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The Bloody Crown – Africa, empire and the British royal family

ROAPE has asked a few of our contributors to reflect on the death of Queen Elizabeth II, the legacy of the British royal family and on the British empire in Africa. Gathanga Ndong’u looks at the crimes of the British state, and the queen’s part in these, in Kenya. Femi Aborisade analyses the reaction of Nigerians to the death and writes that this is an opportunity for real change. Scott Timcke explains that the royal family sits at the apex of a pyramid of continuous horrors.

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The Shame – Kenya and the queen

Reflecting on the death of the queen, Gathanga Ndung’u considers the crimes of the British state, the monarchy, and the queen, in perpetuating the horrors of empire and colonialism.

By Gathanga Ndung’u

To say that I’m flabbergasted, appalled or angry would be an understatement. As a grandchild of a Mau Mau (Land and Freedom army) war veteran and part of the third generation of freedom fighters, I feel betrayed. The feelings that I have following the directive from the outgoing president, Uhuru Kenyatta on Friday 9 September that the Kenyan flag should fly at half-mast for four consecutive days following the death of Queen Elizabeth II are of resentment and deep anger.

Growing up, I never saw our flag flying half-mast following the death of a Mau Mau war veteran, let alone observing a moment of silence during our public holidays such as Mashujaa Day (Heroes’ Day).

As a grandchild of a militant of the Land and Freedom army, I fail to understand how and why we have to honour our oppressors and treat them with reverence while oppressing our heroes at home. I naively expected this to be a time to reiterate our push for reparations to the incoming ‘crown holder’ and to bring the needed healing by making right the wrongs done under his predecessor’s 70-year reign.

The Kenyan ruling class has clearly shown in whose interest they act. This is happening a few months after Mama Ngina Kenyatta, Uhuru Kenyatta’s mother and the wife to the first president of Kenya, embarrassingly shaved Muthoni Wa Kirima’s dreadlocks in public in full glare of the cameras.

Field Marshal Muthoni wa Kirima was the only woman field marshal in the Land and Freedom army. She fought deep in the forests of Mount Kenya and Aberdare against the colonial British government in Kenya during the uprising. She had kept her dreadlocks as an act of defiance towards the British government and the successive regimes that failed to recognise the role they played towards our independence in 1963. Her dreadlocks have been an everyday reminder of the struggle and sacrifices they made. Her public shaving seems to have come about through coercion and manipulation, forcing her to accept that our ‘flag independence’ was truly a political, cultural and economic transformation.

Muthoni suffered two miscarriages as a result of the wounds inflicted during the war, and has remained childless. To date, she has maintained that Kenya is her only child, and she has never regretted sacrificing her life for the sake of the freedom of her ‘child’ today. However, she has decried the sorry state in war veterans have had to survive almost 60 years of independence.

Since the death of the queen a week ago, both international and local media, electronic and print, are flooded with the ‘beautiful’ legacy that she has left. They have systematically overlooked the horrendous and bloody legacy of racial discrimination, killings, theft of African resources, of minerals and labour from Kenya, Zimbabwe, Zambia, South Africa and other countries across the world.

Our biased media have forgotten the blood, sweat and tears that sustained the monarchy during her reign, they have forgotten the families that were ripped apart during the many wars her government waged in different countries. I do not mourn the queen’s death.

At the apex of the British state, this is a moment to let the world know the legacy she is leaving behind, the stolen hope, shattered dreams and broken souls in every country that her military has invaded. This would have been the moment to remind the incoming king of the long unfulfilled reparations promised to the families of the Land and Freedom army in Kenya and other war heroes in other parts of Africa and the world.

It is said that life can only be understood backwards but it must be lived forward. For this reason, it is our collective responsibility to remind the powers that be of our history, the painful paths we trod and the future we envisage. To live forward, we first have to deal with the crimes of the past, for it is in winning justice that we shall find our way to a future worthy of the sacrifices of the past.

Gathanga Ndung’u is a community organiser with Ruaraka 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.  

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The Queen is Dead – Nigeria and the royal family

ROAPE’s Femi Aborisade reports from Nigeria on the reactions to the death of Queen Elizabeth II. He says the death must be an opportunity to reconsider the past, and to fight for a decolonial future.

By Femi Aborisade

The reactions to the death of Queen Elizabeth II vary widely in Nigeria based mainly on differences in ideological and political tendencies. These stretch from those that revere any authority figure to those that want a fairer and more democratic society and do not see any role for the remnants of feudalism either in Britain or in Nigeria.

There are views which assumed that prominent individuals could intervene to resolve or reduce conflicts and crisis in society. To Helen, who witnessed the Biafra Civil War in her childhood and went on to experience first-hand violent communal and religious conflicts in Kaduna later in her life, the death of QE II meant little to her. “I do not think anything about her death – what did she do? She chose to remain silent in the context of so much suffering in Nigeria.”

Given the horrors, terror and uncertainties of everyday life in Nigeria it is no wonder that so many turn to would-be saviours. Helen’s standpoint may represent a tendency that attributes to the British royal family the power to contribute to the process of social change, in the same way that some unions tend to appeal to traditional rulers in Nigeria to intervene in strike actions.

However, if we are to achieve a fairer and more egalitarian society then these elitist views will have to be completely discarded. We cannot depend on any traditional rulers. The interests of these customary leaders tend to be intertwined with the interest of the ruling class that holds society under its control. It is only the collective action of the common people that can emancipate and transform society.

One professor of law expresses the views of a significant segment of the Nigerian society who held the queen in awe, describing her as “iconic”, “lovely and adorable”, etc.

In my opinion, I would personally not describe the royal family, a symbol of a system of slavery, to be “lovely and adorable”. Adoration is almost synonymous with “worshipping” out of deep love and respect. Given the crushing effects of colonialism and slavery, there should be no basis to suggest deep respect or adoration for the institution of the British empire and royal family.

Nor should we venerate the monuments and plaques to the queen’s visit to Nigeria in 1956. The mass movement in the United States in the events following the murder of George Floyd teaches us how to treat colonial monuments as a new generation learns our colonial history.

A deep reflection on what slavery meant for those who went through it does not call for celebration of personalities that represent that epochal catastrophe in human history. But I agree that politicians have continued the damage to society that was set in motion by the era of slavery and colonialism. My plea is that the current modern-day “slave masters”, in the guise of politicians, and the colonial masters of the past should collectively be described as anti-human.

The celebration of the royal family ignores and completely devalues the monumental anti-colonial sacrifices, struggles, agitations of ordinary Nigerians, workers’ strikes and the killings of protesters and detentions of activists in the anti-colonial struggles which led to Nigeria’s independence. Our independence was not obtained on a platter of gold, as some academics and politicians would want us to accept. It was obtained from the sweat and blood of working-class resistance and the agitation of movements for national liberation. I recommend a reading of Mokwugo Okoye’s books and other accounts to gain a balanced view of the actual struggles for independence.

The great Black Nationalist Malcom X’s parable of the ‘house and field Negroes’ (with different material existential conditions) aptly explains the differences in attitudes to the death of QE II, as a symbol of oppressive forces:

There were two kinds of slaves, the house Negro and the field Negro. The house Negroes – they lived in the house with master, they dressed pretty good, they ate good because they ate his food – what he left. They lived in the attic or the basement, but still they lived near their master; and they loved their master more than their master loved himself. They would give their life to save their master’s house – quicker than the master would. If the Master said, “We got a good house here,” the House Negro would say, “Yeah, we got a good house here.” Whenever the master said “we”, he said “we”. That’s how you can tell a house Negro.

It is therefore not surprising that some Nigerians – equivalent to the house Negroes – felt a direct bereavement with the death of the queen. For these Nigerians, they perceive that a part of them has also died. Like Malcom X, a field Negro, many other categories of Nigerians call for more critical thinking.

I count myself among the field Negroes who insist that the royal family should be held responsible for the acts of the colonial power and the empire.

As Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari said, “She was the only British sovereign known to 90% of the Nigerian population.” In fact, many middle-class Internet users have posted photos and tributes on their social networks, saluting the life of Queen Elizabeth II. Others have reportedly organised parties in celebration of the life and times of the queen.

To Adekunbi Rowland, who grew up between Nigeria and Britain, “It’s really a poignant moment for me, I feel like my grandmother died.” Rowland said he wished for an opportunity “in front of Buckingham Palace, with friends”.

However, another Nigeria, a 30-year-old woman, evokes the “duality” of her feelings, well aware that the queen also represents a darker part of Nigeria’s history. “We talked about it with my aunt right away, as we were crying our hearts out, wondering if it was an expression of a ‘colonised mentality’,” she explains.

Much clearer is Caleb Okereke, editor-in-chief of the online publication Minority Africa, believes that he has “no duty of empathy” and even evokes “the Stockholm syndrome of certain Africans”. Okereke went on: “Personally, I am more moved thinking of the two million Igbo dead during the civil war [Biafra war between 1967 and 1970]. We know that the Biafrans were abandoned to their fate without any intervention from Britain,” which sided with the federal government in the war to protect its economic interests.

We are told that the current King Charles III is not as bad as many members of the British ruling class, and that he does not display the open racism of his father, but he benefits hugely as a member of the global elite and, as with his mother, has done nothing to challenge the world that he benefits from. The last time he visited Nigeria was in late 2018 just after the army massacred 39 Shiites at Karu Bridge in Abuja. He did not cancel the visit nor raise any public concern.

The public statement from the British Young Communist League was widely shared on social media in Nigeria. This statement noted, among other things, that “Elizabeth Windsor never criticised Britain’s racist colonial empire. She never criticised or apologised for her notoriously racist husband. She never shied away from consorting with dictators in the interests of the British state.”

I would join thousands of others demanding (among many other things): the total abolition of the monarchy with a democratically elected head of state, and reparation for all, with an immediate redistribution of wealth looted by the royal family from Britain’s former colonies.

The fact that anti-royal statements are being widely shared indicates support for these republican statements by many sections of the Nigerian left.

The death of the queen has provided an opportunity to rethink political power  in Nigeria, as in other African countries colonised by the British, and to think hard on the way forward. It is hoped that the right lessons would be learnt, in order to strengthen the movement for radical change in the interests of the downtrodden across the world.

Femi Aborisade is a socialist, writer and lawyer based in Lagos. He was interviewed on roape.net and the interview can be accessed here. Femi is an editor of ROAPE.

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An Imperial Monarch

Scott Timcke argues that the queen’s conduct legitimated an institution that cannot be disassociated from racism and colonialism, neither in the past or the present.

By Scott Timcke

Queen Elizabeth II was the head of state of one of the most influential countries for 70 years. The initial statements about her death frame Elizabeth as a symbol of stability in a difficult post-war era. No doubt the obituaries will do the same. It reveals preference for a mythological time when society seemed simpler. This is indicative of how the Elizabethan age both has – and yearns for – continuities with imperial history. To see those connections it is best to view the monarchy as an institution, with Elizabeth personifying it. And while some people may praise the personal virtues of Elizabeth, her conduct legitimated an institution that simply cannot be disassociated from racism and colonialism, neither in the past nor the present.

Part of Elizabeth’s role was as a symbolic head of state. Still, the state used her celebrity to keep colonial policies intact. Whether through radio, television or her tours, all these sought to preserve a sphere of influence for London bankers, to soften the visible edge of systems of exploitation. No doubt we will read of Elizabeth and Britain’s ‘long-standing relationship with Africa’ and other places, a sad euphemism to hide the horrors of enslavement and colonisation. This is a fact of the ‘extraordinary service’ heralded in the British press.

