris and Prague. The document underscores the international notoriety Rodney had acquired after the riots of October 1968, but says no more about his journey.

Next, we have the memories of the Jamaican scholar-activist Horace Campbell. This close friend of Rodney told a Cuban scholar, Samuel Fure Davis, that Dr Armando Entralgo was the main contact of the Afro-Guyanese historian in Cuba. In the late 1960s, Dr Entralgo was on the path to becoming Cuba’s most reputed expert on African affairs, history, and culture. In 1963, he opened Cuba’s first African embassy in Accra to forge relations with national liberation movements. He worked as the ambassador to Ghana until Nkrumah’s overthrow in 1966. Upon his return to Cuba, Dr Entralgo became a professor of African history. He worked toward the establishment of a specialisation module in African and Asian history within the School of History at the University of Havana. Amongst these efforts, Dr Entralgo had invited Rodney to Cuba to write something on African history and its ties to Europe. “Walter told me the Cubans inspired him to write How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, wrote Campbell to me. He explained that the Cubans had asked Rodney to recommend a good book on African history, but he could not think of a title worthy of being read. Aside from Dr Entralgo, Rodney befriended Osvaldo Cardenas­, a young Afro-Cuban sociologist who would later become the ambassador to Jamaica. Some years ago, he had told Afro-Cuban Scholar Zuleica Romay via email that “Walter Rodney studied Spanish, did research and read a lot”.

Finally, Patricia remembers some information about her husband’s activities in Cuba which she followed from Tanzania. “He was very excited about the Cuban revolution” she told me remembering Rodney’s letters to her. As Patricia was a nurse, Rodney shared with her his fondness for the reorganisation of Cuba’s health care system. However, his journey was tainted by his silence as shown in Patricia’s letter from  6 January 1969. “Still no word from Walter”, she wrote to her Guyanese friends in London, Jessica and Eric Huntley, whom she had stayed with from late October until she departed for Tanzania in December 1968. She was alluding to Walter’s lack of communication two and a half months after he had landed in Cuba.

 “Walter was doing a lot of writing and reflecting,” Patricia told me. She implied elsewhere that Walter had to overcome stationery shortages and broader material scarcities bought on by the imperialist embargo on Cuba: “He wrote in whatever paper he had in his hands, mainly on napkins”, she specified to Zuleica Romay. The result of this diligent labour was a manuscript, which none can find today. “We’re still looking for the manuscript. It’s called Black Struggles… somehow it got misplaced” Patricia said to me, “lots of things got lost along the way”.

Encounters with two powerful drafts  

Today, I have come to the conclusion that the completed manuscript is lost and perhaps will remain so forever. I had often daydreamed about going to Cuba to locate this precious item before some scholars warned me about the troubles of accessing Cuban archives. Six months ago, during my visit to the Atlanta archives, my hopes turned towards finding something there that Rodney could have written from Cuba.

A few hours before the end of a routine visit to the archives, I caught sight of two strange documents that awakened my curiosity and excitement. Entitled Africans Abroad in Jamaica and African Abroad in America, they looked like two draft chapters of a larger manuscript at first glance. “Perhaps they were parts of speeches that Rodney made”, I then wondered to myself, pondering over their casual prose. Although they seem to fit nicely with the lost manuscript his widow told me about, nowhere could I find a reference to the title Black Struggles. Rodney had typed out 41 pages of the first chapter and 31 pages of the second draft. But he had not concluded the American document, which ends abruptly. Rodney edited sections of the unpolished document. Sometimes he crossed out words, sentences, and even entire paragraphs towards the end of both manuscripts. Sometimes he retyped those very paragraphs or enhanced them with handwriting on extra pages.

Walter Rodney and Bill Strickland of the Institute of the Black World (IBW) which was based in Atlanta, Georgia.

From my reading of the documents, I suspected that Rodney had written them from Cuba in early 1969. The only explicit date I found was a reference to Guyana’s “fraudulent election in December 1968”, which combined with an allusion to Hugh Shearer as the “present” prime minister of Jamaica. On several occasions, Rodney appears to educate a foreign audience: “Until today many blacks in Jamaica will tell you that Garvey is not dead physically”, he writes before explaining how Garvey remains a symbol of resistance in Jamaica. The text also bristles with references to Cuban history, culture and praises of the 1959 revolution. Plunged into frenzied thoughts over what I had encountered, I began pacing up and down the archival room, until realising that I annoyed the poor staff member left with me that evening.

African abroad in Jamaica: A sequel to The Groundings

In these powerful unpolished drafts, Rodney reveals his optimism at the possibility of a Black Power revolution led by guerrilla fighters in Jamaica and the United States. Part one, Africans Abroad in Jamaica, reads like a sequel to Rodney’s The Groundings with my Brothers ­– a collection of the speeches he made during his time in Jamaica, published by his London comrades. In the same polemical style as Groundings, Rodney offers a more vivid account of Jamaican underdevelopment under neo-colonialism than any of his prior writings. In poetic prose, he tells us how the collusion between the local elite and Western companies through foreign investment in development programmes has increased wealth inequality on the island:

Black people in the Kingston slums can glance up and see the private mansions which the local capitalists are building on the hillsides, each at the cost of thousands of immoral pounds, luxury hotels are never very far from the shacks of the local population in the tourist resort areas; American cars of the latest model pass by as workers in the hot sun and the hot tar are waiting on the inefficient capitalist bus; whites roll up in their limousines and photograph the peasant on his donkey; peasants heroically cultivate little patches of rock land clinging to the hillside while beneath them the level fertile land is monopolized by sugar estates and other lesser capitalist.

Although Rodney’s class anger runs through Africans abroad as it does in Groundings, his concerns in the draft diverge from his Black Power manifesto. Africans abroad reveals a shift in Rodney’s main political priorities after his departure from Jamaica. Rodney devoted much of Groundings to challenging African history and attacking the multiracial character and politics of Jamaica’s elite to empower black minds. Yet, he moves the theme of black empowerment into the background in Africans Abroad to focus on the class struggle, (under)development, and the question of revolutionary violence.

His new focus partly came from what he witnessed in Cuba during his visit. Fidel Castro’s state had launched the Revolutionary Offensive of 1968, responding to the failures of its previous self-sufficient development model. The Offensive was an aggressive campaign of industrialisation and expansion of export agriculture. It also nationalised small businesses to increase state control over agricultural production. Rodney believed that Cuba’s industrialisation enabled farmers and workers to “control their own destinies” by raising living standards. Consequently, he argues in Africans abroad that Jamaica’s path out of underdevelopment should follow Cuba’s example by breaking with imperialism, ending unequal divisions of wealth and modernising through technology. Furthermore, he praises the ban on prostitution and gambling in Cuba, which Castro completed under the “New Man” ideology that accompanied state-led development. This state ideology promoted an identity that glorified rural life and devotion to the revolution while attacking religion, Afro-Cuban anti-racist agitation, and everything the regime considered heresy. In Africans Abroad, Rodney does not mention such acts of oppression in Cuban society, as he appears blindsided by his enthusiastic support for Castro’s state-led socialism.

Although he spends time praising Cuba’s free health care and education in his draft, Rodney stresses that these benefits are the fruits of armed struggle. And yet, the theme of violence has been so often overlooked by those who have studied Rodney’s activity in Kingston. But luckily for us, the Guyanese historian provides his explanation for his ban from Jamaica in his Cuban manuscript.

It turned out that Rodney was regarded by the government as a threat because he put himself at the service of a black power movement both within the university and outside, and because he was prepared to discuss the question of revolutionary violence as a means of ending injustice.

Perhaps, Rodney’s reference to himself in the third person underlines that he was writing objective history, not a memoir. It conveyed his commitment to presenting the real course of events leading to the “Rodney riots” of 1968, and that exercise required him to include his role as a Black Power agitator keen to discuss armed struggle.

Throughout the draft, Rodney adamantly argues that violence is not a foreign concept to Jamaican society. It stands at the heart of historical acts of resistance to imperialist oppression and is part of the contemporary class struggle flourishing in all corners of society. He illustrates this fact throughout the document with examples from the peasant Morant Bay rebellion of 1865 to the Caribbean labour unrest of 1938 which bought the colonial system to a standstill. In his analysis of the October riots in 1968, he conceives them as a step forward in deepening revolutionary consciousness in the country. He argues that the uprising and its brutal repression helped bring students and academics out of their idle embrace of non-violence to consider other possibilities. He praises black youth for leading the way in moving from the theorisation of violence to its concrete application. “For some hours, on October 16, the city of Kingston was in the hands of black youth who showed a high degree of creativity and organisational ability. Those brothers took a step forward from theory to practice” writes Rodney. This spontaneous riot, he argues, represents the culmination of the efforts of individuals and small groups who hitherto promoted a theory of armed struggle.

