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

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

By Martin Plaut

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

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

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

A history of international festivals

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

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

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

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

After the crackdown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This year’s confrontations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By Tony Martel and Siyabulela Mama

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

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

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

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

Water systems in democratic South Africa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Water crisis in the townships vs. the suburbs

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

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

Community meeting on what needs to be done.

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

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

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

The municipality against the Water Crisis Committee

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apartheid afterlives

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

African trade unions in crisis?

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

By Prince Asafu-Adjaye

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Semira

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

By Benjamin Maiangwa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But ours is a civilized world!

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

The atrocious scene was all too common!

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

Statewatch News Online described what followed in this way:

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

“Is that all”? I wondered aloud!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This woman was Sarah Baartman.

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

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

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

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

More than a moment – The achievements of Black Lives Matter

Nadia Sayed assesses the Black Lives Matter movement two years after mass protests erupted following the assassination of George Floyd. We share a talk she gave at Marxism festival in London in July 2022, which is based on her article for the International Socialism Journal (click the link at the bottom of the page to access the full article). Defending the movement’s achievements while considering its weaknesses, Sayed argues that mobilising the power of the working class is crucial to ensuring that Black Lives Matter is not merely a moment but the beginning of a movement that delivers fundamental change.

By Nadia Sayed

Two years on from the explosive and exhilarating Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement sparked by the murder of George Floyd by a white police officer, Derek Chauvin. This was the biggest social movement in American history. Millions of people took part in protests, marches and local rallies that spread across every state in the United States (US). In the US and the United Kingdom (UK), where the movement was biggest after the states, it was not just the big cities that answered the BLM rallying cry. Even predominantly white rural towns with little history of anti-racist struggles, such as Bethel, Ohio, a town of 3000 people or Haverford West, a Welsh market town, experienced protest.

Moreover, the international dimension of the movement meant that the banner Black Lives Matter was not only raised in white majority countries but also in the Global South. The biggest BLM protests in Africa were seen in Kenya and South Africa, while smaller yet significant mobilisations took place in other countries like Ghana and Uganda. So much so did Black Lives Matter resonate in Africa in 2020 that when the chairman of the African Union, Moussa Faki Mahamat spoke out against the murder of George Floyd, he provoked widespread criticism against himself due to the brutality of police forces across the continent.

Despite all of this, two years on, a debate has emerged as to whether BLM achieved anything. For Elaine Browne, the former head of the Black Panther Party in the US, the movement is barely a movement and certainly isn’t worth celebrating as people weren’t willing to sacrifice their lives as her generation had in the Black Power movement. Cedric Johnson, author of The Panthers Can’t Save Us Now, instead has argued that BLM was a bulwark for neo-liberalism. Others are disheartened at the lack of concrete outcomes the movement produced. I disagree with these positions because BLM has had a massive impact on society. 

Black Lives Matter Transformed How We Fight Racism 

The movement achieved one of its primary aims – getting Derek Chauvin, the policeman who killed George Floyd, locked up on the charge of murder. While this is only the beginning of challenging police racism, we must remember that there was nothing automatic or inevitable about Chauvin’s charge. We know how rare it is to have police officers charged and sentenced for racist violence and murder, both in the US and the UK. Additionally, the Black Lives Matter movement in 2020 has radically transformed the terrain in which people understand and talk about racism, as well as making people feel more confident in challenging it. And this is the impact we have continued to see roll out two years on. 

Let us remember the powerful response to the Child Q case. When news spread that a fifteen-year-old black female student was pulled out of an exam to be strip-searched by male police officers in Hackney, London, hundreds from the community, activists and crucially students, marched on two different days to the local police station. Among their demands for justice, they asked for the involved officers to be sacked. The widespread anger at the treatment of Child Q is in part what has forced the Met Police, alongside five other police forces in the UK, to be put under special measures at present.

The radical response to the Child Q case is not unique though. We have seen several spontaneous anti-racist mobilisations since Black Lives Matter that showcase the new layer of society radicalised against racism, as well as a new layer of activists within the movement. From the student protests and walk-outs at Pimlico Academy (South London) and City and Islington College (North London) to the anti-deportation protests in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Hackney and Peckham over the last two years, it’s evident there is a new and bigger layer of people confident and prepared to challenge racism. If the movement had no impact – to put it simply, the ruling classes wouldn’t be working so hard to undermine Black Lives Matter, something that happened from the very start of the movement and continues today. And we’ve seen this backlash in two ways: the ideological backlash and the backlash with repression. 

The Black Lives Matter Demonstration in Whitehall, London

Accommodation and Repression of the Movement 

In the US, Biden has both openly opposed defunding the police and intensified his rhetoric of being tough on law and order, a green light to the right who treat protestors as violent, just as they did with the movement in 2020. This slander goes alongside the repression of Black Lives Matter activists. In the UK, we know that the Tories have been relentless in undermining the movement. They have produced the Sewell report, which denies the existence of institutional racism. Their education secretaries have dismissed calls to decolonise education and instead pushing for the positives of the British Empire to be taught.

As in the US, the UK’s Conservative party’s (The Tories) ideological attacks on the movement’s gains go hand in hand with their drive to ramp up the repression with the increasing of police powers through the expansion of Section 60, which allows police officers to stop and search anyone in a specific area without needing to have reasonable grounds. When we look at the vicious backlash of the ruling class to and since the Black Lives Matter movement, it becomes urgent that we not only celebrate the movement that threatens them so much, but that we also learn lessons from it to move forward. 