Elizabeth’s reign was as imperial monarch. Her coronation was to a weakened empire, but one fully committed to preserving a racial order of white supremacy, as Kenyans in the 1950s can attest. Her reign, like the Imperial State Crown bejewelled with diamonds (such as the Cullinan II), acquired wealth and authority from centuries of colonial subjugation.

Moreover, Elizabeth did not graciously grant colonies their independence. Decolonial movements struggled for self-determination, many of these same movements suppressed by the British state. In other cases, neo-colonial techniques changed the calculus over the necessity of governor generals. So, it is no surprise that Elizabeth was not universally loved in Africa, the Caribbean, the sub-continent or Australasia.

The Crown oversaw the cruelties and deprivations of colonialism. Besides which, citizens of countries within the Commonwealth realm, whether they were Australians, Canadians, Grenadians or Jamaicans, were Elizabeth’s subjects too. Insistence upon decorum from the colonies silences the truth being told of what happened, and does happen, there; it lets white supremacy walk free. And so calls for civility must be seen for what they are: efforts to promote political illiteracy and leave the status quo undisturbed.

Elizabeth’s death is an opportunity for many countries to discuss self-determination and the project to achieve it in the near term. If people feel uncomfortable with having these kinds of discussions now, perhaps it is best that the monarchy is dispatched so this uncomfortableness can be set aside for good. Elizabeth was not chosen by people. She was chosen by a system designed to exclude. Citizens in the Commonwealth now have the opportunity to make a choice over whether they wish to change their state of affairs.

Scott Timcke is a comparative historical sociologist who studies race, class and technology in modernity. He is a research associate with the University of Johannesburg’s Centre for Social Change. His second book, Algorithms and The End of Politics (Bristol University Press), was released in 2021.

Featured Photography: The Queen and The Duke of Edinburgh meet the former President of the Republic of South Africa and Thobeka Madiba Zuma on 3 March 2010.

Economics and politics for liberation: an interview with Ndongo Sylla

In an interview with ROAPE’s Leo Zeilig, writer, researcher and activist Ndongo Samba Sylla speaks about his work, French imperialism in Africa, and the struggle for economic and political liberation in Senegal and the continent. Ndongo continues Samir Amin’s search for anti-capitalist political alternatives, grounded in a radical analysis of trends and developments across Africa, and the Global South.  

Leo Zeilig: Comrade, can you introduce yourself to roape.net readers? Please tell us a little about your background, activism, and work.

Ndongo Sylla: I was born in Senegal and educated there, primarily at the Prytanée Militaire de Saint-Louis. After I obtained my baccalauréat, I was offered a grant-aided place at a prestigious French military academy, with the assurance of becoming an officer in the Senegalese army after five to six year, but I decided instead to study social sciences in France, an option that also fitted better with my burgeoning ‘career’ as a French-language Scrabble champion (four world titles between 2000 and 2016).

I’ve always been fascinated by the issue of work from philosophical, sociological and economic perspectives. On the strength of my master’s thesis, a critique of the concept of ’employability’, I was recruited by one of my tutors to assist on a project evaluating the European Employment Strategy, while my subsequent doctoral thesis in economics examined gender inequalities in the Senegalese ‘labour market’.

After returning to Senegal, I worked first as a technical advisor to the Presidency of the Republic (2006-9), then as a consultant for Fairtrade International and now at the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation, where I am currently the Senior Programme and Research Manager.

Leo Zeilig: You have worked on a broad array of areas in radical political economy, and African politics and economics. How would you describe your research and writing, and its motivation – what are it overriding elements and purpose?

Ndongo Sylla: My writing has focused in part on topics relevant to my professional career. It was natural to write about Fair Trade as I was briefly active in this field, while my interest in social movements has grown since I joined the Foundation. My writing also tackles issues I’ve considered over the years. For example, as work is so central to modern societies, can we apply the Western model of decent wage employment to developing countries characterised by stark under-utilisation of labour and sustained population growth? What does the word ‘democracy’ mean? What is the relationship between democracy and development? How does the CFA franc work and what problems does it pose in a development context?

In each case my aim is first to understand the issues, then to form my own opinions and test the dominant narratives. So I need to challenge Eurocentric approaches, mobilise more critical perspectives and engage in dialogue with them. No matter how complex the subject, I always try to write clearly and intelligibly. Heterodox economics and alternative approaches that question prevailing intellectual orthodoxies are already marginalised, and hermetic language only reinforces this. Thus I would argue that my approach is generally consistent with an economics for liberation perspective.

You are also engaged in various radical initiatives in Senegal, where you live and work – not least “Economic Saturdays”. Am I correct in describing these ‘Saturdays’ as radical (and frequently Marxist) study classes in political economy? How were they formed and what do they signify?

In March 2013, with financial support from the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation, the Senegalese economist Demba Moussa Dembélé and I launched ‘Economics Saturdays’, a monthly forum for economic discussion and debate. We first met on 15 October 2012 at the Senegalese Social Forum, at an event marking the 25th anniversary of Thomas Sankara’s assassination. We remarked how neoliberal economic thought dominated teaching, research and public policy in Senegal, and how Dakar lacked any kind of platform for heterodox views on political economy.

Alongside Marxist and pan-Africanist intellectuals and activists, we welcome students, civil society activists, politicians, journalists, comrades from the North etc. We’ve been honoured to invite personalities like Samir Amin, Cornel West, Mamadou Koulibaly (former Minister of Finance and President of the National Assembly of Côte d’Ivoire). The papers presented at ‘Economics Saturdays’ appear in collected volumes under the title Deconstructing the Neoliberal Discourse. We’ve published five volumes to date covering a wide variety of subjects including local problems, global issues, topical questions and tributes to prominent individuals.

For a number of years, you were a close comrade and collaborator with Samir Amin. Can you describe your collaboration, and how Amin’s writings have influenced your work? What are the main questions and issues that Amin helps us with today – how does his understanding of political economy, and Marxism in Africa and the Global South, help us to elucidate the nature of the current epoch?

Samir Amin had his ‘headquarters’ in Dakar, where he’d been Director of the Institute for Economic Development and Planning and Executive Secretary of CODESRIA. The Third World Forum, which he ran until his death, is also based in the city. His prolific output, the positions he held, and his involvement with the great struggles of his day undoubtedly make him the most influential economist among progressive African intellectuals. He paved the way for the majority of us. One of his greatest strengths is that he produced a fertile body of thought rooted in the history and concerns of the Global South: he asked the right questions and suggested fruitful directions for intellectual debate and political action.

We first met in Dakar in early 2013 and often afterwards at conferences in the city. He gave the inaugural address at our ‘Economics Saturdays’ and spoke there many times. He reviewed my work on fair trade and democracy, which I regard as a huge honour. Our last intellectual correspondence concerned Moishe Postone’s monograph, Time, Labor and Social Domination, a significant contribution that, based on the Grundrisse, offers a new interpretation of Marx’s thought.

What can Amin teach us today? His central idea views capitalism as a historical system (which is thus doomed to disappear) based on polarisation between nations and between social classes within a nation. For this and other reasons arising from the specific development paths taken by the western nations and Japan, the nations of the periphery are unable collectively to ‘catch up’. This does not imply that the periphery cannot make economic progress, simply that economic development here must be differently conceived. This view has since acquired empirical support in the literature on unequal ecological exchange.

Amin believed that the nations of the periphery must strive to escape the role assigned to them by the international division of labour. Rather than prioritise exports of primary and low-wage products, they must focus instead on expanding domestic demand. Industrialisation must be based on agricultural development, especially of peasant agriculture, but also on local technical innovation and on a coherent relationship between the industries producing capital goods and those producing mass consumption goods. To achieve this, peripheral countries need greater control over centralising and subsequently allocating their economic surplus. In other words, they must reject the dictates of free trade and financial liberalisation. In terms of domestic politics, work is required to tilt the class structure towards an anti-compradore alliance. Regionally, we must encourage new forms of regionalisation in line with national development plans. And globally the countries of North and South must ally to challenge the power of the ‘financialised monopolies’ that, in his view, should be nationalised. He outlined a vast political project that to me remains relevant in the context of what he describes as the ‘long march towards socialism’.

You have written powerfully about the continued imperial control of countries in West Africa, subjected to the straitjacket of the French imposed and directed CFA franc. Please explain the issues and tell us why this remains a vital question for the sub-region’s development, and possibilities of radical and socialist change linked to a removal of the CFA franc.

The CFA franc is a colonial currency still circulating in 14 African countries, mostly former French colonies. For many years a taboo issue, since 2015 certain intellectuals and pan-Africanist movements, on the continent and in the diaspora, have brought it into the public domain, as French journalist Fanny Pigeaud and I discuss in our book on the subject (English version). My thanks goes to ROAPE for publishing my first English-language article on this subject, which has since been quoted often as an introductory text.

It is fair to say that in recent years the advocates of monetary liberation have won the intellectual debate around the CFA franc. Most of those interested in the subject acknowledge its anachronistic and colonial nature, the severe restrictions imposed on its users, and their fairly disastrous long-term economic performance. The most important task now is one of political strategy: how best to escape this monetary straitjacket?

Some favour abolishing the CFA franc but doubt the ability of African leaders, given their perceived or actual shortcomings, to manage an independent currency. Others suggest avoiding an exit to national currencies, relying instead on the projected ECOWAS – Economic Community of West African States, a grouping of 15 countries including the eight using the West African CFA franc – common currency, the ECO, whose planned launch in 2020 has been postponed to 2027. As the ECO was conceived within neoliberal parameters as a ‘tropical euro‘, I would prefer a system of solidarity-based national currencies. Each CFA country should, if it wishes, have a national central bank that would issue the national currency. Rather than a monetary union, we would have economic and monetary cooperation: a regional or even continental payment and settlement system; a pooling of part of the foreign exchange reserves; and common policies for food and energy sovereignty.

I believe that reform of the CFA franc must occur in the broader context of ‘delinking‘: regaining national control over currency, finance and economic resources, and transforming the economic structure through industrialisation and the expansion of domestic demand, in particular via an ecologically sustainable agricultural development policy and a full employment strategy. On these points in particular, I believe it is essential to combine the ideas generated by Modern Monetary Theory with those on the need for ‘delinking’.

Can we now talk about Senegal? Senegal’s radical politics have forced the pace of change many times before, most remarkably, in compelling Leopold Senghor, the first president to call for the French to intervene after a mass uprising across the country in 1968. Behind the transition in 2000, which saw the ruling socialist party defeated after forty years in power (and the election of president Abdoulaye Wade) was a social movement ready to take to the streets for the change that they wanted. And once more, in 2012, when president Wade faced the anger of the streets in the ‘Y’ en a marre’ [we have had enough] movement. Ndongo, can you tell us about the social movements in Senegal, and their relationship and independence from political parties?

In the volume I edited on social movements in West Africa (English-language edition), I identified five major logics of protest: liberal (campaigns to defend minority rights), corporatist (e.g. some of the campaigns led by trade unions, students), proletarian (e.g. working-class campaigns against the high cost of living or land grabs), republican (e.g. campaigns for public accountability, respect for the Constitution) and cross-cutting (combining different elements of the above).