Walter Rodney and his friend Harald Sellin in Hamburg, May 1980.

In his praise of spontaneous action, Rodney rejoices at the formation of independent trade unions outside of the elite-led organisations, calling these workers’ initiatives “the most outstanding development in the labour movement since 1938”. He thereby considers the rivalry between the two major unions, Bustamante Industrial Trade Union and National Workers Union and their respective parties, the Jamaica Labour Party and the National People’s Party, as dividing workers and pulling them away from the struggle against the elite. He compliments these new unions for trying to unite workers by building their own educational classes and newspapers while suggesting that they might be “the kind of organisation upon which worker power will be based”. Rodney, however, hardly mentions strikes and their importance in bringing down the state. The worker’s struggles stood far behind the strategy of guerrilla warfare of the urban youth in the coming revolution.

Rodney then elaborates on how a guerrilla war might unfold in Jamaica. While he supposes Jamaica’s insurgency will take inspiration from Vietnam and Cuba, he thinks its practical application will diverge. The island is not big and mountainous enough to accommodate long-term guerrilla camps. “Consequently, the confrontation will have to be both urban and rural at the same time”, he writes. Rodney’s intelligence as an independent thinker is summed up in that quote. When discussing the strategy of armed struggle, he considers that accounting for the geographical and historical peculiarities of Jamaica and connecting with the urban workers is of the utmost importance for victory.

African abroad in USA: The conditions for guerrilla struggle

When I read Africans abroad in the USA, the second manuscript unearthed in the Atlanta archives, I instantly felt the impact of the Black Power uprisings that swept American cities in the spring of 1968 on Rodney. Rodney’s chief concern in the draft is to discuss the strategies for building successful guerrilla warfare in the United States. Rodney first proposes the creation of an independent black political organisation and a black united front. He argues that black people should have their own organisation where they can meet one another without any interruptions while stating that whites have too often attempted to lead black people into reformism. He offers an illustration from his experience at the Black Montreal Congress in October 1968. “Many black delegates retired from the main conference hall to hold a special session. While gathered in another room, they had to defend the doors against a mob of whites who wanted to come inside” he writes.

Make no mistake Rodney was not against interracial alliances, yet he was frustrated with white activists who failed to understand that sometimes it is best to move out of the way. Rodney’s points reiterated the reasons that pushed the Black Panther Party and many other Black nationalist groups to refuse membership to white Americans. His second suggestion is that organising armed struggle should rest on building alliances with other oppressed groups in the United States, Puerto Ricans and Mexicans, and creating bonds of solidarity with anti-imperialists in the Global South.

Rodney then offers the third and vital condition for a triumphant armed struggle: a political strategy for the creation of links with white progressives in the United States and the West. “Most fundamental of all the black revolution will have to define a political perspective in relation to white workers”, he writes. This was not his sentiment when he spoke at the Montreal Congress back in October 1968. On the contrary, he argued for black people to focus on themselves rather than work on a strategy to convince or “impress” whites. That contention rested on his assumption that white workers in metropolitan capitalist countries are complicit in the oppression of black people alongside their ruling class. His pessimism on interracial alliances is still apparent in Africans abroad when he observes that the condition for racial solidarity do not exist in the USA as no white workers have joined the anti-racist and class struggle. However, these ideas are overhauled by passages where Rodney includes the prospect of white workers joining the struggle against racism and capitalism to defend their class interest:

When white workers join the movement against racism in the USA they will do so not out of love of blacks but because of their own awareness that their best interest as workers can be served by taking over the means of production in the state, which means an end to capitalism and racism.

Back in Montreal, Rodney had only mentioned that whites might join black people for profound anti-racist reasons. But the quote above shows that he had come to explain those profound reasons as rooted in objective class interests. It is not an accident that Rodney writes such a hopeful statement from Cuba in 1969. He had found a clear image of what a multiracial socialist society should look like:

The whole of Cuba is reaching out to grasp its total cultural heritage, including that which derived from Africa, but the African descendants are no longer just ‘African abroad’ they are black Cubans who can afford to walk proud because they have their ‘thing’, which they utilised to make the revolution, and which they keep to defend the revolution alongside their fellow Cuban citizens.

Cuba reinforced Rodney’s belief that a united armed struggle can create an inclusive society that empowers black people, instilling in them a complete sense of pride and belonging. In the earlier pages, he argues that Cuban society managed to free itself from the effect of slavery and racism, which has fostered the inequality between races in the United States. He perceives that imperial oppression had united black and white Cuban over their interest enabling them to join ranks during the Cuban War of Independence and the revolution of 1959. So perhaps Rodney inferred that capitalist oppression would one day bring American workers together. That might partly explain his optimism in those months of 1968-1969.

Another more important reason for his optimism is related to his developing theory of revolution, which rests on the idea that the black community is the revolutionary vanguard of American society. Not unlike Black Panther leader Huey P. Newton, Rodney argues that the black struggle will destabilise capitalism and create the conditions for winning over other workers to the revolution. In his scenario, black revolutionaries play the leading role, yet the success of the revolution depends ultimately on racial solidarity. He even criticises Black Nationalists who think that organising the black minority is an end itself:

There are black militants who believe that blacks will carry through a ‘minority revolution’ from start to finish because within the USA they do not expect to win the support of white workers. However, this view underestimates the kinds of changes, which are possible once a revolutionary situation comes into existence, and it also gives very little weight to trends of revolutionary interracial alliance.

Rodney saw in the Vietnamese armed resistance to US intervention and the ensuing multiracial American anti-war movement a sign confirming his optimistic theory. The Vietnamese struggle had done more than inspire the oppressed; its sustained challenge to imperialism created conditions whereby white workers in the West are forced to take a stand on a murderous and costly war. Rodney illustrates his argument by quoting a conversation between two conscious white workers. ““The blacks got the real resistance going against the machine”” Rodney quotes, ““if we want to help ourselves, it’s time we helped them by getting our lily white ass into their fight, the most meaningful anti-war struggle in this country”” With this example, Rodney advances the idea that black and white workers can forge an alliance through the anti-war campaign. Yet, his main argument is black people must follow the example set by Vietnamese fighters by starting a resolute struggle in America that will awaken the passive white workers.

One of the shortcomings in Rodney’s case for interracial alliances is he cannot conceive of them going beyond a coalition or taking place within a single revolutionary organisation. Could black people not sometimes caucus between themselves while working within an integrated political party? Would they not be better positioned to ensure that white comrades remain accountable to them and the demanding task imposed by the anti-racist and anti-capitalist struggle? He nevertheless had made a shift in his thinking. However, his optimism towards multiracial alliances appears to have vanished from his later work. In How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, he develops his stance that the white working class is an accomplice in the oppression of blacks. He might have returned to the subject of racial alliance during his many visits to the United States in the mid-1970s when black radicals quarrelled over ideology after the defeat of Black Power. By then, he was preoccupied with the divisions between the Afro-Guyanese and Indo-Guyanese workers in his homeland.

From November 1968 to June 1969, Rodney found the time to reflect upon the year 1968 in Jamaica and the United States by writing Africans Abroad. Inspired by the lessons of the Cuban revolution, he could imagine a world without racism and inequality. Therefore, he argued with optimism that black people in Jamaica and the USA could build that socialist society through a guerrilla revolution. These drafts that I encountered with their concern for radical development and the class struggle lay the foundations for Rodney’s future work.

Leaving the archive for the last time,  I could only imagine the 27-year-old Rodney’s departure from Pinar del Rio for Dar es Salaam with a newfound determination for producing intellectual and activist work that would inspire anti-imperialist movements in the Global South.

Chinedu Chukwudinma is a socialist activist and writer based in London. He writes on African politics, popular struggles, and the history of working-class resistance on the continent.  Chinedu is a member of ROAPE’s editorial board, and an editor of roape.net. 

Please click here to read the Chukwudinma’s A Rebel’s Guide to Walter Rodney  serialised on roape.net. To order Chinedu’s book, A Rebel’s Guide to Walter Rodney from the publisher, Bookmarks, click here

Featured Photograph: Walter Rodney speaking at a public meeting with Rupert Roopnaraine and Clive Thomas.

Dissecting an imperial activist – Tariq Ali on Winston Churchill

In an interview with Victoria Brittain, Tariq Ali speaks about Winston Churchill, the subject of his latest book. Ali has produced a searing critique full of little known detail, of a long and powerful British life which did untold damage at home and abroad. Ali exposes Churchill’s crimes against freedom fighters in Kenya. As the reputations of empires are being dissected, Ali and Brittain discuss the crimes of an imperial activist.

