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World Premiere – Walter Rodney: ‘What They Don’t Want you to Know’

Attend the world premiere of a documentary that explores the life of historian and revolutionary Walter Rodney. Filmed in Guyana, Barbados, Jamaica, Tanzania, the US, and the UK, featuring revelatory interviews, it examines the life of a man who sought unity in the face of division and whose ideals lie at the heart of global struggles today.

Walter Rodney was killed in 1980 in Guyana, South America by the CIA, and MI5-supported autocratic government of Forbes Burnham. Forty-one years after his assassination, the Guyanese government has finally acknowledged the state’s role in his murder.

Sunday, 23 October 2022,  18:30 (NFT 1), London – purchase tickets (£6.50) here.

Director – Daniyal Harris-Vajda & Arlen Harris

with Patricia Rodney & Angela Davis

We are delighted to announce that joining the discussion will be Patricia Rodney (CEO of The Walter Rodney Foundation, academic and author), Gina Nadira Miller (activist politician), Lavinya Stennett (founder of Black Curriculum), Arlen and Daniyal Harris-Vajda (directors). The discussion will be chaired by David Dabydeen (broadcaster, novelist, poet and academic).

Supported by The Walter Rodney Foundation and the Ameena Gafoor Institute.

Breaking the influence of international capital in Africa – an interview with Japhace Poncian

ROAPE interviews the Ruth First prize winner Japhace Poncian about the crippling influence of international capital on the continent, resource nationalism, and the need for Africa to break its dependence from foreign direct investment and technology and to harness its own resources. Japhace argues that Africa must build up its own technical, financial, and human capacities to master its own fate.

ROAPE: Can you please tell us, Japhace, about yourself, and your background? 

Japhace Poncian: I was born and grew up in a rural village in northwestern Tanzania. I had all my primary and ordinary secondary education there before going for my Advanced level secondary education. After my A-level education, I joined Mkwawa University College of Education, which is a constituent college of the University of Dar es Salaam for my BA (Education) degree in 2006, majoring in History and Geography. Right from my ordinary secondary education, history had always fascinated me. I was always fascinated by leftist perspectives on Africa’s marginalization in the international political economic system. After my BA degree, I was recruited as a Tutorial Assistant of History at Mkwawa University College of Education, which is a constituent college of the University of Dar es Salaam.

From Dar, I went for an MA in Global Development and Africa at the University of Leeds, United Kingdom to further my intellectual curiosity about Africa’s place and role in global political economy. Taught and supervised by the likes of Raymond Bush, I slowly developed interest in the political economy of extractive resources. I subsequently wrote my MA dissertation on Tanzania’s then mining law which was enacted in 2010. I problematized the content of the resulting law in light of the then public and political outcry about the infamous neoliberal reforms that had characterized the mining sector since the mid-1990s. Building on this background, I moved to Australia for my PhD at the University of Newcastle in 2015 where I researched the government-community engagement dynamics in the governance of Tanzania’s natural gas.

A common strand running through my research was my focus on how extractive resource politics impact unfairly on the communities, how these communities organize to fight back, how the state responds and what this means for the broader processes and national and international political economy of resources. I have continued to work along these lines but have extended my research into resource nationalist politics which my recent ROAPE paper draws. Apart from this research, I also teach undergraduate courses in Development Studies and Political Science at Mkwawa University College of Education.

Tanzania was the ‘incubator’ of ROAPE in our early days (with comrades like Issa Shivji involved from the start). Before ROAPE was founded, many of our comrades were inspired and schooled in Nyerere’s Tanzania. There was much continental hope for radical and socialist changes from Dar es Salaam in the 1960s and 1970s. Coming from a later generation, can you tell us about what it was like growing up in the context of this history and environment and how it has influenced you, your family and your work? 

I must say from the outset that growing up in this context was inspirational. Even though I did all my schooling in the post-socialist era, the memory of Nyerere’s socialist policies were still very much intact and commanding public support. Some policy practices of the socialist era were still being practiced at the time. I remember we used to study for free and were usually provided with free exercise books and school equipment at the beginning of each year until around 1994 when this practice was abandoned. Yet socialist ideas continued to be at the core of our primary school songs.

Even though President Mwinyi [Ali Hassan Mwinyi was the second president of Tanzania from 1985-1995] was the presiding leader, the general community in which we lived and interacted still held Nyerere in high esteem. The national radio broadcasting, Radio Tanzania Dar es Salaam, used to broadcast Nyerere speeches every day after the 8pm news bulletin. Being the only radio station at the time, this meant that the ideas we were exposed to were mostly those of Nyerere. So, growing up in this context influenced my future perspective about development and the international system. So, it is not surprising that even when I went for my secondary education, I gravitated to Africa’s history from what we used to call back then an Afro-centric perspective. This also explains why I have continued to conduct my research building on the legacy and heritage of Nyerere’s socialist policies.

Your own research has looked at the much spoken about ‘resource nationalism’ in Tanzania in recent years – there was an expectation, or at least political hope, that this was a radical measure that would take back for the country’s poor its own wealth and resources. Can you describe the political context of these measures, and what has really been revealed (and achieved) by such politics?

Resource nationalism, as I and other scholars such as Thabit Jacob have argued is very much a product of failed resource liberalism. When it was adopted during the late 1980s and early to mid-1990s, resource liberalism was premised on the ‘false’ promise of job opportunities, revenues, FDI inflows and technological exchange. However, the reality what actually came about did not come anywhere near what was promised.