In Senegal, as so often in West Africa, republican campaigns mobilise the greatest numbers and attract the widest geographical and political support. In general, during these campaigns, social movements and ordinary people, as guardians of political legitimacy and the public good, offer autonomous support to opposition parties. Neither necessarily shares the political agenda nor the ideology of the opposition parties, but they accept a conjunctural alliance in the name of the common good. This has often been the case in Senegal. The ‘Y’en a Marre’ movement, which embodied the face of protest against Abdoulaye Wade in 2011-12, contributed indirectly to his replacement at the ballot box by Macky Sall in 2012. Today, however, this movement and its leaders are experiencing a rocky relationship with the Sall regime.

I would argue that the Senegalese have always been actively and appropriately involved in the major moments of national life. They’ve acted as a democratic brake on despotic excesses from Senghor to Macky Sall and have facilitated two peaceful transfers of political power (in 2000 and 2012). However, we should not be too idealistic. In my own, highly critical, view, the social movements are not radical enough in their demands. Being a radical, we should note, is to tackle issues at the root. Being an extremist, by contrast, is to surpass all reasonable limits. The extremist is the enemy of the radical.

The cyclical recurrence of the issues that provoke popular mobilisations, e.g. the presidential ‘third term’, demonstrate this lack of radicalism. In other words, no institutional or sustainable solution has been found to a problem that provoked previous campaigns. The social movements also often operate in ‘reformist’ mode, improving a dysfunctional system rather than laying the groundwork for an alternative democratic politics. Even while acknowledging the limitations of the political parties, they seldom question the electoral system that underpins the power of those parties. By failing to challenge the ‘right to govern’ of the dominant political parties, they cede the political initiative. Once in power, former opposition parties are not obliged to implement the reforms advocated by the social movements.

In summary, while the social movements play an important role as political regulators, in practice they’ve done more to resolve conflicts within the political oligarchy than open up new horizons for a genuine democratic politics. However, given the inequalities and suffering linked to the Senegalese ‘model’ of growth without development, we can expect that they will become more radical in their demands. This is especially true of their economic demands, such as access to decent employment, which the politicians continue to ignore.

Can you explain why Macky Sall is so despised across Senegal? No one, except for the state media, has a good word to say for him or for his coalition, Benno Bokk Yaakaar. Taxi drivers, shopworkers, informal traders, students and trade unionists are united in their disgust at what they see as a government that taken from them, massively enriched himself and delivered nothing except prices rises and crippling poverty.

Domestically, Senegal’s current president, Macky Sall, is opposed by progressive movements, political parties and intellectuals alike. Yet he remains the great darling of the West, a status that gives him an important advantage in suppressing dissent. It is common knowledge that Western diplomacy and media are usually very ‘tolerant’ of the repressive measures deployed by ‘friendly’ regimes against their people and their political opponents.

Although relatively unpopular in Senegal, since 2007 (when he was prime minister) Sall has topped the poll each time he has stood for election. The explanation for this apparent paradox lies partly in the Senegalese electoral system, which – as in most countries around the world – is not designed to reflect popular preferences. Young people and urban dwellers, who in general vote for opposition parties, are under-represented in the electoral register. In Senegal, the 18-20 age group represents 11 per cent of the voting age population (over one million), but just 1 per cent of that population (under 70,000) are listed in the electoral register.

The opposition normally wins in the capital, Dakar. However, its majorities are kept low by the modest increase in the size of the electorate. The population of the Dakar region grows by almost 60,000 adults a year. Between Macky Sall’s election in 2012 and re-election in 2019, the potential electorate thus could have increased by almost 400,000. Yet official figures suggest otherwise, with an increase of less than 130,000 voters in the Dakar region over this period, and indeed a fall of 18,000 in the department of Dakar, which accounts for over a third of the regional population. By contrast, in rural areas and departments that favour the current government, the electorate has often grown significantly since 2012. Thus the choice made by urban dwellers, young people and intellectuals voting to reject the current regime is easily counterbalanced by the less populous departments that vote in its favour.

Control of the electoral register, so acquiring an advantage even before the election takes place, is a venerable secret jealously guarded by any regime that aspires to longevity and sometimes leads to a significant gap between majority opinion and the final poll.

Currently Senegal in being rocked by protests and major political upheavals. For a time, demonstrations were called by the opposition coalition Yewwi Askan Wi, and the leader of the opposition, Ousmane Sonko, to protest the violation of the constitution and the electoral law by the president Macky Sall. Ahead of legislative elections at the end of July this year, the ruling party interfered with the list of candidates, refusing to allow many to stand. Can you describe what is going on? 

In late July 2022, Senegal saw the most contested legislative elections in its history. Through an error of its own making, the main opposition coalition (Yewwi Askan Wi) had its list of incumbents rejected by the Constitutional Council. On 17 June 2022, in protest against this decision, the coalition organised a demonstration that was banned and suppressed by the government which argued that the country should not be held to ransom by a handful of individuals. Three deaths were recorded that day.

Looking at the state of the radical left, social movements, and the opposition, do you think that the movements from below need to find their own voice, independently of opposition leaders, like Sonko, even when these leaders seem to speak of popular transformation? How seriously do we take Sonko’s national development project?

In recent years Ousmane Sonko has become the phenomenon of Senegalese politics. The former tax and property inspector became known to the general public as a whistleblower over issues of financial transparency. He became a member of parliament in 2017 and came third in the 2019 presidential elections with 15 per cent of the vote. Subsequently, he has gathered political momentum and established himself as the leader of Senegal’s political opposition. After initially presenting himself as a ‘pragmatist’ who transcends the usual ideological divides, he has gradually developed his pan-Africanist credentials and given a more left-wing focus to his political discourse.

A rape allegation still pending before the Senegalese courts was the pretext grabbed by the current regime to drive him permanently from politics. This attempt to eliminate a political rival failed when Sonko called on the Senegalese to resist tyranny. Against a backdrop of the various frustrations caused by measure taken to combat the Covid-19 pandemic, young people responded in a massive nationwide mobilisation over five days in March 2021. The situation spiralled out of control, demanding a political solution beyond the capacity of an overwhelmed police force. Macky Sall broke his silence and released Sonko in an attempt to bring calm. Since then Sonko’s popularity has continued to grow, especially among young people and members of the diaspora. They believe in his project to set Senegal on the road to transparency, good government and a form of development based on reclaiming the instruments of sovereignty, including the currency.

Sonko is thus the champion of everyone who aspires to a Senegal with greater autonomy from France, including some left-wing parties and movements. For his supporters, he represents the hope of building a new Senegal that might extend its example to the rest of the continent. For his fiercest opponents, notably the proponents of the neocolonial order, he is the greatest threat they have faced. Tensions seem likely to remain high between now and the February 2024 presidential election. Macky Sall still refuses to say if he intends to stand, although he is now in his second, and in principle final, term of office.

Looking across the continent, how do you assess the role of French imperialism in recent developments?

In the post-independence period, French imperialism in Africa has been organised around the CFA franc, a system of trade preferences, diplomacy (with French advisers in presidential cabinets), and regular military interventions. Today, French imperialism is in crisis. The relative decline of France within the world economy is visible in its own ‘backyard’, where it has lost market share to new economic competitors (notably China). Given the failure of repeated French military interventions, countries such as Mali and the Central African Republic have turned instead to Russia as a diplomatic and military partner.

While Africans have nothing against ordinary French people, they are increasingly expressing their opposition to French policy in Africa. They want to break from a French neocolonialism made all too apparent by French officials making derogatory and often racist remarks about African leaders, African women and so on. On the streets and social networks of francophone Africa, more and more young people are chanting ‘France Dégage!’ (‘France Out!’). In Niger and Burkina Faso, young people have blocked the passage of French military convoys. In Senegal, where France still dominates foreign direct investment, the premises of major French companies (like Orange and gas stations of Totalenergies) were ransacked and looted during the March 2021 demonstrations.

In the context of the current ‘revolt against Françafrique‘, the French government and sections of the French media are seeking to caricature popular African desires for emancipation as ‘anti-French sentiment’, co-opting in support a number of public intellectuals of African origin. These intellectuals offer a ‘postcolonial’ discourse that distances itself from anti-imperialism and remains ‘critical’ within the limits allowed by the former metropolis. They are there to serve as a screen for the ex-metropolis regarding the growing desire of African peoples for self-determination. Often their tactic is to marginalise the outstanding and ‘canonical’ intellectual figures of continental Africa, or to misrepresent or dilute their thinking. Some are active in developing the Afroliberal project – Africanising neoliberalism by invoking pan-Africanist jargon.

France can sense that Africa is slipping from its grasp. Desperate and thus potentially destabilising or even brutal manoeuvres on its part cannot be discounted.

Much has been made of the French intervention – which has recently ended – in Mali. The crisis in Sahel is a combination factors, that link climate change, jihadist terrorism and capitalism. What are the most useful ways of understanding these developments?

Mali summarises many of the ills suffered by post-independence African countries. These include underdevelopment within a neocolonial framework, pursuit of neoliberal policies, a mixed record on regional economic integration, failed state-building, and communal conflicts over land and climate change. A review of its balance of payments speaks volumes. Landlocked Mali suffers from significant deficits in services, exacerbated by monopoly pricing. Although this huge country needs major investment, austerity is generally the norm. This is reflected in a balance of trade approaching equilibrium because imports are relatively low. Similarly, repatriation of profits and dividends often reaches significant levels. Deprived of monetary sovereignty, and with little access to international financial markets, Mali remains reliant on development aid. And recently some of this aid has been diverted to meet the military expenditure of countries like France in their fight against terrorism in the Sahel.

In this context, Mali’s recurrent military coups are a symptom of the disconnect between the legitimate aspirations of its people and a prevailing political and economic framework that marginalises them. Endless talk of the need to ‘return’ to ‘constitutional normality’ represents a defeat of the progressive imagination, as it is precisely this ‘constitutional normality’ that has caused breakdown of the civil constitutional order. Something more is needed: a more democratic, more inclusive framework which is impossible to reduce to elections that normally exclude a significant proportion of the population. The paradox is that ‘transitional governments’ are often more inclusive and transparent in their conduct than the elected governments that alone are deemed legitimate! Like many African countries, Mali needs a democratic revolution –  a restructuring of political power in favour of popular interests – and also a pan-Africanist regional integration framework.

Of course, none of this absolves NATO, the US, France and Britain of their responsibility for Mali’s descent into hell. Their destruction of Gaddafi’s Libya was the immediate cause of the spread of jihadist terrorism in the Sahel.

Finally, on the climate emergency, can you comment on this emergency in Senegal and West Africa and how you see it developing? How is it impacting the region directly, and in what ways is it articulated through the regions political economy, and political cleavages?

In collaboration with International Development Economics Associates (IDEAs) and the Politics of Money Network, the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation is organising the second Conference on African Economic and Monetary Sovereignty, ‘Facing the Socio-Ecological Crisis: Delinking and the Issue of Global Reparations’, in Dakar from 25 to 28 October 2022. Delegates will be attending from the African continent and around the world, and it will also be possible to follow the exchanges online. I hope that many ROAPE readers will join us. In the meantime, they will be able to access the volume produced following the first conference held in Tunis in 2019.

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 The Fair Trade Scandal and a long-time collaborator and comrade of ROAPE.

The interview was translated by Maggie Sumner. 