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Tariq Ali has been a fearless radical since the 1960s. He is a prolific writer on politics, plus novels and scripts for theatre and film – all deeply engaged in the global political moment and fiercely critical of Western attitudes and warmongering in particular. He is a long-standing member of the Editorial Committee of New Left Review, a much respected bi-monthly journal established in 1960. His latest book, Winston Churchill, His Times, His Crimes soon to be published in France, is at first sight a surprise choice for someone whose interests, and writings, have always been in the widest of world contexts.

Victoria Brittain: What made you choose the subject of Churchill, “an imperial activist” as you call him, at this time? Was it a response to Back Lives Matter and the rising current of resistance to the legacies of empire in the US and UK? Or was it related to this period of UK politics in which the small leadership clique is so markedly imbued with imperial attitudes of British exceptionalism?

Tariq Ali: All this, but also, the late radical West Coast academic Mike Davis, my colleague of decades, was very insistent that our publishing house Verso had to produce a Churchill book and I should write it. I thought about this for many months and finally decided to do it in this particular form: a history of the times, a contextualisation in terms of the rise of the British working class whose militancy Churchill hated so much. And I wanted to write the book for a younger generation. I’m told that quite a few young people, sixth form upwards are reading and enjoying it. That is very pleasing. The cult of Churchill has become such a joke that a backlash is bound to come from below rather than the existing political parties.

How do you understand the powerful myth of Churchill, the hero and his outsize presence in our national story when, as you recount, he failed repeatedly in so many endeavours, including as architect of the bloodbath in Gallipoli in the First Word War,  and even in his supposed heyday, World War 2.

The British ruling class operates in strange ways. Some of them appreciated Churchill because he was one of them. Others knew how badly he was treated by his father. And his mother was determined to push him as high as she could and by any means necessary. So his own desire to be a great military leader was greatly encouraged by family and friends but he never got there or anywhere near. This was one reason why he was extremely jealous of both Charles de Gaulle and Trotsky. One was well versed in military history, strategy, was actually serving in the army, while the other was a Jewish revolutionary and founded the Red Army that broke the backbone of the Third Reich in the 1940s. I didn’t dwell on this in the book.

Let’s start by talking about Churchill in the last three years of the 19th century to set the scene of how you saw him then.

He was in Afghanistan as a young soldier (1897); in the major imperialist event of the battle of Omdurman in Sudan (1898) as a freelance soldier, only there through his scheming and using of family contacts; then in the Boer war (1899) with a ringside seat as a freelance journalist at the showdown between the British army and the Boer guerrillas. He was an ambitious politician determined to make his name via journalism in the war zones and be of some service to his state. He has his mimics today: Bernard Henry-Levy in France and Rory Stewart in Britain. Neither are as intelligent as Churchill. Whatever else, he wasn’t dumb.

Was Churchill’s arrival in politics (1906) as an MP and Under Secretary for the Colonies, and later but not for long, Home Secretary, an inevitable step? Or unlikely? He seems not to have been popular with many of his colleagues, rather as with the military chiefs he courted before, who simply could not bear him. 

Churchill’s first loyalty was to the State, the Monarchy and the British Empire. He always felt he would play a role in serving all three institutions. This meant that his attitude to political parties was largely instrumental. Speed was essential. So yesterday a Tory, today a Liberal and then head of a Con-Lib-Lab coalition, then a Tory again. If that is how you operate then making friends in various governments is not a priority. He wasn’t popular with his Generals either!

Could you explain his interventions which are so revealing of Home Secretary Churchill’s deep class-based violent attitudes towards working class organisers such as the Welsh miners, and the dockers and railwaymen strike leaders in the industrial north of England (1911). All this repeated in his response to the 1926 General Strike.

He was not too different from other conservative and right-wing social-democratic politicians in Europe. Hostility to the working class was a shared feature of the Right throughout Europe and the United States. Churchill saw militant workers as ‘the enemy within.’ Unlike his equivalents in France, Italy, Germany he liked boasting about it and this was one reason for the hatred felt for him. As Home Secretary he crushed the Welsh miners strikes in the 1920s. They never forgave him. Not a single Welsh council contributed any money to help build his statue. And as I stress in the introduction of my book, Churchill was loathed by sections of the country throughout the war. The personality cult of him as we know it today was introduced by [Margaret] Thatcher to help her out in the Falklands War. She also used him as a model when she decided to the crush the National Union of Miners and destroy the coal industry in 1984.

Can you talk about how you see the origins of the First World War lay in Empire, and the early spark of the German navy visit to Algeria 1911, which you mention?  And also about Churchill’s responsibility for the disastrous failure in Gallipoli (1915-16) which got him sacked from the government and, as you put it, into the political wilderness.

The changing political climate in Britain over the last few decades has meant the total discouragement of a critical culture on every level. World War One was constantly attacked and denounced by poets, playwrights, liberal intellectuals, etc. Joan Littlewoods’s Oh What a Lovely War that began life in a small East End theatre [and then] took the West End by storm and was filmed by Richard Attenborough. That spirit no longer exists.

World War One was commemorated in chauvinist style. The Germans were the baddies. The fact is that the late development of the German state led to demands for imperial equality. The carving up of the African continent was a conciliatory move by Britain, but set a precedent as well. Why shouldn’t the Germans get more of the share in other continents, including Europe?

The war was, despite the immediate causes, a war between Empires: three of them collapsed. The Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires were buried. More damaging for the Entente side was the Russian Revolution that toppled the Tsar and later took Russia out of the war. Lenin’s victory marked the beginning of an epoch of wars and revolutions. That is why Churchill insisted on sending a British expeditionary force to Russia to help the Tsarist remnants to take back the country. It was not a small business, a minor affair. There were mutinies and a senior, highly decorated South African officer in the British army, refused to obey orders when asked to gas Bolshevik villages. It’s a history not often discussed, but the facts are quite amazing and I provide many details.

Could you talk about the link between Ireland and India in the fraying of Empire? The Irish war of Independence (1919-21) saw Churchill send in the brutal Black and Tans (1920) to crush the Irish, with one unforeseen result in the mutinies of Irish troops based in India. You mention that this fascinating event, which you describe in some detail, unsurprisingly goes unmentioned in Churchill’s own extensive writings.

The mutiny of the Connaught regiment in India is hardly ever discussed, let alone by Churchill. The epigone historians may not even know about it and the Irish/Hollywood film industry has ignored this incredibly dramatic event completely. And, of course, it was linked to Churchill’s despatch to Ireland of the Black and Tans, a death squad par excellence, to exterminate the IRA.

Was Churchill’s election defeat in 1945 the revenge of the British working class for WW2’s devastating cost to them while he was Prime Minister in the National Government? Why was it so short-lived?

Not just WW2 but the previous assaults on Welsh and Scottish workers, the crushing of the General Strike, his class viciousness in general and, above all an overwhelming desire for change. Nothing changed as far as British foreign policy was concerned. Labour created the NHS. It did not reform education. But they defeated the wartime leader or rather, the people voted him out.

Back in power in 1951 for four years Churchill ended his 60 year career in Parliament with two standout crimes which changed the course of history: the 1953 coup in Persia against the nationalist Mohammed Mossadegh, and in 1954 Operation Anvil against the nationalist Mau Mau movement in Kenya when 50,000 Kenyans were arrested in two weeks and placed in brutal concentration camps by the British army.

Do these illustrate how ruthless the empire mentality remained in British power circles?

The toppling of Mossadegh and Operation Anvil were crimes. Churchill supported both and even boasted about them. What is interesting is how so many British historians have ignored the Kenyan dimension. It needed a US historian from Harvard to research and expose the atrocities against the Kenyan people. Carolyn Elkins, Professor of History and African American Studies, referred to Kenya as a British gulag.

How do you see today’s changing balance of forces in the political narrative of Empire, once controlled broadly by the West, now challenged on so many fronts, including by new books some of which you refer to?

There is only one Empire in the world today. No military rivals. That is the United States. It acts on its own, has used a UNSC (United Nations Security Council) fig leaf where possible and increasingly NATO to show its command of the Western bloc. Britain and Australia are little more than stooge-states. Germany is under heavy pressure. Elsewhere, the Japanese are not permitted to have a foreign policy and South Korea remains occupied by US troops. The principal target of the US is China and this would have been the case even if China had been a Western-style democracy and treated its minorities better than the US treated its native and black populations. This century will witness some form of clash between these two states since the US seems determined to contain, if not crush, the People’s Republic. Churchill’s ghost in the White House will be watching eagerly.