The backlash from the ruling class and the other external pressures and challenges BLM faced meant that inevitably, debates emerged within the movement. Many of these debates continue today and are crucial to how the movement goes forward. Now, I talk in greater detail about these debates in my article in the International Socialism Journal, which I hope people will read, but I’d like to draw on a few of those debates briefly using the space I have here. While the issue of police violence toward black people was the igniting issue of the Black Lives Matter movement, activists proposed a plethora of solutions for dealing with police racism and brutality.

Firstly, even though ‘defund the police’ became a mainstream slogan of the movement, most people think we still need the police and so reject getting rid of them. Secondly, the slogan ‘defunding the police’ has proven to mean different things to different people. For some, it’s cutting police budgets or diverting funds away from the police into other areas. For others, the slogan is about abolishing the police. For example, in the wake of the 2020 protests, 77% of Americans understood defunding to mean changing the way the police operate, only 18% saw it as meaning abolishing the police.

Now, in some cities, the movement did succeed in beginning attempts to defund the police. But two years on, most cities that did so have largely reversed this process. More than that, where cities did reduce or divert sections of police budgets, this had no impact on the way the police operated as they were able to mitigate those cuts. In other words, we can see that it is meaningless to cut police budgets without thinking about wider changes to the police as an institution and wider challenges to institutional racism and inequality.

Flowing from that, we must look at the role of the police in society. The police have the function of suppressing ordinary people, working-class people to uphold a system where a tiny minority have privilege over us. That system has racism hardwired into it to divide and rule, that’s why it’s inseparably embedded into the police, which has the task of upholding that system. That’s why we need strategies that confront the police, not reconcile with them. 

As with previous black liberation struggles, the Black Lives Matter movement in 2020 faced enormous pressures to be incorporated into the state and respectable politics, mainly by the Democrats. Because the Black Lives Matter movement began under the Obama administration many looked to Joe Biden, who was a presidential candidate at the time of the protests, with suspicion. This suspicion often underpinned a more confrontational stance with the state and establishment for people within the movement: more protests, more occupations, more street protests.

Despite this, sections of the movement in 2020 did get pulled into throwing their weight toward Joe Biden’s election campaign against then-President Donald Trump. Moreover, Biden’s making Kamala Harris his vice-president was met with much enthusiasm by many. For that section of the BLM movement, the fact that Kamala Harris could become the first black female vice-president was enough to warrant its support.

However, as mentioned before, lots of people within the movement were wary of the Democrats and their tendency to co-opt and tame movements. And rightly sopeople pointed out that Kamala Harris’ politics were dangerous to the movement. She failed to support independent investigations for police using deadly force, stood against the use of body cameras on police and recently opposed defunding the police. The divisions between those pulled behind the Democratic party and those wanting to continue confronting the state exacerbated the decline and fragmentation of the street movement. For revolutionary socialists, both here in the UK and in the US the Democrats are no friends to the movement. They are a political party of the ruling class. Their interest is to demobilise and deradicalise the movement. Any movement pushing forward means resisting this pressure.

The question of co-option versus confrontation with the state and establishment relates to how we organise, which we shall now consider here. In rejection of big parties and organisations, the ‘structurelessness’ and ‘leaderlessness’ of the BLM movement are often celebrated as a strength of the movement. And to a large degree, this is fair enough – these qualities helped enable the movement’s creativity, which in turn produced a whole new layer of activists. 

But, as the writer Keeanga Yamahtta-Taylor discusses in her book From #BlackLivesMatter to Black Liberation, strategies that seek to be structureless and non-hierarchical have the limitation of being unable to formulate clear, united demands, nor make decisive moves for the movement at key junctures. This in turn allows for fragmentation, as had happened to some degree in 2020 and an even greater degree in 2016. And while debates can be had on social media, through blogs and so on as to how the movement goes forward – this doesn’t mean these are effective ways for conclusions and decisive action to be decided. 

I go into more depth in my article as to the question of how the movement should organise and whether it should be leaderless or structureless, but it’s worth noting here that this debate isn’t unique to the Black Lives Matter movement – it emerged within the recent climate movement, as well as in previous movements like the anti-capitalist movement. 

Multiracial Character of the Movement 

The Black Lives Matter movement has inspired people in Britain
The Black Lives Matter movement protest in Britain

Now a big debate that I’ll just mention is the debate around the role of white people within the BLM movement. This question has come up in one form or another in every anti-racist movement. What was different about BLM was that the multiracial nature of the movement and its spread (to predominantly white towns) has meant that more people are asking whether white people can play more than just a peripheral and passive role in the fight against racism. This is a positive development because the fight against racism can’t just be left to black people – if racism is systemicending it will take the energy of more than just the people who face racism.

The multiracial character of the movement links to how the question of class featured strongly within the BLM movement. COVID-19 exposed the depth of systemic and structural racism, as well as where the real privilege lies in society – with the 1%. Many people saw for the first time how most of our lives are disposable for the good of profit, but racism puts the lives of black and brown people on the sharp end of that. That is the context that BLM emerged from as a powerful mass multiracial uprising in 2020. Class demands for Personal Protective Equipment and decent housing for all were at the centre of the protests and online discussions surrounding the movement. I was at the protests in London, chanting with thousands of others for ‘justice for Belly Mujinga’, a black women rail worker who died after being spat at by a man claiming to have coronavirus. 