Across Tanzania and the rest of Africa, there was public outcry at the failure of these reforms and the need for Tanzania to take measures to address the imbalance. At the same time, opposition parties, themselves a product of political liberalization, were gaining political mileage as they built on popular dissatisfaction to galvanise popular support. From 2005 to 2010, it was becoming clear that if nothing was done, the ruling party Chama cha Mapinduzi (CCM) would lose many parliamentary seats to the opposition and would perform poorly in presidential elections. This being the case, the CCM government under President Kikwete (2005-2015) built on the Nyerere on international capital and its plundering tendencies to re-introduce resource nationalism to tame the growing influence and popularity of opposition parties.

The opposition Chama cha Demokrasia na Maendeleo (CHADEMA- Party for Democracy and Development), for instance, had organized popular campaigns dubbed ‘operation sangara’ and Movement for Change (M4C)’ in the period between 2007 and 2013. Riding high on corruption scandals and mining failure to deliver benefits to Tanzania, CHADEMA went throughout the country mobilizing the youth and poor  to the extent it was became a thorn in the side of CCM. Opposition members of parliament also became very vocal in parliament so that some top political leaders including the Prime Minister were forced to resign on account of corruption.

Together these crises pushed the government to come up with ‘resource nationalist measures’ between 2006 and 2010 and subsequently in 2015 and 2017. The CCM has held onto power, but these measures have not helped increase its electoral performance. Further, resource nationalism has not transformed the extractive sector into one that bolsters value addition and industrialisation.

Though there have been some gains due to subscription to the Extractives Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI) these cannot be attributed to resource nationalism. Finally, the reforms have made the sector unstable and unpredictable because they have meant that periodic revisions have become a norm. The 2017 nationalist reforms, for instance, are now being sidelined by the sitting government in favour of the market.

If, as you claim in your Ruth First prize winning article, the key element in Tanzanian political economy are ‘structural constraints’, which has undermined efforts at radical reforms, what can be done to alter and transform the continents trajectory?

You are very right on structural constraints in relation to Tanzania’s efforts to alter and transform its trajectory. Resource nationalism, and indeed broader economic nationalization programmes, has historically been adopted in Tanzania and across Africa within the constraints of structural challenges. Tanzania and Africa generally, has historically sought to fight the power of international capital by resorting to nationalistic policies and strategies without addressing the structural constraints secure capital’s control over nation-states.

Whereas resource nationalist reforms adopted recently and those adopted during the Arusha Declaration era had good intentions and represented a government’s resolve to address the negative consequences of international capital encroachment, they nevertheless were ill-thought and failed.

Looking forward, I would suggest that Africa should place more emphasis on transforming the structural constraints first before introducing radical resource nationalist measures. You do not break from the influence of the international capital if you still depend on foreign direct investment and technology to harness your resources. It would make sense, and many have written about this, for Tanzania and Africa to invest in building its technical, financial and human capacity if the goal is to take over the running of the extractive sector. Without investing in building this capacity, resource nationalist policies on, for instance, state participation, local content, resource-based industrialisation, etc. cannot produce the desired outcomes by continuing to depend on international capital. If anything, Africa should start building from below before it can flex its ‘weak’ muscles against the politically, economically and technologically powerful multinational corporations. Because this appears to be a longer term strategy whose ‘fruits’ can only be realised after a long time, Africa can pursue this while at the same time continue to negotiate fair deals with international capital without initially signaling a ‘threat of nationalisation.’

What role does agency, and the engagement of working people, play in the transformation of Tanzania? There have been some important struggles in Tanzania in recent years, can you talk about this? 

Agency is a very important determinant here. In fact, none of the three waves of resource nationalist reforms in Tanzania have come without such agency. Much of the reforms have been enacted in response to political and general public outcry, often with the ruling party feeling politically threatened. Struggles from within the ruling party (i.e., between party cadres loyal to the ideas of Nyerere and those ascribing to market forces), confrontation between artisanal and small scale miners and large scale miners, community complaints, civil society advocacy and popular campaigns building on the emotions of the public have all been very important in bringing about then reforms in the form of resource nationalism.

Everyone from ruling party policy makers to the common citizen has complained about Tanzania not benefitting adequately from extractive resource extraction and demanded that the government take steps to address this. Although the agency and struggles of the popular classes have been important in shaping Tanzania’s extractive reforms, the processes through which these reforms have been instituted has tended to be exclusionary. The government has consistently sought to introduce legal reforms under a certificate of urgency, systematically keeping alternative and popular voices and influence away from the process.

In effect, many of these reforms have tended to be contentious and controversial resulting in their revision within a short period of time. Therefore, one can say that civil society agency and public dissatisfaction have always pushed the government to introduce reforms. However, the government has consistently hijacked the agenda by legislating for reforms behind ‘closed’ doors. Unquestionably this is why we have not seen that much transformation coming out of these reforms.

Looking at the continent as a whole, and similar rhetoric at industrialisation (see Ethiopia and Rwanda for example), how do you interpret and understand efforts at development on the continent and the role of imperialism and structural constraints in undermining these efforts? 

On a general note, it appears that Africa has awakened from slumber and is keen to take advantage of its resources to catapult socio-economic and industrial transformation. In the period since, say, the first half of the 2000s, certain African politicians have individually and collectively made at least a rhetorical commitment to large scale transformation. Mega-infrastructural, energy and industrial projects have become fashionable across the continent. The adoption the Africa Mining Vision in 2009 has reinvigorated Africa’s desire to promote a resource-based industrialisation. Similarly, the adoption of the African Continental Free Trade Area is an attempt to address intra-African trade barriers to ensure African countries trade amongst each other to promote continental industrialisation. The global fourth industrial revolution is also exerting pressure on the continent with countries striving to cope with and take advantage of its trends for their own transformation.