Victoria Brittain is an activist, writer and journalist who has spent years reporting in Africa, and campaigning internationally. Her conversation with Tariq Ali can be read in French on AfriqueXXI here. Read ROAPE’s interview with Brittain here.

Featured photograph: Winston Churchill discussing battle plans in Italy with the Commander of the Eighth Army, Oliver Leese (left) and the Supreme Allied Commander of the Mediterranean, Harold Alexander (26 August 1944).

Death of a hero and the coronation of a parasite

This year marks sixty years since Kenya’s independence in 1963. Gathanga Ndung’u is scathing of the cabal of wealthy turncoats who have led Kenya’s independence. Ndung’u celebrates a real hero of liberation, Mukami Kimathi, who died in Kenya as the coronation of a royal parasite was being marked in the UK. 

By Gathanga Ndung’u

Amid the chaos and randomness of life, sometimes we are served with stark synchronicities that must not be ignored.  These windows of opportunities, give us a moment to pause, reflect and see the connection between two seemingly unrelated events.

A case in mind is the recent passing on of Mukami Kimathi, the wife to Kenya Land and Freedom Army (KLFA) Field Marshal Dedan Kimathi who was largely the face of the anti-colonial war in Kenya which culminated with the fall of the Union Jack on 12 December, 1963. Kimathi’s death coincided with the coronation of King Charles III who is inherited the scepter of power from Queen Elizabeth II. While pomp and glamour rocked Westminster Abbey earlier last month, gloom and somber reflection filled the small town of Njabini  as Kenya mourned one of its independence heroines.

The hoisting of the Kenyan Flag in Uhuru Gardens ushered in a new era of self-rule in 1963. Finally, the fruits of the protracted struggle that had started in the early 20th century by warriors such as Samoei Arap Koitalel, Muthoni Nyanjiru, and Mekatili wa Menza, finally paid off. The air was pregnant with expectations from the new Kenyan-led government with the promise of a democratic state, of the people, for the people, and by the people. The land and freedom that was at the center of the struggle was now controlled by one of our own. This meant that we could now chart a path to prosperity determined by the people. Tragically, as we know, the dream was quickly broken by a cabal of rapacious political turn-coats.

As history would later unfold, the first prime minister and president of Kenya, Johnson Kamau Ngegi (Jomo Kenyatta), and his clique turned against the dream at the expense of the newly formed nation. Impoverished by over-exploitation by the British Government, Kenya was in dire need of visionary and pragmatic leadership to steer the country from agriculture to a more diversified economy that would ensure the growth of a non-agricultural sectors such as manufacturing and public services.

The dream to eradicate diseases, ignorance, and poverty was shelved to allow the elite to buttress and consolidate wealth for their families and friends. The political and economic elite embarked on a looting spree of whatever was relinquished by the colonialists: white highland farms and other properties across the country through the infamous One Million Acre Scheme in which Kenya received a milti-million pound loan to buy land from white settlers living the country. This was a tactic to diffuse the danger of a radical land redistribution movement.

The power had been transferred from a foreign oppressor to a homegrown oppressor who was hellbent on using state machinery to maintain the newly acquired wealth and status. Together with their close allies and family, they formed a comprador class which continued to rule on behalf of the former colonial master.

Fake independence and resistance

Kenya’s independence sixty years ago this year  was reduced to a mere flag which had to a large extent, no socio-economic impact on the majority of Kenyans. With a meagre 12% high potential farming land, most Kenyans worked as casual labourers on white owned-farms. These farms grew cotton, coffee, tea, pyrethrum and horticultural produce for exports.

Fully conscious of the betrayal, some  KLFA warriors led by Musa Mwariama and General Baimunge, went back to the forest to continue fighting for land. The president did not lift the ban on KLFA and proscribed and labelled it as terrorist. What ensued was a crackdown of our independence heroes who felt cheated by the independence settlement. This marked the beginning of the assassination and exile of some of the leaders and fighters. To fortify the new power, dissidents were silenced too through imprisonment and assassination such as the shooting of the fiercest critics, Pio Gama Pinto in 1965. Having established the foundation of the newborn state on the rubble of cronyism, nepotism, betrayal, and corruption, Kenya’s second president perpetuated this grubby legacy.

After the fall of the apartheid government in South Africa, Nelson Mandela – who claimed to have been inspired by the leader of the armed struggle in Kenya  – visited Kenya hoping to meet Dedan Kimathi’s Mausoleum or grave site.  To his dismay, the two governments which had ruled for more than thirty years had not bothered to locate Kimathi’s remains from Kamiti Maximum Prison which is believed to hold his remains although in an unknown location.

Just as Kimathi was forgotten, other heroes still alive were forgotten and continued to wallow in abject poverty with only a few former fighters being given small parcels of land. Despite their active campaigning to secure the state’s recognition and support, they never felt the warmth of an independent state as the dream was hijacked and individualized by a few.

Mukami Kimathi – a freedom warrior

During the KLFA war, Mukami organized the women battalion, helped in administering oaths, coordinated spies in the Mount Kenya Forest and also ensured mobilization of resources for fighters and other logistical issues. Her contribution in the struggle spanned both the pre and post-independence period.

 All these sacrifices were ignored too, by the different independence governments until Mwai Kibaki recognized the KLFA movement and offered a small amount of land to her but which still was not a recognition befitting the role she played in the country’s independence. Most freedom fighters continue to die without any recognition from the government or compensation.

Yet the government failed to fulfill her only dream of being able to bury the remains of her late husband. Every year 20 October when we celebrate Mashujaa Day (Heroes Day), it is always an opportunity for the government to pay lip service to war heroes. This continues as the elite continues to acquire illicit wealth while consolidating political power to propagate their vast and unquenchable interests in various sectors of the economy. Through this, the country has become what J.M. Kariuki foresaw as a country of ten millionaires and ten million beggars.

Royal rituals, visits and reparations

On the other hand, the British Government has been reluctant to compensate war heroes in Kenya despite many calls for reparations. Instead there are only a few instances with only a handful benefitting from ‘reparations’.

An example was the £19.9 million payout to three KLFA veterans granted by the British High Court. Despite this unwillingness, the British Government has continued with its grandiose coronations, royal weddings and burial rituals. It has also continued to participate in invasions, wars and conquest, whose cost would have otherwise helped to compensate the KLFA and other victims of Britain’s atrocities around the world.

The state rushed to give Mukami Kimathi a state burial ‘befitting’ her status, yet she lived a spartan life. Her burial was an attempt by the Kenyan government to redeem itself and avoid any backlash from the public. Unsurprisingly, the Kenyan Flag was not hoisted half-mast even for an hour to honor her courage, sacrifice, and commitment to the country’s independence, yet it was hoisted half-mast for three days following Queen Elizabeth’s death last year. Kenya continues to betray the collective dream by not recognizing our history while also erasing significant parts of our history.

Mukami’s burial ceremony, which was attended by political honchos, was turned into another elite parade where the leaders in both government and opposition exchanged insults without taking time to let the family and other mourners reflect on the rich legacy which she was leaving behind. Outrageously, the cost of her state burial would have been enough to provide for her and her family when she was alive.

King Charles III has announced, his plans to visit Kenya later in the year to deepen ties that date to the colonial era. For activists we should use this visit to push for reparations for the many victims of atrocities committed by the colonial government in the concentration camps that were set-up across the country. His visit should only be permitted if his agenda is to provide a way for restoration, compensation, and healing to the broken families and individuals who were incarcerated, tortured, maimed, and killed.

The UK King’s visit should be largely centered on ‘undoing’ the dispossession which his family and country orchestrated. The government cannot claim to be putting the interest of its citizens first when it is clearly not interested in fighting for the justice of its people. Before we embark on trade deals, military cooperation, and knowledge exchange, let us first heal our historical wounds rather than covering them up.

As we celebrate 60 years since independence this year, Oginga Odinga’s  – Kenya’s first vice-president – autobiography,Not Yet Uhuru, reverberates strongly to the current state of the nation which was sadly foreseen.

Gathanga Ndung’u is a community organiser with  Mathare Social Justice Centre which is under the Social Justice Centres’ Working Group. He is also part of Revolutionary Social League brigade that organizes political education in different political cells in the respective centres in Nairobi.  

Featured Photograph: Mukami Kimathi died on 5 May 2023 and is buried in Njabini, Kinangop, Nyandarua County (5 May 2023). 

Introducing ROAPE’s new publisher ScienceOpen: An interview with Stephanie Dawson

From January 2024 all ROAPE’s work will be available on ScienceOpen with no paywalls. There will be equal access for all researchers, activists, and readers, wherever they are based in the world, and for the foreseeable future. Here, ScienceOpen CEO Stephanie Dawson discusses why ScienceOpen exists, how it differs from the corporate publishing landscape, and what ROAPE readers can expect from next year, in terms of how they will be able to access and engage with ROAPE journal content.