Significantly, the movement highlighted the intersection between race and class. That’s an important step towards the recognition that racism does not affect us all the same. The death of the railway worker Belly Mujinga, a Congolese woman working at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, did not just happen because she was black. It happened because she was a black worker, like many others often in frontline work which put them at greater risk of contracting Covid. The disproportionate deaths in general of people who are black and of other global majority backgrounds were not simply down to race, but the intersection between race and class – whether to do with work, overcrowded housing, poorer health rates and so on. Class shapes our experience of oppression, including racism.

As Marxists, we think class ultimately gives us the power to end oppression, including racism. Racism has been hardwired into capitalism from its infancy. It was born out of the Atlantic slave trade, persisted through the era of empire as a mechanism of dividing and ruling and extracting resources abroad and continues today to scapegoat migrants and refugees as a way of deflecting anger from the ruling classes (that is, the bosses and politicians, who squeeze most of us to make their profits and maintain their privilege in society).

At the same time, the ruling classes’ reliance on labour makes it vulnerable. Workers who form most of society are the source of its profits and crucial to the functioning of the capitalist system. So, when workers collectively fight back by using their ability to withdraw labour, they can bring the system to a standstill and the ruling classes to their knees. Being part of the working class gives black and brown people the power to end the system, which maintains itself through racial divisions. With Black Lives Matter in 2020, we witnessed a glimpse of the potential impact that working-class action could have on the scale, breadth and radicalisation of the movement. The high points of that movement included the 2020 Longshoreman strike on Juneteenth, where thousands of dock workers shut down the ports up and down the West Coast to protest police brutality and institutional racism.

We welcome this process. But for the movement to achieve fundamental change and raise a challenge to systemic racism, it must consistently base its strategy for change on the power of the working class. We have a huge opportunity to do this now – the recent railway strike in the UK led by black, migrant, and white workers, was an inspiring example. It has rocked the Tories. We must connect the radicalism of BLM with the power of the organised working class if we are to win fundamental change and stamp out racism across the world. 

Click the link to read Nadia’s article online: “More than a moment: what did Black Lives Matter achieve” International Socialism Journal Issue 175, 2022.

Nadia Sayed is an antiracist activist based in London and a member of the Socialist Workers Party. She was actively involved in the Black Lives Matter movement in Britain in both 2016 and 2020.

Reading Walter Rodney in occupied Azania

The revolutionary work and activism of Walter Rodney was celebrated in Cape Town as workers and students gathered to read his work in the context of neocolonial capitalism in Azania. Joseph Mullen writes about a weeklong event in June which marked 50 years since the publication of Rodney’s How Europe Underdeveloped Africa.

By Joseph Mullen

Two days of tragedy marked the beginning and end of a week of celebration in South Africa, entitled “Walter Rodney: Anti-Imperialist Politics Today”. We commemorated the 50th anniversary of How Europe Underdeveloped Africa on 13 June, the date of Walter Rodney’s assassination in 1980, when a neocolonial government silenced a revolutionary individual and 16 June, the beginning of the 1976 Soweto Uprising in South Africa, when a settler colonial regime began killing young people across the country.

In both events, revolution was suppressed with egregious violence, but over 40 years later, the revolutionary spirit represented by Walter Rodney and the youth of Soweto was resurrected in Cape Town as workers and students gathered to read Rodney in the context of neocolonial capitalism in Azania.

Rodney’s mighty spirit has been resurrected by the Walter Rodney Peoples’ Public Revolutionary Library, a collective started in 2019 formed by student activists from Pretoria to fill the gap. The week’s events, put together by the Library and the Tshisimani Center for Activist Education, sought to take Rodney’s analysis and show that “South Africa is still the way Rodney predicted”, as comrade Nyikiwa Mabunda of the Library said. As the comrades went around to introduce themselves, they announced that “Walter Rodney lives”, and that “Rodney is in the room with us today.”

The proceedings began with two films from University of the West Indies Mona Professor Matthew Smith. We first watched “The Past is Not Our Future”, reflecting on Rodney’s days as a student. The audience included many students from across the country who had participated in the influential student movements of the past few years, such as Fees and Rhodes Must Fall (the latter originating in Cape Town itself). We learned how Rodney participated in the anti-apartheid protests that began when he was studying in Jamaica in the early 1960s, and how Rodney’s travels brought him to Cuba during the early revolutionary years, an under-examined aspect of his own intellectual development. Much of the discussion revolved around Rodney’s instruction from a professor that, “There is no such thing [as a revolutionary intellectual]. One can be an intellectual or one can be a revolutionary. You can’t combine the two”.

In the second film, this statement was explored further, as Smith’s “Disturbance 1968” showed Rodney’s decision to throw himself into the popular struggles of Jamaica’s working people and the uprising of Jamaican students in reaction to his banning known as the “Rodney Riots”. As we watched students fight police and bulldozers destroying shantytowns, one could not help but be reminded of the Soweto Uprising in 1976, or the Must Fall movement of the past few years.

Comrade Vusi “Oldman” Mahlangu introducing Matthew Smith’s films.
Comrade Vusi “Oldman” Mahlangu introducing Matthew Smith’s films.

On the second and third days, teach-ins were held on Rodney’s life and his thought in his 1972 classic How Europe Underdeveloped Africa (HEUA), led by the comrades from the Library. They consistently embodied Rodney’s revolutionary intellectual pedagogy. As Vusi Mahlangu said, “[Rodney] didn’t only write… or organize lectures. He also actively partook while students were having protests, unlike the modern bourgeois academia that sit in their offices somewhere and only direct us when we want to do Fees Must Fall”.