Outstanding African Studies Award for Ray Bush

ROAPE is delighted to announce that the ASAUK (African Studies Association in the UK) has awarded its prestigious Award for Outstanding Achievements in African Studies to ROAPE’s Ray Bush. Ray is an outstanding comrade, scholar and teacher, who has worked tirelessly on ROAPE for decades, and has maintained a consistent, original and militant Marxist analysis of Africa’s politics and development since the 1970s. He has been a teacher, friend and comrade to a generation of activists and students.

Through this Award (formerly known as Distinguished Africanist Award), ASAUK pays tribute to individuals or teams who have made exceptional contributions to the field of African studies, i.e. scholars who have in one way or another expanded and disseminated knowledge of Africa, and interest in Africa. The award is intended for people who have contributed largely to African Studies in the UK, or who have strengthened links between African Studies here and in Africa itself.

It is the third time that ASAUK honours a Leeds academic with this award, and the fifth occasion that the award has been given to a leading ROAPE member. In 2002, the same honour was handed to the late Lionel R. Cliffe, Professor of Politics at Leeds, founder of ROAPE and also Ray Bush’s former supervisor, mentor and comrade. ROAPE’s Basil Davidson was awarded the prize in 2001, Gavin Williams in 2013 and Tunde Zack-Williams received the award in 2020.

Former ASAUK President, Professor Alfred Tunde Zack-Williams, who is a long-time comrade of Ray and ROAPE editor, expressed his support for award by stating:

For the last forty years, ray has dedicated much of his time to studying the African continent both in his extensive publications and in his lectures. He is a distinguished scholar, who has made immense contributions to the study of Africa in Britain and abroad. He is very much respected by his colleagues and students alike, not just as a brilliant political scientist, but also for his strong sense of  social justice.

Until his retirement in 2021, Ray Bush was Professor of African Studies and Development Politics, in the School of Politics and International Studies at Leeds, having joined the university in 1984. He has made manifold contributions to African Studies and adjacent fields, and he is widely regarded as an internationally leading figure in African political economy. Working across over 10 countries in the Global South, mostly in Africa, his research has brought to light the experiences, needs and voices of the world’s working people. His ground-breaking monographs interrogate and develop critical new insights into the global and national structures of power that lead to the suppression of marginalised voices in international development, generating social unrest over decades, and – in the case of Egypt and Tunisia – revolution. The voices of working people that would eventually lead to the ‘Arab Spring’ are broadcast to a wide audience in his documentary film Fellahin.

At Leeds, under Bush’s leadership the African Studies Unit (founded in 1964) developed into the current Leeds University Centre for African Studies, and Ray served as Centre director (2000-2002) and executive board member (2002-2021). An enthusiastic and greatly loved teacher, he stimulated students’ interest in and critical understanding of African related subjects, firmly embedded African Studies into the curriculum of undergraduate and postgraduate programmes, and supervised over thirty PhD dissertations and over hundred MA dissertations. Nationwide, Bush has actively participated in the African Studies Association of the UK, convening multiple panels at ASAUK conferences, serving as Council member (2008-2011), and as Chair (2020) and jurist (2018) of the Fage and Oliver Book Prize. He further strengthened the field as external examiner of programmes and dissertations at various institutions across the UK and abroad.

Bush has been a member of the ROAPE editorial working group since 1979, served as chair and journal editor (2002-2004) and as co-chair (2007-2013), and currently as its Briefings and Debates editor. In these roles, his focus has consistently ensured high-quality content of politically militant scholarship and activism, in particular stimulating material authored from the continent. With this in mind, Bush initiated the ROAPE Connections Workshops that explicitly have been driven by input from the continent, led by African activists and scholars. Three workshops were convened so far (Accra, 2017; Dar es Salaam, 2018; Johannesburg 2018), with future meetings being planned.

Together with ROAPE and its network of African scholars and activists, Ray has significantly enhanced the understanding of projects of radical transformation and has offered a critical and constructive agenda of radical political economy on the continent.

Another former ASAUK President, Professor Ambreena Manji, who was worked with Ray on ROAPE, powerfully captures Ray’s contribution to the field by saying:

Always ready to challenge the artificiality of the boundary between the academy and the lives of the working people, Ray Bush has been a path-breaking scholar-activist in African Studies. It is difficult to envisage today’s transformations in African Studies – as slow and as manifestly incomplete as they are – without the intellectual leadership and scholarly corpus of Ray Bush.

We are delighted that Ray’s rigorous and radical scholarship, his profound scholarly and radical leadership on ROAPE, and his activism, generosity and mentorship have been recognised by the UK’s foremost association in the field of African Studies. His comrades, students and friends warmly congratulate him on this well-deserved accolade!

Please read this interview with Ray, ‘Justice, equality and struggle – an interview with Ray Bush‘ on ROAPE (9 November 2021).

roape.net thanks Adriaan van Klinken and Leeds University Centre for African Studies (CAS) for their support and solidarity (please see the report on the CAS website).  

Workshop: Articulation, Racial Capitalism and the Common

Join SWOP and ROAPE for a two-day workshop focused on interrogating different perspectives on racism and capitalism in relation to strategic questions drawn from contemporary political struggles. We welcome all those who are interested in these questions to join us for an intensive conversation centred on thinking through how oppressive structures have come to be bound together and have been collectively struggled against.

In 1980 Stuart Hall waded into South African race-class debates with the publication of his now classic essay, ‘Race, Articulation and Societies Structured in Dominance’. Over the course of the 1970s there had already emerged a powerful reformulation of political critiques of the South African racial order, both from within Marxist thought and with the dramatic entry of Black Consciousness onto the political stage, which found expression in Hall’s essay. In fact, by the end of the 1970s both Marxists and Black Consciousness theorists were increasingly coming to see struggles against racism and capitalism as inseparable.

Taking Hall’s essay and the political productivity of South African theorists in the 1970s as our orientating markers, over the last year a group of researchers, activists and students have gathered for a collective research project focused on interrogating different perspectives on racism and capitalism in relation to strategic questions drawn from contemporary political struggles.

On 17-18 September, this group (hosted by SWOP and ROAPE) will hold a two day workshop at the University of the Witwatersrand in which we will share and discuss some of the outcomes of this work and its potential political uses and implications. To this end we welcome all those who are interested in these questions to join us for an intensive two days of structured conversations centred on thinking through how different oppressive structures have come to be bound together and have been collectively struggled against.

As this will be a hybrid event, those unable to attend in person will be able to join the discussion online.

If you would like to attend the workshop online please register here

 

***

Workshop Programme

 

Day One: Saturday, 17 September

 

Morning session [10am-12pm] Racial Capitalism and Social Reproduction

Hylton White – Racial Capitalism and Social Reproduction

Ulrike Kistner – Social (re-)inscriptions of the natal: Debating ‘Social Death’ and ‘Social Reproduction’ with Orlando Patterson and Claude Meillassoux

Bridget Kenny – Reproducing ‘racial capitalism’ through retailing in South Africa: White women, consumption and nation in the 1960s

LUNCH

Afternoon session [2pm-4pm] Race, Politics and Political Subjects

Asher Gamedze – ‘A new generation reborn in the battle for truth:’ The Communist Party of the Soviet Union and independent black student politics, 1957-1961

Hannah Dawson – Living, not just surviving: The politics of refusing low-wage jobs in urban South Africa

*

Late afternoon/Evening Session [4:30pm -6:30pm]

Michael Hardt – The politics of articulation and strategic multiplicities

***

Day Two: Sunday, 18 September

 

Morning session [10am -12pm] Concepts, Theory and the Critique of the Present

Tokelo Nhlapo – Benjamin and Memory

Ziyana Lategan – Historical and Dialectical Materialism Revisited

Listening session with Daniel Hutchinson

LUNCH

Afternoon session [2pm – 4pm] Race and political representation

Kelly Gillespie & Leigh-Anne Naidoo -“Shoot me I’m dead already!”: Critical notes on Afropessimism in South Africa

Tumi Mogorosi – The Racial Logic as a Structure of the Culture Industry: Black music and the political

Maya Bhardwaj – Articulations between Racialisation, Identity, and Politicisation for South Asian Diasporic and Indian South African Activists

*

Late afternoon [4:30pm -6:30pm] Stuart Hall, Racial Capitalism and Politics of resistance

Ahmed Veriava and Prishani Naidoo – Reading Biko-with-Hall

Zachary Levenson and Marcel Paret – Resisting Racial Capitalism: Stuart Hall, Cedric Robinson, and the Question of Racialized Resistance

Efthimios Karayiannides – “Primitive Rebels” from Nairobi to Handsworth: the articulation of race, class and religion in British New Left thought

***

Africa’s election trap – finessing the craft of pillage

Yusuf Serunkuma argues that the apparent success and smoothness of electoral ‘democracy’ in African states is a recipe for disaster—just as bad as Africa under conflict. Beneath the hype is the ruthless continuity of economic and political control by Western companies and governments. Serunkuma argues that elections across the continent are invariably a trap that disguises naked and unabashed plunder.   

By Yusuf Serunkuma

As the continent examines Kenya’s election it is important to remind the African continent – and this is a difficult reminder to make – that the failure to smoothly change governments has never been the cause of our underdevelopment. If our problems are access to healthcare, education, women empowerment, infrastructure development, poverty etcetera, a so-called good and smooth election is not the response.

We are at the bottom of the development indices not because of an apparent democratic deficit, but because we are still a colonised continent, looted for sport (in many, many ways) and the pursuit of ‘democracy’—in whatever form—simply fits into the new technologies of continued colonisation.

I know innumerable ‘democracy merchandisers’ [Frederick Golooba-Mutebi’s term] are all over the continent producing endless statistics about how democracy delivers development. These range from folks I have described as the new intellectuals of empire from Europe and North America, to seemingly benign institutions such as the European Union, European and western diplomatic missions with outfits such as DGF (Democracy Governance Facility), USAID, and several others. Interestingly, somewhat ironically, the people working in these sophisticated colonial outposts are ‘our friends’, and they have also conscripted many of us in academia and the mainstream media to this narrative line: that their democracy is the best form of leadership. This has been done so thoroughly that it feels like an organic movement.

There are hundreds of thousands of democracy-chanting clones in the NGO and CSO world.  We spend entire lifetimes writing proposals—which are generously funded by these rich friends—in an expensive infantilism of “growing democracy” and “defending human rights.” Although over three decades of academic posturing, NGO and CSOs work in these areas of human rights, medical health, and so-called democracy outreach on the continent, we remain economically impoverished and abused in ways identical to the colonial period.

So now, we watch the aftermath of the disputed Kenyan elections with bated breath, hoping it goes well, and that its success in correcting the dispute will set the example for the continent.

But this is actually the trap.

African resources ranging from coffee (Kenya, Ethiopia, Uganda, Ivory Coast), marine resources (Lake Victoria, Indian Ocean), minerals in DRC, Tanzania, and Zambia (copper, timber, gold and cobalt) are pillaged not because of the bad leaders in office or because of a failure to democratise, but because of unequal exchange enforced by our “former” colonisers. Interest rates in sub-Saharan Africa—with mostly British and American commercial bank monopolies—averages at 15%, which is literary, free money stolen from Africans businesses. As New Political Economy showed last year, between 1960 and 2010, Europe and North America stole from the African continent US$152 trillion. To put this figure in perspective, the Germany economy is estimated at US$5 trillion annually while the US is US$25 trillion. This is why we are lagging behind.