You have been in your role as Managing Director of ScienceOpen for around a decade now. Before we get into discussing Science Open, could you tell us a little bit about your own background, and what led you to join ScienceOpen as its CEO back in 2013?

I joined ScienceOpen in 2013 for the opportunity to rethink scholarly publishing from within a fully digital context. Before ScienceOpen I had been working at a publisher that was founded in 1749. I worked in the Science/Technology/Medicine department in Biology and Chemistry at De Gruyter for 12 years and saw a lot of changes but was also sometimes frustrated at the ways that the paper still dictated many workflows and processes. I grew up on a ranch in California but have been living in Berlin for over 20 years. I have a degree in Biology from Yale and a PhD in German Literature from the University of Washington. I think I had just the right background to think outside the box.

Turning now to ScienceOpen, can you tell us why it exists, and what it is trying to achieve?

From the beginning we felt that the network potential of a digital environment could provide a richer context for research articles in terms of knowledge transfer but also evaluation and impact assessment. It felt like there were some big issues looming on the horizon and open knowledge sharing could help to solve them faster as a community. ScienceOpen was developed as a freely accessible discovery environment with now over 85 million records for articles, books, chapters and more. We have built an interactive layer that encourages open reviews of preprints and published articles, as well as providing tools for researchers to easily and attractively share their research with a global audience. Our current business model is to provide services to publishers and institutes, from discovery and promotion to open access hosting, metadata support and full publishing solutions. We work with journals but also, increasingly, with book publishers as well.

As an aggregator of academic content we have a lot of experience in machine-readable metadata. We want our customers to have data that not only works well on our platform but across all digital platforms to maximize impact. We work closely with Crossref for Digital Object Identifiers (DOIs) for articles and books. Our author profiles have been integrated with ORCID from the beginning. ORCID, which stands for Open Researcher and Contributor ID, a global, not-for-profit organization is a great example of an open, community infrastructure. ORCID strives to enable transparent and trustworthy connections between researchers, their contributions, and their affiliations by providing a unique, persistent identifier.

You spoke there of open knowledge sharing. The corporate academic publishing industry also talks of moving journals towards an open access model for publishing and knowledge sharing. How are these two visions for open access – ScienceOpen on the one hand, and Taylor & Francis, Wiley, Elsevier etc. on the other – different?

Shifting business models is not easy in any industry and Open Access poses a particular challenge for large corporate publishing houses with a different set up of financial incentives and responsibilities. Of course, they were slow to make changes and tried to lobby against free access to their journals and books. But academics increasingly demand immediate and free access; they want to retain their own copyright. Smaller academic-led operations can be both more idealistic and more agile and offer attractive publishing channels with new models for open access. Born-open publishers and platforms like ScienceOpen have the advantage of tailoring their business models to an open economy and finding out what works.

ScienceOpen CEO, Stephanie Dawson.

ScienceOpen was founded in 2013, and you have been there from the start. How difficult has it been, to swim against the tide of the corporate publishing model? How do you assess the progress that has been made – both by ScienceOpen and other like-minded initiatives and organisations – over the last decade, towards a radically different alternative to the one on offer by the corporate publishing houses?

In 2013 we truly thought that it was just a matter of a few years and the entire paid-access subscription model would be obsolete. The arguments for open access seemed so overwhelmingly convincing – research paid for by public money should be accessible to the public and new digital models could deliver on that better than the library subscription. It was the heyday of the open access ‘megajournal’ – the Public Library of Science (PLOS )was extremely successful with PlosOne, a broadly multidisciplinary journal that was committed to publishing all research that was based on sound science and not on importance or potential impact which really stretched the concept of the journal into a platform. Many new publishers were experimenting with different Open Access workflows.

At ScienceOpen we wanted to create a publishing platform based fully on author-driven post-publication peer review. We weren’t alone – F1000Research (now Taylor&Francis) kicked off the same year with a similar model. It felt like a revolution – but the industry proved to be remarkably stable and resilient. The fabric of research evaluation, career-progression, funding, and university rankings is dependent on a perceived reputational pyramid in the scholarly publishing industry that is difficult to break.

And yet a lot of progress has been made. Open Access has become increasingly standard and a new ecosystem has grown up around it. Journals like ROAPE now have opportunities, tools and infrastructure for making a radical break with corporate publishing and still offer high quality publishing. But it will be important going forward as a community to ensure that big publishing corporations do not suck up all of the library funds with Read and Publish agreements. We need more independent open access publishers and journals!

What can readers of ROAPE expect from the new partnership with ScienceOpen going forward, in terms of how they will be able to access and engage with the content of the journal?

We are really excited to host ROAPE on the ScienceOpen platform. The first thing that readers can expect is full and direct access to all of the volumes of ROAPE in a rich search and discovery environment. With such a large volume of back content readers will want to search for particular keywords or topics, to sort their results by citation, alternative metrics or date to find what they are looking for and to be inspired by related articles. We have an interactive interface for readers and authors that encourages participation in the scholarly discourse. Readers with an academic background and at least 5 published articles can write a review, but anyone can recommend an article or share with their social networks with just one click. Usage and other article metrics are displayed on the journal and article pages for transparency. We strive to put the journal articles in context – Who did they cite? In which journals were they cited? What else has this author published? Although we are called ScienceOpen we have a great deal of research from the humanities and social sciences on the platform and we learn from each new community that joins.

Lastly, for those involved with other academic journals who want to learn more about making a shift away from their current publishing agreement and towards ScienceOpen, how can they go about this and who should they contact?

We would love to help more journals move to open models. Whether a journal is ready to go full open access or just wants to experiment with our open discovery environment, we have services for every level of engagement. We are happy to provide metadata consulting and explore different solutions. Interested journals can just get in touch with me at stephanie.dawson@scienceopen.com or with our global business development manager Stuart Cooper at stuart.cooper@scienceopen.com.

Stephanie Dawson, CEO ScienceOpen, grew up in northern California, studied Biology at Yale University and received a PhD in German Literature from the University of Washington. She spent over 10 years at the academic publisher De Gruyter in Berlin in the fields of biology and chemistry in both journals and book publishing. In 2013 she joined ScienceOpen as managing director. With ScienceOpen she has been exploring scholarly communication in a digital environment, experimenting with open access publishing, discovery, preprints, open post-publication peer review, community curation, metadata enrichment, and alternative metrics.

Raiding wages – Kenya’s proposed housing levy

The Kenyan government has proposed a compulsory housing levy from workers salaries to support contractors to build affordable homes for the working class. As incomes are squeezed and living standards collapse, Ambreena Manji and Jill Cottrell Ghai argue that the case for asking workers to bear the cost of housing development has not been made.

By Ambreena Manji and Jill Cottrell Ghai

The proposal in section 76 of Kenya’s Finance Bill 2023 to amend the Employment Act 2007 so that employers will compulsorily deduct 3% from workers’ salaries and send that, plus a further 3% contributed by the employer, to the National Housing Development Fund has met with widespread consternation.

The levy is expected to raise around £460 million a year for the National Housing Corporation that administers the fund. Following legal action, earlier proposals for a housing levy under the previous regime had been made voluntary and set at a lower rate of 1.5%. Now, the 3% levy will begin with civil servants before being extended to other parts of the formal and non-formal sectors.

The money will be used both to support developers and building contractors to build 200,000 affordable units and to subsidise mortgages for low- and middle-income households who would be offered an interest rate of 7%, half the market rate. By some calculations, affected employees’ net monthly salaries will be cut by about 52% when all statutory deductions including tax, the National Health Insurance Fund and the National Social Security Fund, as well as this new deduction, are taken into account.

Trade unions have spoken out against the levy, arguing that a variation in employment law cannot be imposed without consultations. The Kenya Constitution of 2010, Article 118, says that Parliament must facilitate public participation in its legislative work.

According to the 2022 Kenya Economic Survey, there were 2,907,300 employed in the formal sector and an annual rate of affordable home construction by the national government of around 500 units a year. It is not clear under the Constitution that the national government has this responsibility, as opposed to the devolved government at county level.

Kenya’s skewed land ownership

Whilst there is manifestly a need to address Kenya’s dire shortage of affordable homes, it is important to diagnose fully the reasons for this. Land shortages and the high costs of building materials are important causes as Steve Biko Wafula has argued. Kenya’s skewed land ownership is attributable to long-term land grabbing, going back to the colonial period. Importantly, one constitutional provision designed to address this – which calls for the development of  minimum and maximum land ceiling laws – has been studiously ignored, especially the setting of a maximum holding. The housing levy will not address this problem: it cannot increase the supply of land for housing.