The desire among South Africa activists to relate Rodney’s analysis of imperialism, underdevelopment, and capitalism to conditions for South Africans was the very application of Rodney’s critical pedagogy of “Groundings”. Rodney’s desire “to go anywhere that any group of Black people were prepared to sit down and listen” informed the approach of participants from the Walter Rodney Library. The event included many learners from the townships around Cape Town such as Khayelitsha, and generally from outside of the academic ivory tower. One attendee, Andre Naidoo, asked the organizers to remember that illiteracy continued to be a problem in South Africa, and that Rodney’s ideas would have to be made practically understandable.

The comrades from the Library did just that. They took Rodney’s writings and turned them into a teach-in (as opposed to teaching), following Rodney’s ‘groundings’ approach with a hefty dose of a “shop steward voice”, as comrade Vusi put it, to ensure Rodney’s words could be heard by all.

As we began to read HEUA on day three, there was a clear desire to relate everything he wrote to the lived experience of South Africans. When we read Rodney’s statement in HEUA that “it would be an act of the most brazen fraud to weigh the paltry social amenities provided during the colonial epoch against the exploitation, and to arrive at the conclusion that the good outweighed the bad”, my comrades could summarize this in an understandable manner by simply pointing to former Democratic Alliance (and Mayor of Cape Town) Helen Zille’s 2017 assertion that “those claiming [the] legacy of colonialism was ONLY negative” ought to be grateful for “our independent judiciary, transport infrastructure, piped water” and ask themselves if they would “have had a transition into specialized health care and medication without colonial influence?”.

With respect to transport infrastructure, the comrades frequently pointed to “Pit to Port” infrastructure throughout South Africa’s extractive mining industry to prove Rodney’s analysis of “development by contradiction”. Phethani Madzivhandila of the Library told me, “the white settlers would take the N1 National Highway home with them at night and put it back up in the morning if they could”. Now, even more comprehensive evidence can be added to the analysis. Take the “energy racism” of Eskom’s current load-shedding, as Nyikiwa Mabunda pointed out, one can compare the constant power outages in Soweto to the consistent power in Sandton, Africa’s “richest square mile”. Participants could reject the supposed benefits of colonial development easily and concur with Rodney that “the only positive development in colonialism was when it ended”.

Nyikiwa also noted Rodney’s analysis of income inequality and its pertinence to South Africa today. Rodney wrote in HEUA about his interaction with a “young Ugandan” who “put it in a very personal form when he said that the per capita income of his country camouflaged the fantastic difference between what was earned by his poor peasant father and what was earned by the biggest local capitalist”. Rodney extended this analysis to South Africa to prove the poverty of colonial developmentalist logic, as he wrote, “South Africa boasts of having the highest per capita income in Africa; but as an indication of how this is shared out, one should note that while the apartheid regime assures that only 24 white babies die out of every 1,000 live births, they are quite happy to allow 128 African babies to die out of every 1,000 live births”. The failure of statistics to match the reality of the situation led Rodney to conclude that “gross inequalities of land distribution, property holding and income… are camouflaged behind national income figures”. Today, South Africa continues to boast one of the higher income per capita figures but as the Library comrades pointed out, today South Africa has the highest GINI coefficient in the world and is the most unequal society in the world. It is virtually unchanged from Walter Rodney’s analysis fifty years ago.

The significant change in the context of South Africa after apartheid’s formal end has been the growth of the neocolonial comprador bourgeoisie. “We changed just the face of capitalism from a settler capitalist to a native capitalist”, Vusi said. Rodney once wrote that “in politically independent African states, the metropolitan capitalists have to ensure favorable political decisions by remote control. So, they set up their political puppets in many parts of Africa, who shamelessly agree to compromise with the vicious apartheid regime of South Africa when their masters tell them to do so”. Today, the only change is that political puppets of Western imperialism run South Africa.

During our week of discussion, we were asked to look no further than the Marikana massacre in 2012, the epitome of post-apartheid brutality against workers. When discussing Marikana, it was impossible to ignore the role of the comprador class. “What we have today is the consolidation of the comprador bourgeoisie who are assisted by the metropolitan bourgeoisie in the exploitation of the workers. The murder of the workers at Marikana… is the hallmark of what most African countries went through. We went through armed struggle against structural racism to the state of neocolonialism”, comrade Phethani said.

The invocation of Rodney to understand the current contradictions of South Africa, with an aspirant Black bourgeoisie increasingly allied to the needs of the settler minority against the native working class, led to a consistent debate throughout the week about the “Primary Contradiction”. Rodney’s position on the matter is part of Chapter 3’s conclusion in HEUA. He summarized his thoughts by saying that “oppression of African people on purely racial grounds accompanied, strengthened and became indistinguishable from oppression for economic reasons”. He quotes C. L. R. James, “noted Pan-Africanist and Marxist” in saying that “the race question is subsidiary to the class question in politics, and to think of imperialism in terms of race is disastrous. But to neglect the racial factor as merely incidental is an error only less grave than to make it fundamental”.

Throughout the week, the comrades from the Library showed us that one of the most valuable aspects of Rodney was his own experience of the need to hold race and class as inseparable and anyone who privileged one over the other as misguided.