On more practical level, however, these efforts are not only beset by global imperial and structural constraints but are also challenged by the nationalist orientation of individual African countries. The development challenges that Africa face today require deep partnerships to address them; yet this continental collaboration and partnership does not seem to take root. Xenophobic attacks in some countries point to the deeper intra-African structural constraints and unresolved legacies of colonial imperialism.

Further, the sluggish implementation of continentally agreed strategies by individual countries is suggestive of the lack of a Pan-African spirit needed to overcome imperialist challenges. What do you expect if, for instance, African leaders voluntarily agreed and adopted a continental Mining Vision in 2009 but none of them has fully, or in any real sense, implemented the Vision which is now more than ten years old? How can mining bolster industrialisation if resource-rich countries do not respect the decisions they made on their own volition without external influence?

How do you see your work and research, and political engagement, evolving in the coming years? What areas are you planning to move into? 

Looking into the future, I still see myself working and researching on political-economic questions regarding mineral, oil and gas resource extraction and development dynamics. My particular interest is to further pursue a line of inquiry on grassroot community organising and movements that seek to challenge the mainstream resource extraction agenda and how ‘resource governance’ seeks to integrate their voices and concerns into policy and practice, which as we have seen does little or nothing. A second line of inquiry that I am interested in is renewable energy politics in Africa in the context of global sustainability initiatives and targets and regional and local development needs and dynamics.

Japhace is a lecturer in Development Studies and runs the Department of History, Political Science and Development Studies at Mkwawa University College of Education in Tanzania. He researches on the politics of extractive resource governance and broader development issues in Tanzania and Africa. He holds a PhD in Politics from the University of Newcastle in Australia, an MA (Global Development and Africa) from the University of Leeds, in the UK, and a BA (Education) from University of Dar es Salaam.

Featured Photograph: Miners in Tanzania (23 August 2017).

Western Sahara – Africa’s last colony

Meriem Naïli writes about the continuing struggle for the independence of Western Sahara. Occupied by Morocco since the 1970s, in contravention of the International Court of Justice and the UN. The internationally recognised liberation movement, POLISARIO, has fought and campaigned for independence since the early 1970s. Naïli explains what is going on, and the legal efforts to secure the country’s freedom.

By Meriem Naïli

The conflict over Western Sahara can be described as a conflict over self-determination that has been frozen in the past three decades. Western Sahara is a territory in North-West Africa, bordered by Morocco in the north, Algeria and Mauritania in the east and the Atlantic Ocean to the west. A former Spanish colony, it has been listed by the UN since 1963 as one of the 17 remaining non-self-governing territories, but the only such territory without a registered administrating power.

Since becoming independent from France in 1956, Morocco has claimed sovereignty over Western Sahara and has since the late 1970s formally annexed around 80% of its territory, over which it exercises de facto control in contravention of the conclusions reached by the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in its advisory opinion of October 15, 1975, on this matter. The court indeed did not find any “legal ties of such a nature as might affect the application of resolution 1514 (XV) in the decolonization of Western Sahara and, in particular, of the principle of self-determination through the free and genuine expression of the will of the peoples of the Territory” (Western Sahara (1975), Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Reports 1975, p.12).

On 14 November 1975, the Madrid Accords – formally the Declaration of Principles on Western Sahara – were signed between Spain, Morocco, and Mauritania setting the conditions under which Spain would withdraw from the territory and divide its administration between the two African states. Its paragraph two reads that “Spain shall immediately proceed to establish a temporary administration in the territory, in which Morocco and Mauritania shall participate in collaboration with the Jemâa [a tribal assembly established by Spain in May 1967 to serve as a local consultative link with the colonial administration], and to which the responsibilities and powers referred to in the preceding paragraph shall be transferred.”

Although it was never published on the Boletin Oficial del Estado [the official State journal where decrees and orders are published on a weekly basis], the accord was executed, and Mauritania and Morocco subsequently partitioned the territory in April 1976. Protocols to the Madrid Accords also allowed for the transfer of the Bou Craa phosphate mine and its infrastructure and for Spain to continue its involvement in the coastal fisheries.

Yet in Paragraph 6 of his 2002 advisory opinion, UN Deputy Secretary General Hans Corell, reaffirmed that the 1975 Madrid Agreement between Spain, Morocco, and Mauritania “did not transfer sovereignty over the Territory, nor did it confer upon any of the signatories the status of an administering Power, a status which Spain alone could not have unilaterally transferred.”

The war

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Saguia el-Hamra and Rio de Oro (POLISARIO) is the internationally recognised national liberation movement representing the indigenous people of Western Sahara. Through the self-proclaimed Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR), it has been campaigning since its creation in May 1973 in favour of independence from Spain through a referendum on self-determination to be supervised by the UN. A war broke out shortly after Morocco and Mauritania’s invasion in November 1975. Spain officially withdrew from the territory on 26 February 1976 and the Sahrawi leadership proclaimed the establishment of the SADR the following day.