The levy is designed to encourage developers to enter the affordable housing market by offering them lower land and construction costs and providing tax exemptions, as well as guaranteeing contracts with the government. However, Wafula has also pointed out that the administration of the housing fund is not clear because it relies ‘on a complex system of collection, allocation, and disbursement of funds that could be prone to errors, delays, and fraud’.

Moreover, Kenyans have seen funds such as the National Housing Development Fund used as a revenue kitty. The 2005 Ndung’u report on Illegal and Irregular Allocation of Public Land detailed how state corporations were in effect forced into buying grabbed land, as ‘captive buyers of land from politically connected allottees’. The primary state corporation targeted to purchase land was the Kenyan workers’ pension scheme, the National Social Security Fund (NSSF). It spent Ksh30 billion (£175 million) between 1990 and 1995 on the purchase of illegally acquired property.

At a time when the government is desperate to increase its resources through raising taxes, Kenyans are also understandably suspicious that some of this money, at least, will end up in general government coffers rather than in the fund for which it is statutorily earmarked – other than that which ends up in party or private pockets, of course.

Household incomes

Whilst some prospective home-owners may be lured by the offer of lower interest rates and longer repayment plans, the proposed fund is also being seen as an unwelcome compulsory saving scheme. Funding can be drawn down after seven years or at retirement whichever is the sooner. But with standards of living being severely squeezed by inflation and with longstanding constraints on wages, as well as existing deductions which yield little benefit, many households will struggle to take a further cut to their take home pay.

Indeed, government workers were not paid their salaries earlier this year due to cash flow problems caused by the country’s mounting debt. It is ironic then that the proposal is in effect asking Kenyans formally to agree to defer a portion of their wages. Furthermore, because contributions are payable from income that has already been taxed and are taxed again when the funds are drawn down, workers are exposed to double taxation.

Workers are being asked to stake their long-term security on the success of a housing fund about which many have unanswered questions. If the promised housing materialises, how can we be sure that it will not be developers and landlords who benefit rather than the intended beneficiaries? There are real prospects that the housing units will be taken up by landlords and that Kenyan workers – having already accepted lower wages because of the housing levy deduction – could still find they have to pay high rents to access housing. What guarantees will there be that the housing will not be financialised in such a way as to put the notion of housing – as shelter and personal security – at grave risk?

Building on Serap Saritas Oran’s work on the financialisation of pensions in Turkey which theorises pensions from a political economy perspective and argues that pensions are fundamental to working class standards of living, we can see how the housing levy proposal similarly financialises a right to housing. Housing is a critical factor in social reproduction, that is, in how life is maintained and labour power reproduced. Turning housing from what Oran calls ‘a social right’ into an individualised personal investment, the levy creates opportunities for speculation and extraction. In this schema, there is a real risk that some who should be the beneficiaries of affordable housing will find that because of interest rates or the accrual of high rent arrears, they in fact become debtors.

Progressive taxes

We recognise that providing affordable housing is an important goal but we believe other, much fairer ways of raising much needed revenue for housing should be considered.

Might the time have come to have a well-informed national conversation about Land Value Taxation? Given Kenya’s worsening gini coefficient which demonstrates how skewed the country’s wealth is, why should workers bear the brunt of the government’s house building programme?

Land Value Taxation is a progressive tax which ensures that the tax burden is instead borne by landowners who can well afford it. Because land ownership generally correlates with wealth and income, it is much fairer to require those already advantaged to fund the needs of those who do not yet have homes.

Land Value Capture should also be considered. This taxation can be used for example if a road is built or other infrastructure such as a park is improved, causing a rise in the value of neighbouring properties. The principle is that these property owners should share some of their unearned gain with the public.

Elsewhere in the world, funds raised in this way have been used to build lower-cost housing. In addition, the money raised could also be used to fund ongoing operational costs such as maintenance of local roads, schools, and parks. Wouldn’t that be a fair and – given the infrastructure boom of recent years which has bestowed windfall gains on many property owners – very effective way to tackle the shortfall in affordable housing?

A raid on wages

Speaking on Kenya’s NTV news channel  Mercy Nabwire, Kenya Medical Pharmacy and Dentistry Practitioners Union National Treasurer, recently described the proposed housing levy as ‘a raid on workers’ wages.’ The economy is in bad shape and public services are threadbare, but the case for asking workers to bear the cost of righting this – especially when their incomes are squeezed and their standard of living plummeting – has not been made. Still less the case for compelling them to surrender their already precarious wages for some nebulous future promise.

Ambreena Manji is Professor of Land Law and Development at Cardiff School of Law and Politics. Manji is a regular contributor to ROAPE. Jill Cottrell Ghai taught law at universities in Nigeria, the UK and Hong Kong for over 40 years. Since 2008 she has been involved in educating about, and pushing for the implementation of, the 2010 Constitution of Kenya. Jill and Yash Ghai authored Kenya’s Constitution: An Instrument for Change (Katiba Institute, 2021 – second edition).

Featured Photograph: A worker installs a kitchen at a construction site in Kenya (25 May, 2012).

Hotel Rwanda – learning from history, not Hollywood

Jos van Oijen writes about the release of Paul Rusesabagina – the ex-hotelier of ‘Hotel Rwanda’ – from prison in Kigali at end of March. He argues that with very few exceptions, the media use the Hollywood movie, Hotel Rwanda, as factual information. Yet the story is largely fictional. Van Oijen argues that journalists (and many researchers) are as ignorant about genocide today as they were in 1994.

By Jos van Oijen

‘If we are ever to have any hope of ending genocide and similar atrocities,’ researcher Kjell Anderson wrote, ‘we must first understand them.’ Anderson’s remark may state the obvious but as history keeps repeating itself, it cannot be said often enough.

In the first week of the genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda, from 7 April 1994 onward, foreign journalists dutifully reported the systematic, one-sided nature of the violence: elite units of the Rwandan army aided by youth militias going from house to house killing unarmed Tutsi civilians; separating groups of people to kill the Tutsi, killing Hutu with a stereotypical Tutsi appearance, etc.

The violence was nevertheless interpreted as chaos, anarchy, and flared-up tribal strife. Such explanations echoed the propaganda of the extremist leaders who washed their hands in innocence by portraying the acts of genocide as random violence committed by angry mobs and disobedient soldiers who escaped their barracks. It was as simple as it was effective. No foreign power wanted to risk its soldiers in yet another chaotic tribal war in Africa. The United Nations pulled out their peacekeeping force and the world averted its gaze. By the time everyone realized what was taking place, most of the victims were already dead.

Today’s journalists know as little about genocide and propaganda as their colleagues in 1994. They are not familiar with the key elements of genocide, are unable to distinguish genocide from traditional warfare, do not recognize subtle forms of genocide denial, and recycle extremist propaganda as ‘the other side of the story’. Craft journalism is no longer a priority. Present-day news coverage is a matter of suggestions and emotions, opinions and judgments, political preferences, and activism. Structured research and a rational approach to the evidence, have become the exception rather than the rule. Depictions of historical events in popular culture replace reality, at least with this subject matter.

Hôtel des Mille Collines

“It’s truly a shame what happened to the ‘Hotel Rwanda’ hero,” an investigative journalist wrote on Twitter during the controversy surrounding Paul Rusesabagina last year. The tweet referred to a background article on a public broadcaster’s website expressing the same sentiment. It caught my attention, not because it was stitched together from unverified assumptions and emotions, but because it mixed up the chronology of historical events even more than usual.

The law of cause and effect had apparently gotten in the way of a good story, so the sequence of events was adjusted instead of the narrative. In science fiction, the timeline is frequently manipulated as well, but in those cases, the hero will spend the rest of the story desperately trying to correct the unforeseen consequences. In the real world, there are consequences too, but when it affects the lives of ordinary people in faraway Africa, as in this case, nobody loses sleep over it.

To journalists, history does not exist. Only the movie exists. Hotel Rwanda, a 2004 Hollywood film, runs for two hours, long enough to internalize the message displayed at the start: ‘This is a true story’. Ironically, the scene that follows is entirely fictional, but it convinced most journalists that the movie was a historically accurate documentary. It demonstrates the magic of Hollywood as well as the gullibility of (not only) journalists.

What matters is not the facts but the beautiful actress Sophie Okonedo who says, in a romantic scene in the film set in South Africa, by candlelight and with a glass of wine, to her handsome co-star Don Cheadle: “You are a very good man, Paul Rusesabagina”.  A true story. One that happened in Johannesburg ten years after the genocide but when you’re in a dark movie theatre, participating in the shared experience of a cinematic illusion, you don’t think like that. It feels real, therefore it is true.