Some participants were equally frustrated with “Eurocentric Marxists” and “Black Capitalists” and strove to find the dialectical answer in Rodney’s writing. When one attendee put himself forward as a “skeptic of Marxism” and asked why race was not still the central point of analysis in South Africa, rather than the dogmatic approach on questions of race found in Euro-Marxist circles, Phethani explained that “it might have been easy during apartheid to organize solely on the basis of race but now we are in a different epoch, and we need different tools of analysis. We must not allow race to be pushed to the front in a way that demobilizes the unity of the working class”.

Rodney’s political development was a story of the same struggle to find synthesis. He was at one point told he was “Babylon” by Rastafarians for his academic posture and focus on socialism, which to them smacked of a certain Europeanness. As Rodney put it, “many … present the debate as though Marxism is a European phenomenon and black people who are responding to it must of necessity be alienated because the alienation of race must enter into the discussion. They seem not to take into account that already that methodology and ideology have been utilized, internalized, domesticated, in large parts of the world that are not European”. But Rodney encountered in equal measure the scorn of Euro-Marxists, class reductionists who begged non-white comrades to forsake the problem of racism.

Debating Rodney’s legacy

As Chinedu Chukwudinma notes in his Rebel’s Guide to Walter Rodney which was the book studied for the second day of the event and the subject of a book launch on the fourth, “Rodney accused the British left of neglecting the fight against racism. He resented the paternalism, the silent and sometimes open racism he encountered from some of them”. Rodney’s ability to forge a theory not weighed down by reductionism led the Library comrades to call him the “greatest Pan-African Marxist”, a testament to Rodney’s synthesis of race and class, of Marxism infused with Black Power.

One of Rodney’s great values was his lack of dogmatism. As Rodney wrote in the collection of lectures, now published as a book, The Russian Revolution: A View from the Third World, “it is always in the interests of bourgeois scholars to take Marxism as expressed in a rigid and dogmatic manner, because such dogma is then easily shown to be false when it is tested against experience”.

We were constantly reminded that the most important challenge was combatting what Rodney called “Education for Underdevelopment”. As Rodney pointed out in HEUA, European and colonial education (particularly under apartheid) was “not an educational system designed to give young people confidence and pride as members of African societies, but one which sought to instill a sense of deference towards all that was European and capitalist”.

When discussing with younger attendees, many of whom were completely new to Walter Rodney, the accuracy of this analysis was borne out. On the third day, attendees were asked to begin by describing what the word “development” meant to them, and which countries they thought were developed. One noted that if she could, she would leave South Africa for the more developed France. She noted that Paris was free of the “gangsterism” she experienced in her township, and that she would have a much nicer life there. The pedagogical work of Rodney allowed the flaws of this deeply instilled Eurocentric view of development to be easily challenged.

As we sat in small groups to read Chapter One of HEUA, Rodney’s introduction to the concept of development was greeted by comments like: “This guy is sharp” and “He’s very clear”. One attendee, Lunga, who offered to read aloud for the group, reflected that the typical view of progressive social development was disconnected from reality in South Africa, saying that he was told “feudalism, colonialism, and capitalism improved our lives”, but had come to conclude from reading Rodney that “we were just introduced to the Western way of living”. He noted in contrast that “Rodney’s view of development is centered on the human being”.

When we studied Rodney’s later chapters, it became clear why Rodney’s analysis of imperialism has lasted so long as a popular and accessible framework. South Africans who have been dominated by the extractivist mining industry for so long know better than anyone the reality of imperialism’s role on the continent. When Rodney wrote that imperialists “collected fabulous dividends every year from the gold, diamonds, manganese, uranium, etc. which were brought out of the South African sub-soil by African labour” and that “huge fortunes were made from gold and diamonds in Southern Africa by people like Cecil Rhodes”, imperialism turns from an academic phrase to a concrete face of oppression and exploitation.

The desire to tear down and decapitate the statue of Rhodes is recontextualized as a vital anti-imperialist and anti-capitalist action. When Rodney writes of the imperialist super-profits from South Africa, we can point to a company like LonMin (short for “London Minerals”) who employed Marikana workers in 2012. No clearer explanation is needed of imperialism and the super-exploitation of South African workers than the killing of 34 mineworkers at Marikana, who dared protest for a salary higher than their pittance of US$6,000 a year.

One of the most revealing moments of the week with respect to how Rodney is being read in South Africa was when comrades Phethani and Nyikiwa interacted with Chukwudinma to respond to his 2019 article “Towards a Full Understanding of Walter Rodney”, where he argued against Rodney’s view that “whenever internal forces seemed to push in the direction of African industrialization, they were deliberately blocked by the colonial governments acting on behalf of the metropolitan industrialists” with the counter-claim that “South Africa remained a notable exception that contradicts Rodney’s views that British colonialism always stifled industrialization and failed to create a powerful working class. The emergence of industry in South Africa created one of the strongest labour movements in the world that was key to the defeated of apartheid”.

Chukwudinma’s framing of Rodney’s view as a “concession to Africa nationalism” proved unpopular, and after panelist and Marxist author Molaodi wa Sekake initiated a debate on the subject by raising the article and calling the claims problematic, we engaged in a comradely debate.

This debate has no easy answer, but to see students of Rodney in the Global South contextualizing his thought to their conditions and applying it to debates is the necessary continuation of his legacy. The analysis of South Africa cannot be informed without understanding settler colonialism. As comrade Vusi put it, “Occupied Azania is where you can see the legacy of settler colonialism most clearly”.