Let me demonstrate the democratic trap more vividly.

The two main presidential contenders in the Kenyan elections—Raila Odinga and William Ruto—were neck-to-neck in the count, which meant that these two prominent Kenyans apparently represented major constituencies and ideals in the country. But if democracy privileges the government formed by the majority, the idea of a +1 majority is simply ridiculous in the sense that small difference marginalises the voices of 49% of the country.  Yes, in the winner-takes-all approach to governance, the general populace is the loser.

Let me explain:

Please note that on either side of these political camps are Kenya’s most ‘educated’, but like everywhere on the continent, the Kenyan elite is a very small group of persons. I do not mean the “corrupt corporate elite,” but the actual people with brains [education and exposure] to do things like negotiating with the very shady and colonialist international trade organisations, and laying the groundwork for sustainable and profitable exploitation of African human and natural resources. In fact, Kenya actually needs all its brilliant folks on either side of the divide to whisper together and ‘build Kenya.’

I know this sounds like day-dreaming on my part. Because the trickster will ask: How do you get them to select their leadership and work together without going through a competitive electoral process? This question is at the core of our colonial capture. The foolish idea that good leadership only emerges from competitive electoral processes with universal adult suffrage is the epitome of colonial manipulation, which sadly, many in Africa have been infected with.

In truth though, in Africa competitive electoral processes have only served to divide the few  who then spend entire lifetimes trying to perfect an imperfectible system. That is how one ends up with dead wood in government [Museveni referred to his government as one composed of “fishermen”] with the ‘educated people’ either as commentators or forming a largely useless group humoured as “the opposition.” I will not give examples.

To appreciate the dangerousness of this democratic trap—where electoral processes are dreadfully mixed up with civil liberties—one has to consider countries which do not go through this drama. And I am not talking about China, which is the world’s manufacturing power, neither am I talking about Russia or Iran (and save me the human rights malarkey as Julian Assange is being punished for simply exposing the crimes of our ‘democratic examples’). I am writing about Libya, a country while under Muammar Gaddafi ranked highest on UN Human Development Index on the African continent, above South Africa. This country, though under an autocratic leadership delivered public goods and services to its people and also extended credit and grants to the rest of the continent. With its massive civil liberties problems, Gaddafi’s Libya—specifically its independence from colonial control and impressive delivery of public goods and services—could easily be the dream of all Africans.

Yet I fear that this dream cannot be delivered through smooth elections (and a shallow democracy that is not worthy of its name). Their “smooth elections” are actually not just a form of distraction, but also the post-1980 craft through which pillage of African resources—often euphemised as free markets—has been executed.

A version of this blogpost first appeared in The Pan-African Review as ‘Kenya’s “smooth” election perfects Africa’s underdevelopment’ on 15 August 2022.

Yusuf Serunkuma is a columnist in Uganda’s newspapers, scholar and a playwright. Yusuf Serunkuma’s recent publications include an edited volume with Eria Serwajja, Before the First Drop: Oil, capitalists and the wretcheds of western Uganda, and Non-Essential Humans: Essays on Governance, Ruin and Survival in Covid-19 Uganda, both books published by Editor House Facility (EHF), Kampala.

Why I did not vote

Reflecting on the recent Kenyan elections, radical activist and poet Lena Anyuolo explains why she did not vote. How could anyone vote in elections that offered no alternative? Anyuolo explains, ‘Politicians crawl out like cockroaches from dark holes every five years; fat and destructive, ready to unleash more destruction.’

By Lena Anyuolo

There are a number of reasons I chose not to participate in this year’s election in Kenya as a voter. It does not seem to me that anything changes with my vote. I’m not fooled by the narrative of a two-horse race, where on one side a hustler pretends to empathize with the working class ripping the rhetoric of liberation and running with it for personal gain. I’m equally unfazed by the patriot who apparently has the rights of Kenyans at heart, when prices of food shoot-up aiming for the sky and we face the threat of death by starvation, waterborne disease, or lack of healthcare facilities for preventable conditions.

It would have been a violation of my being to have voted in this election. I would have felt like a fool if I had.

I wonder how in 2022 while Kenya competes with Uganda over whose military budget will tower over the other, Nairobi governor candidates promise the city residents that water will finally flow from the taps! Fifty-nine years since independence our taps are still dry but our US$1.1 billion dollar artillery of arms, battleships, drones, and surveillance equipment to send Kenya’s youth to fight off proxy wars in Somalia steadily grows.

I was not interested in casting my ballot because I have no rights.

The right to life, the right to decent housing, food, education, and healthcare only exists on paper. The real world is a jungle. We could be better off trying out workers’ councils because so far the presidency and their democracy for the rich has not worked for us. No-one is on the side of the people.

Politicians crawl out like cockroaches from dark holes every five years; fat and destructive, ready to unleash more destruction. Their rousing speeches, laden with promises, drip honey into our ears.

I remember falling for their lies in 2017. I woke early in the morning to vote in the election. I believed in the candidate I was going to choose. He promised secure neighbourhoods and an inclusive bursary fund for students, decent roads and restitution for land grievances. He reassured us that there would be an open-door policy for his constituents. Year after year, none of what he promised came to pass. Instead, violent robberies peaked, and the slum was decimated by arson attacks. High-rise apartments rose from the rubble of decade old shanty towns were flattened by fire. The reproductive health clinic in the ward stopped giving out contraceptives and vaccines and was eventually closed down due to lack of funding.

Young men and women agonised by the hopeless situation of their lives wandered the neighbourhood streets and alleys looking for food to eat and work to do. Bars outnumbered schools and playing fields.

The ward meeting where constituents can exercise their civic duty to keep leaders accountable became shouting matches – where we, the residents, shouted at each other lamenting to ourselves or the politician’s representative. There was no accountability and no follow-through on his promises.

I wonder why I would go out into the biting cold and fool myself the second time.

I did not vote.

Granted, an election can be a step in the reform process. I am proud of Columbia, Chile, Brazil, Venezuela, and Bolivia for electing leftist leaders into their governments. But this was not an election in which leftist leaders could have been elected to power in Kenya. Our electoral system does not inspire the kind of confidence that would even permit such a thing to happen.

Was it Rosa Luxembourg who said that the rich will never give you enough power to vote away their wealth? Audre Lorde also insisted that you cannot use the master’s tools to bring down the master’s house. We cannot use the system that keeps botching our elections hoping for different results.

When you want something so badly, sometimes you might find yourself leaning towards the closest thing that promises reprieve.

In our case, we are desperate for good leadership. We are depraved by our material conditions and without a strong liberation ideology we will keep falling into the trap laid for us by political aspirants exploiting the poverty of our conditions by promising us food and jobs.

We need political education to mobilize ourselves towards a better analysis of our conditions in order to chart the best forward for the good and benefit of the oppressed.

Corrupt elections are not the answer – this is why I did not vote.

An earlier version of this blogpost appeared as ‘Why I will not vote’ in the Ukombozi Review on 4 August 2022.

Lena Grace Anyuolo is a writer, poet and social justice activist with Mathare Social Justice Centre and Ukombozi Library. Her writing has appeared in a range of publications, including Jalada’s 7th anthology themed After+LifeThe Elephant and roape.net. A collection of Anyuolo’s poetry, Rage and Bloom, has just been published by Editor House Facility. 

Featured Photograph: Nairobi, Kenya (17 April 2016).

Eritrea’s foreign festivals: support, finance, and defiance from the diaspora

A fierce battle is under way between supporters and opponents of the Eritrean government in the diaspora. Martin Plaut reports on the protests and opposition to regime sponsored Eritrean festivals across the world which have been a major source of income and support for the regime over decades.

By Martin Plaut

Across the globe, from the United States to Sweden, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Germany and the UK, the opposition have attempted to halt the festivals which have been an important source of revenue and support for President Isaias Afwerki and his party for over four decades. A cat and mouse game has been played out among the diaspora, with the president’s supporters attempting to win maximum participation, while at the same time keeping the location of the events secret until the last moment.

Opponents of the festivals – critics of the Eritrean government’s notorious human rights abuses – have used a variety of tactics, from legal and political pressure to protests and demonstrations, to try to stop them. These protests have been escalating in recent months and have involved activists from both camps travelling across borders, with passions running high. Stones have been thrown, police have intervened and threats have been issued.[1]

The Eritrean regime is determined to retain control over the diaspora, from which it receives a substantial proportion of its revenue from taxation and donations, as well as political support. Their critics living abroad, many of whom have risked their lives and put their families back home in danger by fleeing from their country, are determined that the festivals will not go unchallenged. For both sides the stakes are high.

A history of international festivals

Eritreans have celebrated a range of festivals, most of them religious, over the centuries, but the political festivals associated with the ruling party date back to 1974. The Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) initiated the Summer Festival in the Italian city of Bologna in 1974. The aim was to draw the Eritrean community together and to cement their relationship with the fight for independence.

Festival of Eritrea in Bologna was an annual folk-fair where social, economic, and political resources were mobilised and negotiated and put together mainly in the form of live stage shows in the presence of liberation struggle representatives, exiles, refugees and other categories of diasporic Eritreans.[2] As one blogger put it: “For all intents and purposes, Bologna was Eritrea’s second city, after Nakfa, from 1974 to 1991.”[3] During its time in Bologna, the festival was used for many purposes. It was an opportunity for the exiled community to come together and have a good time: to dance, eat and drink. There were football matches with teams representing the many countries in which they lived: Italy, Germany and Sweden, or else the cities they were resident in, such as Milan, Florence and Bologna.[4] Eritreans held the Bologna festival in great affection. “All Eritreans scattered in the entire world, we all met there once a year. This is why it was different for us, Bologna was a miracle, something longed for which fell from the sky,” one Eritrean woman told an interviewer.[5]

The purpose of the gathering in Bologna went beyond this: they were designed to raise funds – as another government supporter made clear. “Festival of Eritrea in Bologna was highly instrumental towards boosting economic capability and strengthening political activities of the EPLF… A total of $US1.5 million was then sent from Eritrean communities in the abroad to the EPLF.” Eritreans went to extraordinary lengths to support the fight for liberation from Ethiopia. Those in the diaspora who could not participate in the battles inside Eritrea itself gave up their studies to work and send money home. Some are even said to have taken to eating pet food to cut their expenditure so that they could increase their donations.[6]

After independence was internationally recognised in 1993 it was assumed by Eritreans that their government would establish the democracy they had been promised. While international financial institutions assumed that the new government would publish an annual budget and establish working relations with the World Bank and IMF. Both assumptions were proved wrong. With no functioning constitution and without elections ever being held, President Isaias cracked down further. In September 2001 he arrested some of his closest party associates (the so-called G15) who had publicly criticised his authoritarian rule. All independent media were closed down. Eritrea became Africa’s most repressive state.

After the crackdown

Eritrea became increasingly isolated. The UN Security Council imposed sanctions on the country’s leaders in 2009 following their support for Somali Islamists from al-Shabaab.[7] The UN Human Rights Council labelled Eritrean government’s indefinite conscription tantamount to slavery. For President Isaias who was dependent on the 2% taxation he extracted from the diaspora for revenue, ensuring the support of Eritreans abroad was critically important. The festivals took on an increased significance after 2001, as the diaspora’s disillusionment with the regime grew.