To the chagrin of many, the rescued hotel guests contradicted the illusory truth projected on the screen. The ‘ungrateful’ extras of the hero story remind us of the fact that the hotel manager was an actual person, not Don Cheadle in the movie, but a man of flesh and blood whose character traits included some unpleasant ones. The survivors were joined in their criticism of the film by other witnesses such as Romeo Dallaire, the commander of a few hundred UN peacekeepers in Rwanda who refused to abandon the mission. Some of these men were stationed in the hotel at the time.

The facts are documented. They were reported by experienced war correspondents. Dallaire described them in his situation reports. Correspondence has been preserved. There is too much to mention and verifying the information requires little effort. On 15 May 1994, for instance, journalist Mark Huband reported in The Observer that the hotel manager ‘threatened to throw his guests out, because they have not paid any bills’. Other newspaper articles mentioned the real heroes: the small group of peacekeepers and United Nations military observers who camped out in the lobby.

However, the media did not respond to reason. Oblivious to the paradox in their argument, they speculated that the criticism was a smear campaign organized by the Rwandan government. This assumption overlooked the fact that the information of the witnesses already existed before the film, a fact that excludes the possibility of the information being generated, for whatever purpose, after the film premiered in 2004. Even today, the international media collectively recycle the irrational assumption that 19 years ago served to retain a false belief. In the minds of these journalists, the history of 1994 still begins and ends in 2004.

The irrational accusation levelled against the former hotel guests is more than just an insult to the people concerned. It shows that the members of the media who suspended reality in 2004 to accommodate a Hollywood script have yet to return to earth. Another consequence of the knee-jerk reaction of ‘ulterior motives’ to rationalize the information of the survivors is that it has become the default attitude whenever a journalist is confronted with substantiated criticism. I will provide a few examples of this behaviour from my own experience. Again, note the blunders with chronology and causality.

Some events

On 7 September, 2021, I published a review of the book ‘Do Not Disturb’ by British journalist Michela Wrong. She responded in a South African newspaper on 18 July, 2021. That’s right: seven weeks earlier. I had not written a single word yet, but Wrong already claimed that my review was ‘part of a very efficient state propaganda campaign’ of the Rwandan government. The journalist who interviewed Wrong did not question the accuracy of her accusation, published it, and afterwards resisted the reality that the review did not exist and that my work concerns the facts of history, not contemporary politics. I was forced to lodge a complaint with the South African Press Council to be granted a rebuttal.

In the Netherlands, we have media watchdogs too, but their attitudes are more like Wrong’s and that of the Hotel Rwandafans, than their African colleagues. A case I submitted to the ombudsman of the Dutch public broadcasters last year, about a pattern of serious ethics violations in programmes related to the genocide against the Tutsi, was ‘solved’ by replacing the entire case file with an unrelated question I had sent by email two months earlier. As weird as this may sound, more relevant to the discussion of this article is that the written defence of the criticized broadcaster contained no less than twelve accusations of the ‘state propaganda’ kind.

My response to such accusations is always the same: Would it matter? Would the facts change? Facts have no ‘side’; they are what they are. Anyone can look them up and judge for themselves.

But therein lies the problem, apparently. To give alternative histories an appearance of plausibility the facts must change, the chronology of the events must be reversed, historical footage must be manipulated, official documents must be misrepresented, and fake experts must be presented to confirm the illusory truth. Otherwise, such stories would stop making sense.

And then what? Would these journalists start consulting the archives, reading the academic literature, doing some actual research themselves, and informing themselves about the elements of genocide? Would they learn a few lessons from the past instead of moulding it to fit a false belief? Oh my, what a crazy idea!

Jos van Oijen is an independent researcher from The Netherlands who publishes on genocide-related issues in various online and print media. His writings on Rwanda, genocide, and research on roape.net can be found here.

Featured Photograph: Hotel des Milles Collines, Kigali, Rwanda (5 February 2006

The roots of cowardice of today’s subaltern intellectuals

In this blogpost, Yusuf Serunkuma slams the cowardice of intellectuals today, who display self-censorship and contentment with the status quo, in contrast with an earlier generation of activists and subaltern scholars. Serunkuma argues that this did not happen overnight, rather it has taken years of manufacturing conformity and consent.

By Yusuf Serunkuma

There is a less discussed component about the profiles of earlier generation of anti-colonial, subaltern scholars and public intellectuals: their activism and militancy, and above all, community organising. Take Frantz Fanon, Mahatma Gandhi, Ramji Ambedkar, Kwame Nkrumah, Aime Cesaire, Leopold Sédar Senghor, Julius Nyerere, Amílcar Cabral, Steve Biko, Jomo Kenyatta, Tom Mboya, Walter Rodney, and several others of this earlier generation, their intellectual output was intimately entwined with their interaction with the struggle of their compatriots, which they ceaselessly sought to end.

These comrades were not just authors and theorists but were public intellectuals in the organic sense of the term: community organisers, activists. Their scholarship and life-stories—which is standard reading to this day—as author and activist Leo Zeilig, among others, has so committedly demonstrated—reveals a complete immersion and investment in seeking to identify, expose, and resiliently fight the exploitation and colonialist power.  Whatever they touched, whatever angle they approached the world, fighting foreign exploitation and control (in its many forms, things that have continued to ruin our wretched lives to this day) was the air they breathed. Whatever micro manifestation they focused their intellectual abilities—whether it was the struggle for gender parity, literature, domestic violence, local land wrangles—all these were approached and connected to the wreckage of the violent global capitalist machine. They were convinced the ways in which events within the superstructure played out, directly impacted the ways in which the more localised manifestation of the adjunct problem played out.

Even subsequent scholars—whose work and activism would become more prominent in the 1970-1990s onwards—such as Ngugi wa Thiongo, Samir Amin, Ama Ata Aidoo, Christopher Hope, Robert Serumaga, Byron Kawadwa, Wole Soyinka, Okot p’ Bitek, Ken Saro Wiwa and several others of this time—there was militancy and active engagement with their communities and scholarship. Reflecting on and documenting their life-stories—again as folks such as Zeilig, António Tomás among others, have done – reflects so poorly on the ways in which today’s scholars are emasculated, and rendered almost useless to their communities.

Today’s scholar has so wholeheartedly, cowardly, acquiesced to colonialist-capitalist tyranny, and in many cases has volunteered their services to the same folks that their grandparents died fighting to depose. It is not that today’s scholars aren’t issuing radical statements, but rather (with minor exceptions), that they are terribly detached from the struggles of the ordinary folks, and are too tame, and too cowardly. While a great many of them appear to be doing “good scholarship”—by the standards of their peers—they have only gotten more entangled into a web of obfuscated realities, focused on terminologies, representation and micro-manifestation of phenomena, and terribly afraid of confronting the biggest elephant in the room, which imbues every aspect of their scholarship. Their partial involvement, and obsession with safety away from (anti-exploitation, anti-capitalist) trouble, not only pays well (or so they are convinced) but it also guarantees them a material buttress against their more wretched compatriots.  But in a word, this is cowardice.

I try in this essay to map the history of this cowardice, self-abasement, censorship and contentment with the status quo. In truth, this did not happen overnight. It has taken years of cobbling, manufacturing and manipulating. The present condition thus represents, on the one hand, the thoroughness of new colonialism (subtle, comprehensive and apparently friendly, and distractive), and on the other, the complacence and cowardice of today’s mostly southern intellectuals.

The scholars is a community organiser

If the intellectual is meant to give their compatriots homogeneity, awareness and influence the course of history, the anti-colonial intellectuals of the 1950 and 1960s lived true to the definition of the term. As Steven Feierman writes in 1990 book, Peasant Intellectuals, “they got involved in socially recognised organisational, directive, educative or expressive activities” as Feierman has noted, and their scholarly production was mediated within the fabric of their society. To retain their independence and be “capable of elaborating dissenting discourse without losing valued occupations,” they never sought to see their intellectual production as a  means of subsistence, even when the opportunity presented itself.

Thus they did not write for peer reviewed journals in the pursuit of impact points, plaudits among peers or promotion. Neither did they write in coded incomprehensible language, problematically called rigour, and long-winding theorisation. They wrote more creatively, angrily, and simply. To quote the secretary in Achebe’s No Longer at Ease, they wrote in isand was.  Thus, they published mostly in newspapers, pamphlets and magazines, which was ideal for mass audiences. Rajat Neogy’s magazine, Transition now curated at Harvard is an outstanding example (whatever the politics of its creation and existence). Most of the time, knowledge production was not the job, but something they felt they needed to do as their contribution to their collectively wretched lives.