In 1984, the SADR was admitted as a full member of the Organisation of African Unity (now the African Union), resulting in Morocco’s decision to withdraw the same year in protest. Morocco would only (re)join the African Union (AU) in 2017. The admission of the SADR to the OAU consolidated the movement in favour of its recognition internationally, with 84 UN member states officially recognising the SADR.

In the meantime, to strengthen its colonization of the territory, Morocco had begun building what it later called “le mur de défense” (the defence wall). In August 1980, following the withdrawal of Mauritanian troops the previous year, Morocco sought to “secure” a part of the territory that Mauritania had occupied. Construction of the wall – or “berm” – was completed in 1987 with an eventual overall length of just under 2,500km.

A “coordination mission” was established in 1985 by the UN and the OAU with representatives dispatched to find a solution to the conflict between the two parties. After consultations, the joint OAU-UN mission drew up a proposal for settlement accepted by the two parties on 30 August 1988 and would later be detailed in the United Nations Secretary General’s (UNSG) report of 18 June 1990 and the UN Security Council (UNSC) resolution establishing United Nations Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara (MINURSO).

Since 1979 and the surrender of Mauritania, around 80% of the territory has remained under Morocco’s military and administrative occupation.

Deployment of MINURSO

The Settlement Plan agreed to in principle between Morocco and POLISARIO in August 1988 was submitted to the UNSC on 12 July 1989 and approved in 1990. On 29 April 1991, the UNSC established MINURSO in resolution 690, the terms of reference for it being set out in the UNSG’s report of 19 April 1991. The plan provided for a cease-fire, followed by the organisation of a referendum of self-determination for which the people of Western Sahara had to choose between two options: integration with Morocco or plain and simple independence.

In this regard, it provided for the creation of an Identification Commission to resolve the issue of the eligibility ofSahrawi voters for the referendum, an issue which has since generated a great deal of tension between the two parties. A Technical Commission was created by mid-1989 to implement the Plan, with a schedule based on several phases and a deployment of UN observers following the proclamation of a ceasefire.

Talks quickly began to draw up a voters list amid great differences between the parties. POLISARIO maintained that the Spanish census of 1974 was the only valid basis, with 66,925 eligible adult electors, while Morocco demanded inclusion of all the inhabitants who, as settlers, continued to populate the occupied part of the territory as well as people from southern Morocco. It was decided that the 1974 Spanish census would serve as a basis, and the parties were to propose voters for inclusion on the grounds that they were omitted from the 1974 census.

In 1991, the first list was published with around 86,000 voters. However, the process of identifying voters would be obstructed in later years, mainly by Morocco which attempted to include as many Moroccan settlers as possible. The criteria for eligibility had sometimes been modified to accommodate Morocco’s demands and concerns. Up to 180,000 applications had been filed on the part of the Kingdom, the majority of which had been rejected by the UN Commission as they did not satisfy the criteria for eligibility.

Consequently, the proclamation of “D-Day”, to mark the beginning of a twelve-week transition period following the cease-fire leading to the referendum on self-determination, kept being postponed and eventually was never declared.

The impasse

Following the rejection by Morocco of the Peace Plan for Self-Determination of the People of Western Sahara (known as Baker Plan II) and the complete suspension of UN referendum preparation activities in 2003, Morocco’s proposal for autonomy of the territory under its sovereignty in 2007 crystallised the stalemate [the Peace Plan is contained in Annex II of UNSG report S/2003/565, and available here].

The Baker Plan II had envisioned a four or five-year transitional power-sharing period between an autonomous Western Sahara Authority and the Moroccan state before the organisation of a self-determination referendum during which the entire population of the territory could vote for the status of the territory – including an option for independence. It was ‘supported’ by the UNSC in resolution S/RES/1495 and reluctantly accepted by POLISARIO but rejected by Morocco.

The absence of human rights monitoring prerogatives for MINURSO has emerged as an issue for the people of Western Sahara as a result of the stalemate in the referendum process in the last two decades. MINURSO is the only post-Cold War peacekeeping operation to be deprived of such prerogatives.

Amongst the four operations currently deployed that are totally deprived of human rights monitoring components (UNFICYP in Northern Cyprus, UNIFIL in Lebanon, UNDOF in the Israeli-Syrian sector and MINURSO), MINURSO stands out as not having attained its purpose through the organisation of a referendum. In addition, among the missions that did organise referendums (namely UNTAG in Namibia and UNAMET in East Timor), all had some sort of human rights oversight mechanism stemming from their mandates.

On 8 November 2010, a protest camp established by Sahrawis near Laayoune (capital of Western Sahara) was dismantled by the Moroccan police. The camp had been set up a month earlier in protest at the ongoing discrimination, poverty, and human rights abuses against Sahrawis. When dismantling the camp, gross human rights violations were reported – see reports by Fédération internationale des ligues des droits de l’Homme (2011) and Amnesty International (2010).

This episode revived the international community’s interest in Western Sahara and therefore strengthened the demand by Sahrawi activists to “extend the mandate of MINURSO to monitor human rights” (see Irene Fernández-Molina, “Protests under Occupation: The Spring inside Western Sahara” in Mediterranean Politics, 20:2 (2015): 235–254).

Such an extension was close to being achieved in April 2013, when an UNSC resolution draft penned by the US unprecedentedly incorporated this element, although it was eventually taken out. This failed venture remains to date the most serious attempt to add human rights monitoring mechanisms to MINURSO. Supporters of this amendment to the mandate are facing the opposition by Moroccan officials who hold that it is not the raison d’être of the mission, and it could jeopardize the negotiation process.

What’s going on now?