In 2014, on the fortieth anniversary of the first Bologna festival, Eritrea’s ruling People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ) held a three-day festival in the same city. Key figures from the government were invited including Yemane Gebreab, political director of the ruling regime; Yemane Gebremeskel, the director of the Office of the President; Osman Saleh, Foreign Minister; Hagos “Kisha”, finance director of the ruling party and Woldenkiel Abraha, Minister of Local Government. The opposition website, Awate, described what happened next:

For the last three days, the Italian city of Bologna has been a battleground for a showdown between the supporters of the Eritrean regime and its resistance forces.

Hundreds of supporters of the regime travelled from all over Europe to attend the festival that was sponsored and organised by the Eritrean ruling party. Almost all senior members of the Eritrean ruling party flew in from Asmara to attend the festival and brought along singers, music bands, poets, comedians, dancers, and actors.

At the same time, hundreds of resistance members flocked to Bologna to show their defiance of the Eritrean government.

Several attempts were made by Eritreans opposed to the regime to dissuade Bologna city authorities from allowing the PFDJ festival to take place. The authorities didn’t heed to the appeals.

Infuriated that the Eritrean leadership could make their presence felt so directly in the city in which so many exiles had sought sanctuary, members of the opposition confronted the festival organisers directly. The response was violent, with a group of regime supporters identified as “Eriblood” photographed with their fists in the air, beating up the protesters and driving cars at them.

For years there has been a growing contestation at festivals between supporters and opponents of the Eritrean government. In 2018, for example, a sporting event organised by the ruling party in Manchester attracted a protest. The response from the organisers was to attack them with hot chili sauce, bottles and cans.

This year’s confrontations

The festivals, once centred on Bologna or Milan, are now held across the world, wherever the PFDJ can gather its supporters. However, they have taken on a new tone. Gone are the major government figures who regularly took to the stage. In their place have come singers, musicians and performers who draw in the crowds – particularly younger Eritreans. This is, at least in part, explained by the sanctions imposed by the United States on named Eritreans and key Eritrean institutions, including the PFDJ. The measures were in response to Eritrea’s role in the ongoing war in Tigray, which began in November 2020. As the US Treasury statement put it: “Today’s action targets Eritrean actors that have contributed to the crisis and conflict, which have undermined the stability and integrity of the Ethiopian state.”

Despite these restrictions the PFDJ has managed to hold successful festivals in the US – including a conference followed by a festival held in Dallas this August.[8] The festival is reported to have been attended Sofia Tesfamariam, Eritrea’s Ambassador to the United Nations, and some 12,000 Eritreans and their supporters. It is estimated that the events raised up to US$1 million. The mayor of Dallas officially welcomed the festival.

This was in sharp contrast to events in Europe. While some have gone ahead, the organisers have run into trouble in the Netherlands and Germany (where they had to be cancelled) and they are being challenged in Switzerland and Sweden. Sometimes the events have been called off because the authorities refuse to issue permits because the speakers are accused of hate-speech and stirring up animosity. In others they have been cancelled because of confrontations and protests.[9]

The once almost universal support for the Eritrean government among the diaspora is now a thing of the past. For President Isaias this is a clear challenge, and he has expended considerable time and energy to try and shore up his hold over the exile community, but this is gradually eroding.

Young Eritreans of course love to meet each other, drink, and dance to the music from back home, but many have now seen beyond these attractions and are determined to fight back against the regime. There is a great deal at stake and the festivals are becoming sites of major confrontation with the Eritrean state.

Martin Plaut is a Senior Research Fellow at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies at the University of London and a regular contributor to ROAPE. For years Martin worked as a journalist and researcher focusing primarily on southern Africa and the Horn of Africa.

Featured Photograph: ‘Eritrea: opposition mobilises at Bologna festival’, Martin Plaut (5 July 2014).

Notes

1 ‘Bologna: Four Decades of Fervent Nationalism (Part II)’, anonymous, Shabait, 11 July 2014, Accessed 21 August 2022.

[2] ‘Folk-fairs and Festivals: Cultural Conservation and National Identity Formation in Eritrea’, Abbebe Kifleyesus, Cahiers d’Etudes Africaines, Vol. 47, No 186, 2007, p. 256

[3] Nakfa was the only Eritrean city continuously under Eritrean control during their 30-year fight for independence, from 1961 – 1991.

[4] Anna Arnone, Being Eritrean in Milan: The Constitution of Identity, PhD, University of Sussex, 2010, p. 97

[5] Being Eritrean in Milan: The Constitution of Identity, PhD, University of Sussex, 2010, p. 96.

[6] Martin Plaut, Understanding Eritrea: inside Africa’s most repressive state, Hurst, 2016, p. 171.

[7]Eritrea breakthrough as UN sanctions lifted’, BBC, 14 September 2018. The sanctions were lifted in 2018.

[8]Eritrean Community Festival in United States’ (US), African Business, 9 August 2022, Accessed 22 August 2022;

Conference of National Council of Eritrean-Americans’, Zawaya, 6 August 2022, Accessed 22 August 2022.

[9]Without giving reasons: Consulate cancels renewed Eritrea festivalGiessener Allgemeine, 31 August 2022, Accessed 06 September 2022.

When the taps run dry – capitalism and climate change in South Africa

In Nelson Mandela Bay, in South Africa, climate change has exposed apartheid’s economic roots barely concealed by a so-called democratic political structure. Compounded by corrupt leadership, a five-year drought has triggered an unparalleled disaster for the city’s poor. Tony Martel and Siyabulela Mama write how more than a million people now face a Day Zero when their household taps run dry.

By Tony Martel and Siyabulela Mama

Almost thirty years ago, the South African apartheid regime administered a tyrannical state designed to profit off the subjugation of the non-white population. Today, the tyrannical regime is but a memory, and yet democracy has brought no material benefit for this same subjugated population. While a small minority of South Africa’s non-white population has ascended into the middle and upper classes, with struggle veterans in political leadership, the capitalist state ostensibly takes one step forward democratically to take two steps back into privatization and corruption. In the words of Zac de Beer, former executive of the South African mining corporate, Anglo-American, “we dare not allow the baby of free enterprise to be thrown out with the bathwater of apartheid”. A meta-racism replaces apartheid, with black political and economic elites in charge, producing a situation that is materially as bad if not worse than it was during apartheid.

In one South African city, Nelson Mandela Bay, climate change has exposed apartheid’s economic roots hidden beneath South Africa’s democratic political structure. A five-year drought, exacerbated by an ineffectual and corrupt political administration, has led the city into an unmitigated disaster. 1.2 million people now face a Day Zero when their household taps run dry. Over the years, Nelson Mandela Bay’s water system has fallen into disrepair as service provision was hijacked by politicians seeking material gain through a network of patronage.

Teenagers have made a wheelbarrow so they are able to easily fetch water when the water tanker finally arrives.

The forecast for the city’s population looks bleak as the effects of climate change could predictably extend this drought until 2028. Neoliberal economic policies and chronically underfunded municipalities have undermined a democratic South Africa from fulfilling its promises to a dignified life for its people. Climate change might very well turn this human disaster into a survival situation.

Water systems in democratic South Africa

From democracy’s outset, municipal service delivery was destined to fail. Following the 1998 White Paper on Local Government, municipalities were ordained with special authority to provide wall-to-wall services for its residents, funded through property rates and affordable tariffs. However, providing these services came at a drastically underestimated cost, rendering them inaccessible for most poor and working-class people. In effect, municipalities were driven to focus their efforts on recovering costs over providing basic services. In the case of water, “while more homes have access to basic water supply now than in 1994, as a percentage of all homes fewer households have water now than at the end of apartheid”. Rate payers, mainly white middle and upper-class homeowners, become the primary benefactors of basic services.

In 2022, one in ten South Africans, 6 million people, do not have access to infrastructure capable of providing adequate water supply. If this was not enough, the water infrastructure accessible for many millions more cannot reliably supply safe water. The precise number is up for debate, and the available statistics for access to a steady and clean source of water are likely a low estimate if we interrogate the government’s definition of reliable and safe. Surely the reality expressed by ordinary South Africans portrays a reality that is much starker when measured against the government’s numbers.

The South African government’s failure to deliver water, a basic need, tells us South African democracy does not reach far below the surface. The Departmental Water Services Database indicates there are 5,336 communities in urban areas (including metros), 64% of South Africa’s population, with 98% access to basic water supply. 22,750 rural communities, accounting for 36% of the population, have 82% access to basic water supply. Eight metros that represent 42% of the population have 100% access to basic water supply.

Waiting in despair as the water tanker does not look like it will arrive, and no communication from the municipality as to what is going on.

Despite this, it was noted in 2019 that 59.9% of households in South Africa are serviced by water systems rendered unsustainable because of climate change. One-third of these households required on-site sanitation. Future projections of water supply indicate there will be a 17% deficit by 2030. On the surface, South Africa’s water system appears satisfactory where nearly everyone is serviced with a basic supply of water, but upon further investigation it is evident that the situation is becoming untenable for many people. The future certainly does not look bright.

In South Africa, there are less than one hundred Dam Safety Approved Professionals, and more than 66% of these professionals are older than sixty. This needs to change if we are serious about fighting the water crisis in South Africa. In Nelson Mandela Bay, there is not a single registered professional engineer employed in the Department of Water Services. With an unemployment rate hovering around 35.7% in the city, there is little reason why the municipality does not shift toward reskilling its workforce for its jobless population to begin repairing the water system. Could it be that employing the city’s working people undermines the municipal government’s other constituency, wealthy rate payers and industry?

Listen to the water experiences from people across the municipality and see for yourself.

Water crisis in the townships vs. the suburbs

In Chris Hani Township, situated in the northern periphery of Nelson Mandela Bay, residents have been without running water for six months. The streets are active with people walking back and forth carrying water jugs. Shopping carts pushed by children crowd the area’s sole half-filled water tank. To reiterate, in an area of 5,000 houses, there is only one half-filled water tank. A water tanker arrives daily to administer water to this tank, but when asked, the driver says he only delivers to this area because he lives there. Residents may get 1.2 litres of water per day if they are lucky. Without running tap water, residents are forced to make hard decisions in their daily lives. Whether to fulfil household chores, clean their clothes, flush their toilets, or take their medicine are weighed in the balance.

In Zwide Township, water turns off during the day for hours at a time. In the streets, leaks from pipes form small estuaries that have existed for so long that residents have made crossings with rocks and other debris. Reported leaks go unattended for weeks. The municipality is working from a repair backlog in the order of thousands with new pipe bursts popping up daily. Parents keep their children home from school because they fear there might not be enough water to carry the students throughout the day. It becomes necessary to fill water jugs in the morning before leaving the house. Neglecting this newfound responsibility could lead to grave consequences upon returning home with no water to drink.

Community meeting on what needs to be done.

Residents in all Nelson Mandela Bay townships report they are getting sick from their tap water. Parents report taking their children to the hospital in the middle of the night when the children fall ill with nausea and diarrhoea. Many residents are unemployed and cannot afford the electricity to boil their water, nor can they afford a cleaning agent, nor water bottles. In this event, residents are forced to drink dirty water without an alternative.

In the suburbs, water is rarely a concern. Shutoffs are less common, in some areas non-existent, and there are communal taps constructed in the event water does run out. If this is not enough, many residents have dormant swimming pools filled with water, an open-air water tank, if you will. Once treated, this water is suitable for drinking. On occasion, it is possible to see borehole trucks coming out of someone’s yard. In effect, where there is concern, suburban households have the resources to provision their own alternatives. For the middle and upper-class, predominantly white, water service delivery is at its best, mitigation strategies are in place, and households have personal resources at their disposal.