Participants in the week’s events engage with Chinedu Chukwudinma over Zoom.

How this changes the analysis of capitalism, imperialism, and development in South Africa/Azania is highly relevant to the prospects for revolution there. Rodney insisted on a non-dogmatic approach to understanding distinct national and continental conditions. He argued in his piece “The African Intellectual”, that “it can still be affirmed that the African Revolution cannot afford to draw on Marxist theory in its dogmatic Stalinist or even Trotskyist form. But, conversely, it should be equally clear that Africans can benefit from mankind’s ideological heritage just as we can build on the universal technological heritage”.

Rodney’s ability to draw on the universal revolutionary inheritance of humanity, and at the same time emphasize the particularity of African conditions, is what is leading to a growing popularity of his work in occupied Azania. For example, Rodney’s analysis of the Russian Revolution in particular focused on the similarities of Russia to the Global South, as he wrote, “looking at Russia in the nineteenth century was almost like looking at Tanzania today”. This is not just because of the size of the proletariat or peasantry, but also because, to Rodney, “before 1917, industry in Tsarist Russia was not merely capitalist, it belonged to foreign imperialists”. Therefore, there was an element of anti-imperialism in the Bolshevik Revolution, as Rodney says, “the accuracy of Lenin’s analysis has subsequently been borne out by the revolutionary process in Asia, Africa and Latin America”.

This made the ‘Russian model’ a possible path to follow for the Global South in rejecting imperialism and capitalism simultaneously. But for Rodney, colonialism offered yet another particularity that would justify a more specific study of conditions rather than a dogmatic importation of the Russian model. As Rodney wrote, the “transformation of the USSR from an agrarian country into an industrial power” was an inspiration to follow, but Rodney could still conclude that “the African continent will in time produce other examples … of socialism”.

But Rodney was not a dogmatic bourgeois nationalist willing to blindly embrace any instance of “African socialism”.  His later analysis of the failures of Julius Nyerere’s socialism, as brought out in his recently rediscovered 1978 Hamburg lectures “100 Years of Underdevelopment in Africa”, again shows a lack of dogmatism and an ability to evolve in his analysis. Where Rodney had once praised Nyerere’s Tanganyika African National Union (TANU), he now wrote that “my feeling is that in spite of all the rhetoric, TANU has not been transformed, that it remains a nationalist party under the control of the petit bourgeoise… incapable of providing the basis for sustained socialist transformation”.

Rodney observed workers demanding the rights they had supposedly won under the government’s Mwongozo policy, “a charter of workers’ rights, reviving the radical aspect of the government’s ujamaa or socialist policy”, which had not been implemented. He notes a “very important instance” wherein “workers actually took over [the Mount Carmel Rubber Factory] and they didn’t take it over from the government, they took it over from a private owner… And they said we can run this factory… They locked out the management and they were running the factory. And this caused the greatest excitement and fear on the part of the bureaucracy”.

Rodney was driven to this conclusion on the future of Tanzania: “if workers were running one factory, then maybe they will run another and another. And this doesn’t look too good for the economic wing of the bureaucracy… their whole rationale of production as a class would disappear if there was workers’ control… so they moved to crush those initiatives”.

The repression of the working class after the ostensibly anti-imperialist national liberation movement led Rodney to conclude that “it is important to recognize that it fits within the general pattern, which we have been discussing so far by which the colonization process ended through an alliance of classes… but within this alliance the workers and the peasants never really had hegemony”.

If we simply remove “TANU” and replace it with “ANC”, how far off is the analysis?

If Rodney was still alive today, and had been around for the celebration of his 80th birthday this year, what would he have made of the post-apartheid situation, where a “national liberation” party kills workers who dare to ask for more justice?

Rodney wrote in his lecture on the Russian revolution that the “aspect of Marxism which lays claim to universal validity [is] its method—the scientific method of dialectical materialism. Like any other scientific method, it produces results on being applied to a given set of data or conditions”. South Africa today can be subjected to the same analysis Rodney was beginning to apply to Tanzania. Indeed, it seems Rodney’s nascent analysis of the failures of bourgeois power in Tanzania would be sorely needed in the first few decades of bourgeois democracy in South Africa.

In conclusion

Though Rodney was stolen from the people who needed him, his analysis and his writings last to be applied to the conditions of occupied Azania. During dinner on the fourth day, I overheard Vusi explaining to anyone who would listen about Rodney’s groundbreaking analogy of Russia in 1917 and Tanzania in 1961, and the similarity of their class composition and status as “backwards” nations. This comparison was revolutionary because it demonstrated to listeners that the development of socialism was not only possible in Africa and the Global South (as many orthodox Marxists had doubted), but also part of the universal revolutionary heritage.

South Africa today, where the failures of the capitalist settlement have been revealed, there is a strong desire to take a revolutionary path that links the struggle against imperialism and the national bourgeois in a single movement for socialism. As comrade Vusi put it, “the national liberation struggle [did not] dismantle capitalism”. The comrades were left to conclude that “a capitalist is a capitalist. Exploiters are exploiters. The workers and youth must crush all of them”. The mounting contradictions of post-apartheid society leave little room for any other conclusion.

As the week concluded, participants from outside academia reflected on its revolutionary significance. Simphiwe Jikijela, a worker from Khayelitsha, told me: “it was the first time I heard of Walter Rodney and his life… the way it was presented to me, it was easy to understand. There was nothing complicated about the presentation during the four days of learning”. Simphiwe said the most powerful lesson from Rodney was “how he fought for the Black working class”. As working class Black South Africans find this inspiration in Rodney, I concur with Chukwudinma, who recently wrote that “the significance of Rodney’s politics will grow in proportion to the new radical working-class movement that emerges today”.