At the time of writing, the people of Western Sahara are yet to express the country’s right to self-determination through popular consultation or any other means agreed between the parties. The conflict therefore remains unresolved since the ceasefire and has mostly been described as “frozen” by observers.

On the ground, resistance from Sahrawi activists remain very much active. Despite the risks of arbitrary arrest, repression or even torture, the Sahrawi people living under occupation have organised themselves to ensure their voices are heard and violations are reported. Freedom House in 2021 have, yet again, in its yearly report, rated Western Sahara as one of the worst countries in the world with regards to political rights and civil liberties.

Despite a clear deterioration of the peace process over the decades, several factors have signalled a renewed interest in this protracted conflict among key actors and observers from the international community. A Special Envoy of the AU Council Chairperson for Western Sahara (Joaquim Alberto Chissano from Mozambique) was appointed by the Peace and Security Council in June 2014. This was followed by Morocco becoming a member of the AU in January 2017.

More recently, major events have begun to de-crystalise the status quo. The war resumed on 13 November 2020 following almost 30 years of ceasefire. Additionally, for the first time, a UN member state – the US – recognised Morocco’s claim to sovereignty over the territory. Former US President Trump’s declaration on 10 December 2020 to that effect was made less than a month after the resumption of armed conflict. It has not, however, been renounced by the current Biden administration. As this recognition secured Morocco’s support for Israel as per the Abrahamic Accords, reversing Donald Trump’s decision would have wider geopolitical repercussions.

In September 2021, the General Court of the European Union (GCEU) issued decisions invalidating fisheries and trade agreements between Morocco and the EU insofar as they extended to Western Sahara, rejecting Morocco’s sovereignty. This decision is the latest episode of a legal battle taking place before the European courts.

The Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU), had previously reaffirmed the legal status of Western Sahara as a non-self-governing territory, set by the UN in 1963 following the last report transmitted by Spain – as Administering Power – on Spanish Sahara under Article 73 of the UN Charter. The Court rejected in December 2016 any claims of sovereignty by Morocco by restating the distinct statuses of both territories.

The last colony in Africa remains largely under occupation and the UN mission in place is still deprived of any kind of human rights monitoring. In the meantime, the Kingdom of Morocco has been trading away peace in the form of military accords and trade partnerships. This situation must end – with freedom, and sovereignty finally won by Western Sahara.

The UK Western Sahara solidarity organisation invites you to attend an event on 29 October in London to hear the latest news and find out how you can get more involved in securing the country’s freedom – sign-up here.

Meriem Naili is a member of the steering committee of the International Academic Observatory on Western Sahara (OUISO) at the University of Paris Descartes and a researcher at the African Research Institute of Óbudai University, Budapest.

Featured Photograph: Protest in support of the independence of Western Sahara in Madrid (21 April 2007).

Professionals and Proletarians – Class Struggle under Neoliberalism

We share an extract from ‘Revolution is the choice of the people: crisis and revolt in the Middle East and North Africa’ by Anne Alexander. The passage deepens our understanding of the complex class structure of the Middle Eastern and North African societies in which uprisings and revolutions erupted in the 2010s. It looks at how neoliberalism produced a crisis and profound transformations among the middle class and proletariat while propelling them to play a major role in popular resistance against the military-bureaucratic machines at the heart of the state.

The middle class in crisis?

What exactly were the threats which propelled residents of the well-to-do Khartoum neighbourhood al-Riyadh into the streets against the dictatorship in Sudan? And were these repeated in other uprisings? Before we can attempt an answer to this question, we need a brief digression to explore what being ‘middle class’ means in the societies we are discussing in this book. The Marxist analysis of capitalism is rooted in the idea that it is characterised by the struggle between the two ‘polar’ classes: the bourgeoisie, who own and control the means of production (and frequently dominate political institutions and steer the direction of the state, although this is not essential), and the working class, whose only way to survive is to sell their labour power. Yet, this abstract model of two armies facing each other across a battlefield frequently appears to bear little resemblance to the actual historical development of classes and class struggle. Just as in Marx’s day, there are classes and fractions of classes in between the working class and the bourgeoisie, which are sometimes pulled towards accommodation and compromise with the bourgeoisie and at other times pushed by recurrent economic and social crisis into confrontation alongside workers and other layers of the poor. Grasping what defines this ‘in-between’ position is important: class in the sense that Marx meant it cannot simply be read off from income, level of education or taking home a wage. There are some sections of the middle class who make a living from the ownership of property or trade. Both objective and subjective circumstances could push them into rebellion against the state, and some of this layer of the population of Syria’s provincial towns were propelled into revolution in the spring and summer of 2011 by a combination of the encroaching crisis in the countryside and the actions of the regime.

Much more important in terms of the social basis of the revolutions, however, was the crisis of that part of the middle class associated with the state during the neoliberal period. Again, some clarification is important here: working for a government institution does not in itself make you middle class, even in societies where very large numbers of the poor do not have access to regular work at all. The key test here is whether your role involves controlling the labour of other people, and the degree to which that gives you autonomy in relation to those higher up the managerial food chain. State employment expanded massively during the state capitalist period, apparently offering a route towards prosperity, influence and power for some of the generations which came of age in the era of the anti-colonial revolution. It oversaw huge growth in the public education system and the institution of a social compact which promised their sons and daughters a straight path from school to university qualifications in subjects designed to fit them for service in the state as it built a modern society. The onset of crisis and the neoliberal turn by the ruling class threw these plans into disarray. While state employment actually rarely shrank, or at least not for civil servants, health workers and education workers, its status, pay and working conditions were systematically degraded. Moreover, the state’s role as a ladder which anyone could apparently climb if they had the motivation to ‘better themselves and make a ‘better society was disrupted. Power and influence in the neoliberal period coalesced in new channels, some of the people who wielded it owed their social rise to business success but frequently they were the sons and daughters of the very top layers of the state bureaucracy. While the idea that the state was genuinely an instrument of meritocracy was always a myth, this does not make the rage at corruption and nepotism of those shut out of it any less real.