The pattern of water service delivery in the townships measured against the suburbs displays an uneven infrastructural development, and an unequal provision of water. For example, water flows from taps in a wealthy suburb like Summerstrand uninterrupted in anticipation of Day Zero, and on the other side, Chris Hani has been facing Day Zero for six months. In short, the water servicing the wealthier rent payers in the suburbs comes at the expense of poor and working-class residents in the townships.

The municipality against the Water Crisis Committee

At present, the municipality is betting on large infrastructure projects to meet the city’s water demand. Desalination is being marketed by water experts as the only viable option to build a sustainable water system. These experts are also selling desalination as a sound investment strategy for the municipal economy with its prospect for reindustrialisation and job creation. Taking the lead from the business lobby, the municipal council has signed and approved a desalination plant, as the plant will purportedly fight unemployment and bring investment into the municipality. Without consultation, the municipality approved the project, once again overriding its mandate to serve its residents, by instead serving industry with market solutions.

Working class communities in Nelson Mandela Bay, represented by the Water Crisis Committee, say new techno-utopian infrastructure projects will not solve this crisis. Although deindustrialization is a key driver of unemployment, it is caused by the financialization of the global economy. Subjecting water to market fundamentalism transforms a basic right into an exclusive privilege. Marketization will create the same insecurity we face with food, which only worsens unemployment, poverty, and inequality.

Community Member of Chris Hani pouring water from a water tanker.

Desalination also comes with significant environmental costs and financial risks. It is the opposite of the low carbon reindustrialization promoted by the national government. Furthermore, this desalination plant will primarily service water to the municipality’s industrial development zone, and not households in the townships. For the municipality, addressing this water crisis means solving the crisis for big business. In post-apartheid South Africa, capitalism reigns supreme, and this means the economy and businesses comes first.

The constitution endows South African citizens with an inalienable right to access clean and sufficient water. The right to water is fundamentally intertwined with environmental rights also outlined in the constitution. There is a clear mandate within the constitution for the provision of these basic rights, which the evidence above demonstrates, have been ignored. Apartheid ended with high hopes for a democracy where everyone had access to a decent  life based on equality of services.

In 2022, it appears South Africa’s constitution has been traded in for capitalist markets, and in effect survives as a zombie apartheid state. South Africa teaches us that capitalism is apartheid.

Apartheid afterlives

How can it be that a liberation movement, so ardently opposed to its people’s oppression, now perpetuates the same material deprivation as the previous oppressor? In brief, capitalism was never fundamentally challenged by the main organisations of liberation. Instead an elite formation composed of former leading activists, at one time willing to sacrifice everything, have ‘taken payment’ for their former ‘sacrifices’ by reaping the economic fruits of a hard-fought democracy. A culture of corruption within politics develops, abetted by secretive business deals and veiled threats from bankers and heads of state in the Global North.

In Nelson Mandela Bay, the municipality has faced  internal corruption and chronic underfunding, which has led them to seek solutions from the business sector. Instead of honouring its mandate to the people, the municipality has given away control to an unaccountable enterprise,  the Amatola Water Board. Capitalism forecloses the possibility of building the democracy fought for during the anti-apartheid struggle.

The struggle for water in Nelson Mandela Bay is waged against the commodification of this basic resource. The poor and working-class people of Nelson Mandela Bay are demanding they have a water tank for every household – the people themselves must control the water system. It is on this frontier that Nelson Mandela Bay fights for real democracy. True democracy is measured by our ability to access the basic resources and decision-making power to both shape and enjoy the world.

The water crisis in Nelson Mandela Bay reverts South Africa to its tyrannical, apartheid past while the struggle for the decommodification of water is an advance toward an eco-socialist future. A dignified life in South Africa is one in which direct democracy and the control of basic resources wins over authoritarian racial capitalism.

Quite literally, the ultimatum before Nelson Mandela Bay is eco-socialism or death.

Tony Martel is a member of the Nelson Mandela Bay Water Crisis Committee and a PhD candidate at Nelson Mandela University. Siyabulela Mama is a member of the Water Crisis Committee, a researcher at the Centre for Post-School Education and Training, Nelson Mandela University, and an activist at the Assembly of the Unemployed.

Featured Photograph: Members of the Chris Hani Community, Saxwila Street, returning home without water in their buckets (all photographs taken by the Water Crisis Committee in 2022).

African trade unions in crisis?

Ghanaian unionist Prince Asafu-Adjaye reviews a recently published, open access collection of articles assessing the state of trade unionism in Africa, with a focus on Ethiopia, Ghana, Kenya, Tanzania, Cabo Verde, and the politics of gender. Asafu-Adjaye argues that the collection challenges the commonly-held notion that trade unions in Africa are on the decline, and provides crucial lessons for those seeking to revitalise trade unionism on the continent.

By Prince Asafu-Adjaye

The open access May 2022 (Special Issue) of the Global Labour Journal provides critical and refreshing accounts of the state of selected trade unions in Africa. Its grounded narratives constitute a vital alternative to the unanimity on the dearth of vitality among contemporary trade unions on the continent. This Special Issue re-opens the old debate on labour aristocracy and its emerging reformulations that query the legitimacy of the claims by African trade unions to represent workers on the continent. It illustrates successful attempts by trade unions to reinvent themselves through organising – increasing membership numbers and inclusion of women, youth and informal economy operators – institutional capacity building, and struggles to promote the interests of workers amidst significant internal and external constraints.

The introduction to the Special Issue provides a good account of the history and present condition of trade unions in Africa. It highlights trade union alliances with nationalist political parties in the decolonisation of the continent, the suppression of trade unions by post-independence states, and the debilitating impacts of neoliberal socioeconomic policies on workers and their trade unions since the 1980s. The writer also articulates how exemptions of trade unions from policy spaces and internal trade union limitations – financial constraints, bureaucratic paralysis, and inefficient management – detract from trade union struggle against the neoliberal onslaught on the rights and interests of workers in Africa.

It is in view of the above prognosis that the article on Trade Union Resurgence in Ethiopia is refreshing, breathing an air of optimism into the debate on trade union vitality and renewal in Africa. In this article, we see the regeneration of trade unionism in Ethiopia, manifesting in the substantial growth of trade union membership – increasing from 415,000 in 2015 to 751,800 in 2020 – and spikes in collective action. Noticeably, the Ethiopian Confederation of Trade Unions (CETU) forced the renegotiation of a draft labour bill and opened up the hitherto no-go industrial parks to unionisation. Interestingly, these gains came despite the persistence of significant structural vulnerabilities of trade unions – institutional isolation due to the absence of a broad social coalition, financial weakness, active resistance by employers, and latent opposition by the state. Hence, this article teaches us that trade unions on the continent can renew and achieve significant gains even in the face of significant challenges.

The second article – Oil in Ghana: The work of the General Transport, Petroleum and Chemical Workers’ Union (GTPCWU) – draws on coordination and context-appropriate power theory to examine the ability of GTPCWU, the main trade union that organises in Ghana’s oil and gas sector, to exercise power. In this article, we learn that despite its challenges – low participation by youth and women, union substitution tactics, casualisation, and laxed enforcement of labour laws and local content regulation – the GTPCWU exerts modest structural power. It invests in institutional capacity development through the training of officials and rank-and-file members, the development of a membership database, and youth-based and gender-based recruitment. Notably, the GTPCWU has utilised picketing to end union-busting and racial discrimination at two multinational oil and gas companies.

These achievements notwithstanding, this article demonstrates that wielding structural power may not mean exercising institutional and conditional powers. The use of institutional power by GTPCWU is wrecked by the weak enforcement of employment legislation and long bureaucratic procedures. The conditional power of the union is undermined by the paucity of public sympathy due to the perception that oil and gas workers have secure and well-paid jobs. It is in this light that the triumphs of the GTPCWU, albeit limited, should inspire other trade unions in Africa, teaching them that it is possible to wrestle concessions from capital in strategic sectors.

In the third article – What is a Worker? Framing People in the Informal Economy as Part of the Trade Union Constituency in Kenya and Tanzania – the author uses definition, delimitation, and boundary drawing concepts to provide a balanced narrative of the attempts by trade unions in Kenya and Tanzania to extend their constituencies through the integration of informal economy operators. Undoubtedly, a trade union definition of workers that legitimises the inclusion of informal economy operators is necessitated by declining trade union membership, the casualisation of industrial and service jobs, and an expanding informal economy. Yet, unionisation of informal labour is highly politicised and contested within the Central Organization of Trade Unions (COTU) and Trade Union Congress of Tanzania (TUCTA). The two federations have been unable to adopt policies on informal economy organising due to disagreement on how the inclusion of informal economy operators should take place.

Workers strike in Kaduna, Nigeria, 20 May 2021, Socialist Worker 

Nonetheless, trade unions in Kenya and Tanzania organise informal labour through 1) the incorporation of existing informal economy associations as branches and 2) recruiting individual informal economy operators into existing unions. Crucially, trade unions extend vital services and benefits to their members in the informal economy. These include negotiation of terms and conditions of work with employers – where there are employer-employee relationships – and public authorities, business skills development and financial services support, and facilitation of dialogue between informal economy operators and municipal authorities. In essence, this article teaches us that defining workers and the attempt to extend organising beyond the traditional constituency of trade unions – formal workers – can be fraught with internal trade union contestations. Trade unions may need to walk tight ropes that requires balancing the imperatives for unity and designation of informal economy operators as workers in order to extend trade union constituency and political power, while paying attention to the necessity to preserve exiting traditional boundaries in order to protect established privileges and power structures.

The fourth and final article focuses on ICTs, distributed discourse and the labour movement in Cabo Verde: why weak communications remain a crucial barrier to trade union effectiveness. This article provides useful insights into the use of ICT as a trade union revitalisation tool in an African country. The authors demonstrate the importance of digital technologies in internal trade union communication, such as the utilisation of social media and instant messaging apps for information dissemination and interactions. In this article, we see how the deployment of video conferencing reduced the inequality of participation among trade union structures in core and peripheral islands in Cabo Verde. It also promoted equality of participation among individual union members in decision-making, bringing about progress in accountability and transparency. These positive advances occurred in spite of the fact that ICT usage by trade unions in Cabo Verde is beset by two important obstacles. First, the high cost of quality digital technologies limits access to hardware devices, resulting in networking software and support services challenges and a digital divide across islands. Second, the utilisation of ICT in trade union interaction with members sometimes comes with misunderstandings. These hindrances notwithstanding, this article shows that trade unions in Africa can improve engagement with their members through the deployment of ICT.

Another important part of special issue is a collection of interviews on African trade unions and the politics of gender. These interviews with trade unionists at regional and national trade union organisations touch on women’s issues at workplaces, gender in trade unions, and women in positions of power in trade unions. The key informants also shared critical opinions on the challenges besetting female representation in trade unions, prejudice against women trade unionists, gender departments in trade unions, and improving the position of women workers. In addition, the interviews contribute to the discourse on the competition that women pose to men in trade unions and whether trade unions should concentrate on defending and promoting the rights of working people as a whole and concentrate less on gender. The publication of the transcripts of these interviews makes important data available for trade union researchers and others who are interested in gender in African trade unions.