When I asked the comrades of the Walter Rodney Library what the next steps for reading Rodney in Azania were, I was told that readings taking place in the urban center of Cape Town, or in the academy, were not enough. “Rodney should be taken to where the working class is… take these gatherings to Khayelitsha”, Vusi said. Rodney’s legacy is being resuscitated. “I want to be the next Rodney”, comrade Phethani told us and surely South Africa today can produce a new Walter Rodney. The conditions of neo-colonial occupation, super-exploitation, and racial capitalism in Azania are ripe for a spirit like his to come and turn the world upside down.

Joseph Mullen is based at Cornell University and a member of the Cadre Journal, a group focused on anti-imperialism.

ROAPE’s Ruth First Prize: Japhace Poncian on resource nationalism in Tanzania

The winner of ROAPE’s Ruth First Prize is Japhace Poncian for his article on resource nationalism in Tanzania. Poncian argues that ‘while presenting itself as pro-participatory governance, resource nationalism reproduces structural constraints … in extractive resource governance.” 

The Editorial Working Group of ROAPE is pleased to announce that the winner of the Ruth First Prize 2021 is Japhace Poncian for his excellent article: ‘Resource nationalism and community engagement in extractive resource governance: insights from Tanzania‘ (Vol. 48, Issue 170). The prize is awarded for the best article published by an African author in the review in a publication year.

The prize committee argued that Poncian produced an excellent well-researched article about local and national class power and imperialist structures by examining the consequences of resource nationalism on community engagement. The article is well located within political economy, resonating with Ruth First’s focus on the role, participation, leadership and inclusion of grassroots communities and citizens in economic and political decisions, processes, and activities.

Through three detailed case studies, he demonstrates that successive state-led policies of resource nationalism in Tanzania have betrayed their promises to create more benefits and participation for the community by reproducing the marginalisation and exclusion of ordinary people. Furthermore, as one committee member notes, his article correctly shows that “there has been no bucking of ‘resource liberalism’ despite belligerent claims to the contrary”, as Tanzania continues to be dependent on rents from resource extraction and foreign investment.

As Poncian writes, “Resource nationalism has dominated resource governance politics across Africa. Resource-rich states have sought to both relegitimise extraction and secure more economic benefits …This paper compares two waves of resource nationalism, the second and third waves, to show whether and how resource nationalism promotes community participation. While presenting itself as pro-participatory governance, resource nationalism reproduces structural constraints on meaningful community engagement in extractive resource governance.”

Japhace is a lecturer in Development Studies and Head 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.

Japhace’s article makes a singular contribution to ROAPE’s remit by making an important intervention in debates surrounding resource nationalism and popular participation. It is free to access until the end of the year, please click here to read the article.

Colonial conservationism: wildlife, tourism and land expropriation in Africa

Across Africa projects of capitalist extraction still ensure evictions, mass expropriations of land and misery. Today the government of Tanzania wants to expand the space for luxury tourists to enjoy picturesque views of nature – a wildlife fantasy of nature supposedly untouched by humans. Laibor Kalanga Moko and Jonas Bens argue that justification for the dispossession of indigenous communities has shifted from “economic development” to “wildlife conservation”.

By Laibor Kalanga Moko and Jonas Bens

In 1913, Maasai communities went to the High Court of British East Africa, because they were trying to stop the colonial government from evicting them from a large part of their land – which is in today’s Kenya. At that time, the colonialists wanted to pave the way for white settlers to use the land for private capitalist enterprise. Back then, in 1913, the Maasai were unsuccessful.

This year, another court decision is expected, this time around by the East African Court of Justice, where Maasai communities seek redress against the renewed threat of eviction. Now, the government of Tanzania wants to expand the space for luxury tourists to enjoy picturesque views of nature in Ngorongoro district – a kind of nature supposedly untouched by humans. While the outcome of the court case is yet unsure, the government continues its harassment of Maasai communities.

It seems not much has changed in the basic constellation between Maasai pastoralists and their governments. Maasai are continuously forced to leave their land through violent means. At recent demonstrations, dozens of Maasai protesters were severely injured. What has changed, however, are the discourses through which governments justify the dispossession of the indigenous communities – from “economic development” to “wildlife conservation”.

In 1913, “development”, “modernization”, and “economic progress” were central keywords to justify the dispossession of Maasai lands. Arguments such as these remain of central importance even today, for example when people are being forced to leave their homes because of large-scale mining operations. People can lose their land either directly by forced eviction, such as in the recent examples from the Karamoja region in northern Uganda or Senegal, or indirectly because their homelands become too toxic to live in, as in the case of communities around Lake Malawi. Here, justifying discourses are often not very sophisticated. One newspaper article reporting on Zimbabwean villagers about to be forcefully evicted from their homes to make way for a Chinese mining company ends with the laconic sentence: “In a statement, the embassy said Chinese investors in Zimbabwe are working for the betterment of the country”.

In case of East African Maasai communities fighting to remain on their land in 2022, the vocabulary of land dispossession has shifted from “economic development” to “wildlife conservation”. Studies show that wildlife conservation has increasingly been used as an argument to evict indigenous communities from their homelands. This trend can be observed since the 1990s and is prevalent in all parts of the world, but particularly in South and South East Asia, North America, and Africa. Another recent example from East Africa is the attempt of the Kenyan government to force 20000 members of the Ogiek ethnic group from their ancestral lands in the Mau Forest on the grounds that the forest constituted a reserved water catchment zone and the Kenyan state had to conserve it.