A further set of pressures which weighed heavily on both the middle class and the poor during the neoliberal period was the systematic downward shift in the burden of services supporting the reproduction of social life as well as the production of capital such as housing, healthcare and education. The state capitalist turn had created welfare, health care and housing systems which redistributed some of the wealth in society downwards through providing basic medical services, public education and subsidising rents. During the neoliberal era, this process was partially reversed, not just because less state investment was directed towards these areas, but also because they became once again frontiers for private capital accumulation. The people who suffered the most from this process were workers and the poor, but the burdens of paying more for education and health care also weighed on the middle class.

There were sections of the middle class which did much better during the neoliberal period, some who benefitted from the expansion of trade and the financial sector in particular. The social basis of Umar al-Bashir’s regime in Sudan partially rested on the expansion of this layer of society, for example. Migration to the Gulf during the 1970s and 1980s played an important role in refreshing the private sector middle class across the entire region. This was partially a result of the increasing differentiation between the economies of the region as the new centre of capital accumulation in the Gulf took off: high wages in professional and managerial roles for migrants could be turned into capital to invest in property and businesses back home. But it also reflected the growing importance of those who could act as brokers between the interests of Gulf capital and their home countries—helping to identify investment opportunities, fixing up trading partnerships, and carrying the social and cultural practices of the Gulf’s religiously conservative society to new receptive audiences. As Sameh Naguib points out, there was a layer of the Egyptian Islamist movement’s middle class base who were deeply influenced by this social process during the 1980s.

Professionals and proletarians

One of the features of the revolts discussed in this book has been the important role played by ‘professionals’. This was perhaps most obvious in the Sudanese Revolution where the Sudanese Professionals Association emerged as a political actor in the uprising. The SPA is a network of independent trade unions and professional associations representing both public sector workers and members of what used to be called ‘the liberal professions.’ However, in every country discussed here, both collectively and individually groups such as doctors, teachers, journalists, lawyers and engineers played important roles in the uprisings. In some cases, their professional networks became vectors of rebellion, as with the example of the Tunisian Bar Association, which was one of the earliest national organisations supporting the growing revolutionary mobilisation. ‘Professional’ is a complicated label, however, which can be applied to people in a variety of class positions. A doctor for example could be working for a wage in a public hospital or running their own business selling medical services for a profit (or doing both of these at the same time, as is common for senior doctors in the Egyptian health care system).

While there is not space here for a proper discussion of what constitutes a ‘profession’ in the contemporary Middle East, understanding some aspects of the role of professionals in the revolutionary crisis is important. Firstly because professional associations (whether formally constituted and regulated by the state or ‘alternative’ ones) sometimes played extremely important roles as spaces for dissent, as well as taking on practical organisational tasks in generalising protests. In some of the countries discussed here, the state partially or sometimes fully lost control over professional associations representing lawyers, doctors, engineers, journalists, and sometimes even judges, in the decades before the uprisings. This was certainly the case in Egypt, where Muslim Brotherhood supporters were elected to leadership roles in several of the important professional associations during the 1980s and 1990s. To a more limited extent, the professional associations could also serve as a refuge for left and liberal opposition currents. This aspect of the role of professionals in the revolutionary process had strong elements of continuity from previous generations—lawyers and journalists who went through a European-style education were some of the most important carriers of nationalist ideas in the region from the late 19th century onwards.

However, there was a second aspect of this process where the role of professionals can only be understood through the lens of changes in the class structure under neoliberalism. A persistent feature of social changes wrought by the neoliberal turn across the region was the ‘downwards’ pressure on some of the occupations which historically fell under the term ‘professionals’, or perhaps more accurately, on some layers within those professions. ‘Downwards’ here means that their working lives became progressively more like those of workers: their relative pay declined, the advantages conferred by higher levels of education diminished, they lost autonomy in their jobs to managers who imposed tighter discipline and demanded greater productivity through mechanisms such as performance related pay. This process of proletarianisation was uneven, it affected people at the beginning of their careers more intensely, and it did not automatically mean that everyone subject to its pressures automatically drew radical political conclusions. Nevertheless, it was one of the reasons for the combativity of some of the ‘professions’ which has too often been subsumed under different explanations of ‘middle class rebellion’.

One group which was subject to this pressure was junior doctors. During the neoliberal period, they saw the relentless degradation not just of their own pay and conditions, but of the whole public health system. In Egypt, some doctors profited from health privatisation, and made fortunes as medical businessmen. However, increasingly large layers of younger doctors, forced into double-shifts in the public hospitals in the morning followed by more work in private clinics in the afternoon and evening, began to look to other ways to fight back. They started to discuss, and finally to actually mobilise for collective action as wage-workers inside the public health system, taking strike action with the twin aims of forcing the state to improve their own conditions and to invest more in health. Teachers were another group subject to even stronger downward pressures during the neoliberal era than doctors. Reforms to the education system pushed teachers towards supplementing their meagre pay in the public education system with other kinds of work, or by becoming themselves agents of privatisation and commodification. Many were driven into double-shift working offering private lessons (or working for private education providers), thus colluding in increasing the burden of private payments for education falling on working class, poor and even middle class families desperate to secure a decent education for their children.