In view of the foregoing, the collection of papers is a vital addition to policy and conceptual propositions on trade union renewal on the continent. Notably, it demonstrates the imperatives of extending trade unionism into the informal economy and how to go about it, elucidating the opportunities and obstacles involved in defining workers in ways that makes informal labour a critical trade union constituency. In addition, the empirical evidence provided by the articles – showing the ascendancy of trade unionism in Ethiopia, the exercise of power by the GTPCWU in the petroleum sector in Ghana, and deployment of ICT by trade unions to foster interactions between union structures and members in Cabo Verde – gives us optimistic lessons on trade union revitalisation in Africa. African trade unions can take inspiration from the many lessons provided by the articles. Beyond its trade union policy relevance, the critical and grounded narratives question some of the theoretical and conceptual assumptions that underpin the generalisation on the lethargy and crisis of trade unions and labour movements.

Prince Asafu-Adjaye holds a PhD in Development Studies from SOAS, University of London. He is the Deputy Director of the Labour Research and Policy Institute of the Trades Union Congress in Ghana.

Featured Photograph: Strikers at a rally in Johannesburg, 10 October 2021, Socialist Worker.

Dear Semira

On 22 September 1998 Semira Adamu was murdered in Belgium as she was being deported. Semira was a 20-year-old Nigerian asylum seeker who was suffocated to death by two Belgian policemen to keep her silent while the Belgian Sabena airline flight was about to take-off for Togo. Twenty-four years later her cousin, Benjamin Maiangwa, investigates the truth of her murder.

By Benjamin Maiangwa

I am not certain that I ever actually met you in person, or maybe I was too young to remember if we’ve had any physical encounter. But somehow, you have managed to leave an ineffaceable impression on my mind. My first “real” encounter with you, Semira (you were also known as Esther), was by way of two birthday pictures in our family photo album. I didn’t feature in those pictures, otherwise I would claim we were close and that you held me in your arms or even carried me as a baby strapped on your back. The pictures must have been taken the year I was born. So, I was not yet ready for birthday parties or any other party for that matter. It made sense then that my father only took my two older brothers to the birthday party of James, your youngest brother, where the photos where taken.

My two brothers were both adorned in a sky-blue safari shirts and trousers for the event. My eldest brother seemed to be quite attentive, probably heeding the photographer’s instructions who might have said something to garner the attention of the well-behaved and smartly dressed kids as they posed for the photograph.

Except for your head gear, Semira, you were regaled in a white dress in this picture, standing behind my eldest brother, with your right hand on his shoulder. You must have been nine years old as far as I could tell. For his part, my immediate older brother, was more attentive to the snacks on the table, and his patience with the photographer was probably wearing thin at that moment.

Only you, Semira, and your three siblings featured in the second picture. Both you and your sister were dressed in all-white attire. As I looked at the picture, I couldn’t help but wonder about the picture my father painted of your body when it was brought home to Nigeria from Belgium after you had died, no sorry, after you were killed by Belgian gendarmes on 22 September 1998.

According to your funeral program held at Kabala Costain Cemetery in Kaduna state, Nigeria, on 13 October 1998, you were “born on 15 April 1978 at Yaba, Lagos to the family of Mr. and Mrs. Hassan G. Adamu. [You] attended Primary School at Army Children School, 44 barracks, Kaduna. [You] started [your] secondary education at Government Day Secondary School, Kakuri and later finished at Government Girls Secondary School, Independence Way Kaduna. You were until your death a Fashion Designer.”

I took a deep sigh after reading this short biography and wondered how long its length would have been if your life had not been snuffed out the way it was on that ill-fated day.

I remembered hearing about your death in 1998, but I don’t remember hearing the intimate anatomical details of it. In fact, I doubt that any of my family members knew the troubled tale in its entirety. For one, YouTube, Facebook Live, and other social media outlets didn’t exist at the time. My recollection of the loosely told story of your cruel murder was that you were sleeping in your hotel room somewhere in Belgium when two ‘night prowlers’ came in and smothered you with a pillow. This was the story I had been told or eavesdropped on at family meetings until my rude awakening on 1 June 2022.

I was researching on mobility and border apartheid and decided to take a break to read some online entries about our uncle who had died a few months ago. It was then I stumbled on his remarks about your death through an interview he gave to the BBC. I quickly shifted attention to your story and googled every readily retrievable piece of information about you. I read a few things on Wikipedia and some other obscure news outlets about how you were killed.

I wondered why CNN, and other notable news outlets hadn’t also reported the news of your murder. So, I explored what was available and this was how the News Magazine of the Islamic Movement, Crescent International depicted your last moments:

Semira, a 20-year-old Nigerian asylum seeker, died on September 22, 1998, after two policemen smothered her with a pillow to keep her quiet while awaiting takeoff on a Belgian Sabena airline flight to Lomé, the capital of Togo. A video taken by a third policeman showed one officer pressing [your] head into a pillow across his knees, while his colleague pushed [you] from behind. [Your] ordeal lasted 20 minutes while the two policemen chatted and laughed.

‘Why Togo?’ I wondered out loud. ‘Would it kill them to bring you straight home to Nigeria? Or would a connecting flight be awaiting you in Togo?’ In any case, this new discovery of how you were killed startled me. I stood up from my couch in the living room where I had been sitting, paced around a bit, went to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, to the bedroom.

The knowledge I thought I had about your death until then had been a lie and there was no escaping from this. Having exhausted all the visible corners in my apartment I had tried to find solace in, I went back to the living room where I had stumbled on the unsettling facts about you. I had wanted to give up in desolation and take a walk, but I felt that you wanted me to keep going. So, I took a deep breath and ventured deeper into your story.

When I typed in your name (Semira Adamu) on YouTube, the first video I saw showed the live footage of you sitting on a plane, panic struck. You were sandwiched between your two calm and collected murderers, or as one of my friends would call them, your “superintendents of death”.

There is no indication in the video that some interactions took place that ‘disturbed’ other passengers. Then in a flash, I saw these men pushing you from behind and pressing your face on a cushion on what appeared to be the knee of another man, their debased and criminal accomplice who was also hellbent on extinguishing the life in you.

“The pretext for killing a slave”, according to the abolitionist, Fredrick Douglas, is “that the slave has offered resistance…raised his hands in self-defence…” then “the white-assaulting party is fully justified in shooting the slave down.”

But ours is a civilized world!

I couldn’t see or sense any obvious signs of resistance on your part, Semira, which could have been futile since you were chained by your ankles and your hands were handcuffed behind your back. But these ‘messengers of death’ pressed on as though they were doing nothing unusual as you struggled for life. They appeared deaf to your suffering, as they hollowed out the life from you.

The atrocious scene was all too common!

Although this might have been the last thing on their mind, but the arrogance and sense of impunity that the officers involved in the morbid short video ended up serving some documentary purposes: it historicized their barbarity by recording the act which, in retrospect, was their most singular moment of ignominy. Their murderous act could simply be described, in the absence of a more vile name, as jubilantly demonic.

Statewatch News Online described what followed in this way:

On 12 December 2003 a Brussels court found four former Belgian police officers guilty of assault, battery, and negligence in the case of Semira Adamu who died during a forced deportation in 1998 …. When asked in court why the use of so much force was necessary one of the officers told the court that it was necessary: “to avoid disturbing other passengers” …. Five police officers appeared before the court, one was acquitted; three were given one-year suspended sentences, and the fourth, the unit’s chief, got a 14-month suspended sentence …. The court also ordered the Belgian state to pay undisclosed damages to [your] family. [Your] death in 1998 led to the resignation of the then Interior Minister Louis Tobback.

“Is that all”? I wondered aloud!

But what was I expecting? Had there ever been a fitting punishment on such matters pertaining to the ‘Black body’ anywhere else before? Besides, Semira, what manner of justice would bring you back to life?

Semira, I had wanted to dig deeper into the circumstances in which you left Nigeria for Belgium but resigned myself to the instinct that somethings are better left buried. Besides, you’re not here to tell your side of the story. So, I concluded that how you left home for Belgium, and why you settled on Belgium as your potential “new home” is not of any contingent or necessary consequence to your killing by the Belgian gendarmes who had managed to put you on a plane back home to us (via Togo for some reason), only to cut your journey short.

Semira, a night before my reawakening of the circumstances of your murder at Brussels international airport, I was engrossed in a conversation with a friend about why I chose Belgium for an internship program at the United Nations university in 2014. My initial choice for Belgium was simply because of the presence of the UN university in Bruges. But I confessed to my friend how I fell in love with the city of Bruges. I must have spent an hour with this friend relishing my three-month’s adventure in Bruges. I ended by saying I would visit Bruges again at the slightest chance, yet I woke to the horrifying discovery that you were killed in the country that I somehow had cherished 16 years later.

Your memorial service in Belgium took place on 26 September 1998. The service was unsurprisingly well-attended judging by the YouTube footage. The memorial service was held in French, so I have no idea what was said about you. What was striking was the sea of people outside the Church, standing in solidarity with you. At this point, I thought, you were not just my cousin. You were their daughter, friend, sister, mother, and cousin as well. Some of them were visibly weeping, and their presence at the funeral was a statement of their emphatic condemnation of your murder.

The funeral could also have been anyone’s, at least among the African migrant community to which you belonged. One of the few Africans at the funeral lamented: “A woman who was crying for help, who didn’t want to go, has a will to express…could end up in this way, to even die in the hands of the same authority to whom she had run. We do not know anywhere to run to anymore in the world.”

This cri de cœur resonates with any non-white body in hostile white metropoles, and sadly in Africa as well. To your murderers, Semira, “your will to express” was your greatest undoing!

The circumstances of your death also made me think about another young African woman, like yourself, who, in the 19th century, was taken to Europe from South Africa by her slaveholder. She was turned into a specimen in a freak show, where debauchers in London and Paris could gaze at what they considered her interesting physique or plainly, “her large buttocks”.

This woman was Sarah Baartman.

The remains of Sarah Baartman were repatriated from France to South Africa — on the rather strong prodding of Nelson Mandela — where she was given a dignified burial more than 200 years since her death at the age of 26 on 29 December 1815. This was after “her brain, skeleton and sexual organs remained on display in a Paris Museum until 1974.” Clearly, Semira, the case of Sarah Baartman and yours reflect the dehumanization of black bodies that characterized the way in which the world functioned back then and even today.

Semira, you were only 20 years old when you were hurried out of this world. Your corpse was brought home to us for your final internment in Nigeria on 13 October 1998. While receiving your corpse at the airport, your family had to open the coffin to confirm that the body of the person who was lying inside was indeed you. Those who were there said, brutal as your execution had been, at least the Belgians took the precaution to honour you in death. Your body was well-preserved and presented. I thought if only you were rendered the same care in life, then you would have been a 43-year-old woman today and not another number among the dead.

I wished I had grown up to know you and meet you, and I am still inclined to think that you did carry and play with me as a child. As we remember you 24 years after your passage onto glory from a world that was afraid of your light, I can only echo your family’s prayer as emblazoned on your funeral program: “Esther, we love you, but God loves you more. May your gentle soul rest in peace.” Amen!

Benjamin Maiangwa is Assistant Professor in the department of Political Science at Lakehead University. Maiangwa’s research focuses broadly on the intersection of politics, culture, and society. His publications use storytelling and critical research to explore notions of belonging, mobility, and how people experience conflict and peace in everyday life.

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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