And if these intellectuals ever wrote books—scholarly or creative fictions—the publishers were normally indigenous, self-published, or church outlets—but these were mostly located on the continent: Tanzania Publishing House, and later Mkuki Na Nyota in Dar-es-Salaam, East African Publishing House (EAPH) in Nairobi and later Fountain Publishers in Kampala. Heinemann Educational Publishers, which published the Heinemann Africa Writers Serries edited by renowned editor and publisher, Henry Chakava, and would soon become East African Educational publishers (EAEP). There was also the East Africa Literature Bureau, which took a great deal of pride in publishing texts in the local languages. Together with the Penguin Africa Writers Series, these became the major outlets. These intellectuals rarely obsessed with the rankings of the western world. Even when publications were in foreign languages—because of the tragedy of colonial enlightenment as David Scott has so succinctly demonstrated in Conscripts of Modernity—they tried as hard as they could to have their knowledge reach their homebred compatriots, by making sure these books sold on the streets and sometimes, freely photocopied and distributed.

These eminent Africans lived on the streets, and among the peasants. They were involved in the daily lives of their compatriots. They not only participated in protests and other actions and community organising, they offered themselves for political positions as soon as need arose. They were present in local public meetings discussing cleaning of markets and protecting the environment, for example. They appeared on local radios stations to explain big and small issues. You would find them at the National Theatre curating a political play, or in the market square doing Theatre for Development or speaking to audiences such as market women and taxi touts—not just de gratis, but they took pride in these engagements. Their scholarship directly derived from and disseminated amongst their compatriots. This is especially true of Ngugi’s work with the Kamirithu Theatre group, Okot p’ Bitek’s work at the National Theatre in Kampala, not to mention Nkrumah who would become first president of Ghana. And poet, Ken Saro Wiwa was a committed environmental activist and died fighting Shell in the Niger Delta. The list goes on and on.

Don’t look, don’t see scholars

This quality of their militancy and activisms blossoms more powerfully when cast against the current crop of intellectuals, specifically the ones operating mostly in the fields of decolonial, and postcolonial studies. Or any other discipline seemingly insulated away from new colonialism. Here, you find folks preoccupied with discourse, framing, language, ethics, and theorisation (all of which are undeniably wonderful things).  But rarely do these scholars aspire to confront the subject of their theorisation head-on. Firstly, these folks are not only selfishly  walled away from the rest of their compatriots, they are also endlessly producing scholarship, which ironically (sometimes, unbeknownst to them), only reproduces exploitation.  These scholars of today have decided to spend entire careers and productive lifetimes quarrelling with their equally conflicted peers from the western world—the ‘New Intellectuals of Empire’—about how they have wrongly framed the discipline, and whether they are willing to listen to the subalterns.  The idea of “studies” has replaced the urgency of activism and conscientisation. This gulf between academics and their communities has become more pronounced with scholars seeing themselves as too polished to mingle with their dirty wretched compatriots, but also see themselves simply as chroniclers of events. (Makerere University recently completed a huge high-rise wall around their over a hundred acres of the land—a long, long winding wall—so as to keep the scholars away from their unwashed compatriots, whom they accuse of stealing side mirrors off their second-hand Japanese-made vehicles, and wearing down the public infrastructure i.e., paid for by these same unwashed taxpayers, who wish to use it with unauthorised entry).

With the stark exception of political economists, the majority of other scholars (in disciplines such as human rights, democracy, historical studies, medicine, literature, culture, gender studies, postcolonial studies, conflict and peace studies), all of them—be they Europeans or Africans—do not see, nor seek to integrate continued colonisation into their analyses.  While they might agree that colonialism is alive and well, they see no reason to practically confront it—as their predecessors did—neither do they even aspire to expose it as the bedrock around which everything else falls in place.  They see their different departments and disciplines as only slightly linked to the economies in which they operate (and many Euro-American funding organisations marauding the continent appear very friendly and have often gifted them with a few peanuts, they would themselves have gotten either as taxes or endowments from the juggernauts of corporations maiming the continent).

For example, conflicts are studied mostly as products of local agency: so, things such as corruption of local elites, Islamic extremism, autocratic tendencies of leaders, tribalism are common. Which are often clearly undeniable. The historian, or political scientist will spend endless pages knitting the story together, showing the mistakes and overzealousness of the autocrat and other local actors; their dangerous pronouncements, the monies stolen, etcetera. But while this is undeniable, it is outrightly the smallest part of the story.  They’ll not tell or see as a key factor, that autocracies across the African continent after the 1980s onwards, have been mostly emissaries of Euro-American banks and corporations (see here, and here, and here for example).

Thus, studying a men such as Yoweri Museveni, Paul Biya, Mobutu Sese seko or even the Kabila family in DRC for their contribution to the mismanagement of their countries, branding them “monsters” is clearly unhelpful analysis. Because these men are workers of a superior power which continues to set their terms of work. The big Pharma (say as spelled out in Prof. Peter Mugyenyi’s book) will not be mentioned, but instead will be told how local countries and their leaders are unable to invest in local manufacturing of medicines. They’ll discuss underdevelopment of Africa and throw about pompous theories about the failure to build structures and institutions as “what makes nations fail”. Or they’ll tell you, the tribalism of the African elite in Robert Mugabe, or Yoweri Museveni or the autocracy of President Amin. And they’ll knit a wonderful story together—often with good evidence.

But all of this is absolute nonsense. They’ll never discuss debilitating sanctions say against Robert Mugabe, Fidel Castro or Idi Amin. They will never integrate in their analyses, the blatant investment in violence and corruption by major Euro-American extraction agencies, such as Glencore Plc. or Dan Gertler International (DGI), Africom, which are well spread across the African continent doing dirty work and failing these countries.  While these stories are blasted all over news outlets, scholars have tended to see very limited connection between them and their work. But more importantly for me is are scholars uninterested in organising with the rest of the wretcheds.

Standardization as stupefaction

What has happened over the years is that knowledge production and its subsidiary chain (gathering evidence, publication, and dissemination) have all become aligned to a sophisticated colonial packaging: First, knowledge production became a job for the subaltern intellectual. This was quickly followed by standardisation: gathering knowledge, publishing it, and disseminating it—even if not for monetary gain—all became legitimated by the university.  Only through the university (its journals and presses, and its people with titles behind their names) is knowledge validated as scientific.  At the face of it, the guidelines look logical benevolent: Knowledge has to be “scientific” to avoid “fake news,” they say, to argue. Then journals and university presses become the vanguards of “scientific knowledge.” Data has to be “ethically” gathered and presented in a particular grammar and ordering. But what do they mean by an abstract concept such as “scientific knowledge” or even “ethics”? Journals and publishers have to have impact, and texts have to show rigour.  But what do these things mean in the life-threatening quest for freedom from violent exploitation from colonial control? As critical race theory scholars have demonstrated, the quest for fairness and liberation becomes obscured or (colour) blinded by claims of science and demands of “de-personified” “passive” neutrality or “objectivity,” which in effect glosses over the histories of violence, racism and exploitation behind that which finally becomes labelled scientific.

Like genetically modified tomatoes or apples, which have to look the same from Saigon to Nairobi, everything has been coded and standardized in the false claim that we live in a “global commonwealth of knowledge” and all of us contribute to the same pool, on an even turf. So, you find African scholars producing endless publications about being negated in African studies; about not being cited; and not being acknowledged—all by the white universities! At the centre of the clamour for this validation is the assumption of a benign knowledge commonwealth, a thing which is simply a delusion.

Ever wondered why universities rushed to bestow prominent African intellectuals with PhDs and professorships, without these people actually studying for those things? Yes, to gentrify them and take them away from the streets. After succeeding with the intellectuals of the 1970s and 1990s, the current crop is yearning for being locked into the university, far away from the madding crowd of their compatriots, and in the end, we have scholars completely unconnected to the masses.

Yusuf Serunkuma is a columnist in Uganda’s newspapers, scholar, and a playwright. In 2014, Fountain Publishers published his first play, The Snake Farmers which was received with critical acclaim in Uganda, Kenya, and Rwanda. He is also a scholar and researches topics in political economy, and teaches decolonial studies/new colonialism, and writes regularly for ROAPE

Featured Image: Mubarak hiding behind his tanks during the first days of the Egyptian revolution (30 January 2011).

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For 50 years, ROAPE has brought our readers pathbreaking 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.
We use cookies to collect and analyse information on site performance and usage, and to enhance and customise content. By clicking into any content on this site, you agree to allow cookies to be placed. To find out more see our