Egyptian teacher activists often linked the struggle for decent pay to the battle to abolish private lessons as an additional tax on the poor. One striking teacher in September 2011 put it this way:

First thing to say is that isn’t true that we teachers are against Egypt. We want to see a rebirth of education. We are on the side of ordinary people who have to spend up to 50 percent of the money in their pockets on private lessons. We’re standing with them, with the Egyptian economy and with the Egyptian people. But we’ve also got the right to be able to go home at the end of the day and spend time with our kids. This is so that I can have time to sit with my son.

The pressures of proletarianisation were not only reflected in the experience of work for many people who saw themselves as ‘professionals’, they also translated into new means of collective action and class-based forms of organisation started to emerge in layers of the population which previously had little history of this kind of struggle.

The re-constitution of the working class

We will explore the character and scope of the workers’ mobilisations which both paved the way for the uprisings and shaped their trajectories once underway in the next chapter. However, to make sense of that process, we first need to investigate how neoliberal reforms restructured the economy and society and what difference they made to the nature of work itself. Across the Middle East as a whole, during the first decades of the 21st century, workers began to mobilise once again in large numbers to defend themselves collectively from the depredations of capital. Despite predictions that waged workers would not fight because they formed a privileged layer inside societies where few enjoyed the luxury of a stable, paid job, millions went on strike. Despite claims that the partial disappearance of ‘old’ industries would bring an end to traditions of working class militancy, new layers of activists in health, education and the civil service discovered how to build unions and organise collective action. The disruptive capacity of some groups of workers, such as transport and logistics workers was enhanced by the growing reliance of capitalists in different parts of the world on cross-border production chains and international trade.

The scale of the recovery of workers’ self-organisation and militancy underscores how capitalism in the neoliberal era, just as in its previous incarnations, still “has no choice about teaching its workers the wonders of organisation and labour solidarity, because without these the system cannot operate”. Workers still retain powers of concentration and combination, and the power to disrupt the flow of profit, even in societies where they are not the absolute majority, and under conditions where their bosses have a whole range of ideological tools at their disposal to fragment and disorganise their struggles. Taking some very broad statistical measures to sketch out the changes in the class composition of the societies discussed in this book, shows some common features which are worth further investigation. Firstly, let’s look at the relationship between employees and the other categories of people who are part of the labour force. While there are some employees who are highly paid agents of capital, this category has to be the core of the working class in Marx’s definition. One of the long-term trends in the social organisation of labour under neoliberalism has been the promotion of both entrepreneurship and self-employment as alternatives to waged labour. Famously, neoliberal economist Hernando de Soto even claimed Mohamed Bouazizi, whose suicide sparked the uprisings was simply a frustrated small businessman: “like 50 per cent of all working Arabs, he was an entrepreneur, albeit on the margins of the law, who died trying to gain the right to hold property and do business without being hassled by corrupt authorities.”

Yet during the period when neoliberal reforms accelerated in most countries discussed here, the proportion of the total labour force made up by employees as opposed to employers, the self-employed or people working for other members of their own families grew. The exceptions were Iraq and Yemen, where the reduction in waged work was likely an effect of war. In almost all countries discussed in this book, employees formed a substantial majority of the total labour force, except for Sudan and Yemen, where the proportion was 44 percent and 47 percent respectively in 2020. Moreover, in most countries, the category which shrunk the most was what the International Labour Organisation calls “contributing family workers” (in other words people whose boss is a family member, and who have no real say over what happens in the family business) while the proportions for “employers” and “own-account workers” stayed relatively similar. The trends in data about the proportion of people in the labour force for approximately the same period are complicated by the very large differences between male and female participation, and by the fact that some countries have little data available.

Nevertheless, some interesting patterns emerge. Bahrain, which has the most developed economy of the countries discussed here, and almost no agricultural sector to speak of, being largely dependent on oil and services, has by far the highest labour participation rates, including for women. Rates of women’s participation in the labour force rose significantly in Bahrain in the two decades between 1991 and 2010, from just under 30 percent to 43 percent. In Algeria and Tunisia, male labour participation rates dropped noticeably between the 1990s and the present, down from 77.5 percent in 1996 to 66.2 percent in Algeria between 1996 and 2017, while in Tunisia they fell from 75.3 percent in 1989 to 68.3 percent in 2017. However, a rise in female participation partially offset this drop. Egypt’s labour participation rates were relatively stable during the same period, hovering around 70 percent for men and 20 percent for women. There was a large leap in women’s participation in the labour force in Lebanon between 2004 and 2019, up from 20 percent to 29 percent, and a slight rise for men, up from 69 to 70 percent. The small amount of data available for Sudan also showed a big rise in women’s participation for the two years available: up from 23 percent in 2009 to 28 percent in 2011, while the male participation rate dropped slightly from 73 to 70 percent. Iraq showed low rates of women working, around 12 percent, while the rate for men was around 72 percent for 2007 and 2012. The largest changes were to be found in Yemen, where women’s participation rates collapsed from nearly 22 percent in 1999 to 6 percent in 2014, while the rate for men declined from 69 percent to 65 percent.

In the mid-1990s, Syria’s rates of labour force participation were similar to Egypt’s and Tunisia’s, however after 2000 participation for both men and women declined noticeably, most sharply for women. Unlike Iraq, Algeria and Yemen where the data shows the scars of sanctions and civil war, in the Syrian case this underlines the combined violence of the neoliberal transition and ecological crisis in peacetime conditions before the 2011 uprising. The general picture which emerges is thus one where either a substantial majority, or a growing proportion of the population are directly dependent on wage labour of some kind, rather than ‘being your own boss’ or ‘becoming a boss’, to survive. There are of course other kinds of transformation which have disrupted these patterns, including devastating external military interventions and civil wars, but these trajectories illustrate the continued centrality of waged work under neoliberalism, just as in any other sort of capitalism.

Of course, this does not tell us anything about the kinds of jobs that these wage workers are doing, and to what extent they are likely to confer the powers of combination and disruption we noted above. Workers’ ability to resist in an organised way, the history of the workers’ movement shows, is affected by factors such as the size of the workplace—with small workplaces, particularly those where people work directly with their bosses in small offices or shops, often being harder to organise than larger workplaces. There is also the separate, but important question of whether workers can take “economically effective action”, as Chris Harman put it, in other words whether if they withdraw their labour it hurts their bosses’ profits.

So how has the distribution of workers by economic sector changed in recent decades? Although these statistics are very blunt tools for understanding what has happened to the working class, some patterns emerge.Firstly, as we already noted, employment in agriculture declined overall in most countries, except Sudan and Egypt where the number of agricultural workers still dwarfs those employed in other sectors. In Tunisia, by far the largest employment sector in 2020 was manufacturing, followed by construction, agriculture and public administration. In Algeria, the largest sector was construction, followed by public administration, trade and manufacturing. The patterns of change by sector in Algeria show the impact of reconstruction after the ‘black decade’ of civil war during the 1990s: in the 2000s the steepest increases were in public administration and construction which overtook agriculture as the largest economic sector by numbers employed mid-way through the decade. Manufacturing, education and trade also grew rapidly during the same period. Around 2011, changes in government policy including austerity measures and a hiring freeze in the public sector are visible in the flat-lining of most of these trends except the trade sector.

In Egypt, after agriculture the second biggest employment sector in 1991 was manufacturing. The restructuring of public sector industry in the 1990s led to slow growth in manufacturing employment for the next two decades, and by 2011 construction and trade had overtaken manufacturing. However, after 2011, the growth in manufacturing jobs sharply accelerated again. The numbers employed in public administration in Egypt have been declining since the mid-2000s, as have the numbers employed in education since 2016, although the scale of the education sector in Egypt is extremely large, employing almost as many people as manufacturing in 2011. In Lebanon the largest employment sector since the late 2000s has been trade, followed by public administration, agriculture and manufacturing. Iraq’s trade sector is also the second biggest employer: followed by construction, public administration and education. A lot more detailed investigation would be necessary to provide a better assessment of what changes in the working lives of the people behind these statistics mean for their capacity and confidence to resist. However, there are some general points worth making. Firstly, while sectors such as wholesale and retail trade and construction which pose challenges to workers’ self-organisation because of either the small size of workplaces and high levels of casualisation and employment of migrant or seasonal workers did grow in many countries, there were either similar numbers or more people employed as state administrators, educators and healthworkers than in these sectors in every country. Although individual government offices or schools may not be especially large workplaces, the fact that they are part of a national infrastructure can be an accelerant to workers’ consciousness and self-organisation.

Secondly, although manufacturing in some cases declined or flat-lined, and in others saw a shift from relatively much larger public sector industrial workplaces to small or micro-sized private sector workshops, the picture was highly uneven. Crucially, in several countries discussed here, at the outbreak of the uprisings, privatisation and deindustrialisation had not entirely wiped out the old industrial sectors. For example, in Algeria, despite the closure of many industrial plants during the 1990s, some of the old citadels of labour militancy such as the public sector vehicle manufacture SNVI did survive and played an important role in the strike waves before and during the uprising. A similar point could be made about Egypt’s textile sector. Developments in one other strategically important sector—transport, communications and logistics—are worth mentioning here too. This sector of employment was one of the fastest growing in Egypt since the 1990s and in Sudan since the late 2000s and remains a major employer in most other countries. What this means for workers’ ability to organise is often complex—during the neoliberal period some parts of the transport sector have seen massive growth in ‘own-account’ working (with the expansion of taxi, microbus and tuk-tuk services for example), and the decline of publicly funded transport infrastructure, for example.

However, the degradation of transport infrastructure also negatively affects capital accumulation and the past two decades have also seen some investment and modernisation of those parts of the transport systems which are geared towards serving export markets, for example. The struggle of workers in Port Sudan over the privatisation and containerisation of the port is one example of how such changes can fuel resistance.

‘Revolution is the choice of the people’ can be bought on the bookmarks publications website

Anne Alexander is a revolutionary socialist and a trade unionist. She’s the co-author of Bread, Freedom, Social Justice: Workers and the Egyptian Revolution and an editor of Middle East Solidarity magazine.

Check out Anne’s blog where she gives herself space to add data, case studies and theoretical insights that did not make it into the book, which is over 400 pages. Her posts Some thoughts on the class structure and Counting workers part 1: looking for the ‘polar classes’ are particularly relevant to the above extract.

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

 

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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

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

Michael Hardt – The politics of articulation and strategic multiplicities

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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

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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

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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).

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.
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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