One reason for this change in discourse is that in the eyes of many people in the international community, economic reasons alone have lost some of their argumentative force to justify an infringement on indigenous rights. As indigenous movements have gained standing in international organizations such as the United Nations, they have done much to convince people that indigenous cultures deserve protection from certain economic interests in “their” nation states. Article 32 of the United Nations Declaration for the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, for instance, states that “indigenous peoples have the right to determine and develop priorities and strategies for the development or use of their lands or territories and other resources” and that the nation states must take “appropriate measures” to mitigate the “adverse environmental, economic, social, cultural and spiritual impact” of economic enterprises. Because of these indigenous rights discourses, indigenous communities have moved into a significantly better position to publicly protest land evictions when they are simply justified as serving “the betterment of the country”.

Protecting lions and elephants from extinction, however, is another matter. In this framework, powerful donors and environmentalist organizations from Europe and the US are much more inclined to prioritize the interests of endangered animals over the interests of humans. But even though the language has changed, colonial projects of capitalist extraction still determine the political agenda.

Those who demand that Maasai communities must leave their lands in Ngorongoro district argue that Maasai pastoralism, the economic system in which herding of cattle is the main livelihood, damages the environment and endangers wild animals. Critical conservation scientists, however, insist that the narrative of “animals versus people” presents a false choice. Studies show that indigenous pastoral communities such as the Maasai rarely negatively affect wildlife conservation, not least because they do not engage in hunting. Instead, it is very telling that many of the wild animals that still exist in East Africa reside in Maasailand. History clearly shows: The economic system that systematically destroys wildlife is capitalism, not pastoralism.

Many think that wildlife conservation regulations prevent the capitalist commodification of land because human settlement and specific economic uses such as mining and intensive agriculture are banned in conservation areas. But this underestimates how much money international luxury tourism companies make out of wildlife conservation areas. These companies sell their clients fantasies of untouched nature – an idea that is endlessly repeated in romanticizing wildlife documentaries. This capitalist commodification of images of “nature without people” is being decried by critical conservation scientists. In 2019, revenues from the tourism sector amounted to US$2.64 billion, or 4.2 % of Tanzania’s GDP.

Although these luxury tourism companies depend on wildlife conservation measures to keep out the humans, they are not always taking the protection of animals very seriously. Numerous companies in Tanzania offer big game hunting to their high-end clientele from the US, Europe, China or Arab countries. On the websites of such companies, one can frequently find pictures of foreigners proudly posing in front of a buffalo or a lion, one they have slain themselves.

Maasai people in northern Tanzania, including those in Ngorongoro district, have over the years experienced violent evictions in their ancestral lands to give room for exactly these kinds of hunting companies. In Loliondo, one of the areas in the district, people have been evicted to allow the Ortello Business Corporation (OBC), based in the United Arab Emirates, to conduct game hunting activities. In 1992, the Tanzanian government granted OBC an exclusive private hunting licence. The long-term plan is to establish a 1500 km2 wildlife corridor exclusively for OBC hunters. In the last years, both state security forces and OBC’s security guards have repeatedly used violence and harassment against Maasai “trespassers”.

All the while, the Tanzanian government has made the intensification of tourism a political priority. President Samia Suluhu Hassan ranks it highly on her agenda and has clearly stated that she sees international tourism entangled with international investment. Recently, she participated in a lavish wildlife documentary made by US American TV producer Peter Greenberg, called “The Royal Tour”. Afterwards, she went on a promotion tour through different countries, including the US, to show the film and to market international tourism investments  – endlessly reported on in national television.

In one telling scene in this documentary, Suluhu Hassan and Greenberg are shown flying in an airplane over Maasai territory. The president introduces the Maasai as “one of the newest” arrivals to Tanzania, migrating from the Nile valley “only in the 1700s”, thereby echoing longstanding narratives by the government that Maasai are not “really” indigenous to the region. Then, Greenberg picks up the thread and comments that it was “fascinating to see these primitive tribes still holding on to their traditional values”. As an elderly white male voice off screen, Greenberg tells the viewers that although the Tanzanian government had attempted to convince the Maasai to change their way of life many times, “they persisted to clinging to their ancient ways”. In summary, Greenberg says, “they may not have a choice now and need to find other ways to support their families”.

What a chilling self-fulfilling prophecy. If not anything else, movies like these showcase the unholy alliance of capitalist agendas to commodify indigenous lands, colonial imagery of African nature untouched by Africans, and the misleading appropriation of conservation discourses. In order to understand what is behind the violent mass evictions of Maasai communities from Ngorongoro district it is crucial to unmask the capitalist agendas of enrichment that underlie these indigenous rights violations, and the “colonial conservationism” that is mobilized to justify them.

Laibor Kalanga Moko is an Assistant Lecturer in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology, University of Dodoma, Tanzania, and PhD Student at the Department of Social and Cultural Anthropology, Freie Universität Berlin, Germany.

Jonas Bens is a Senior Research Fellow in the Department of Social and Cultural Anthropology, Freie Universität Berlin, Germany.

Featured Photograph: Learning to play the drums in South Africa (10 June 2008).

Note

A previous version of this piece erroneously said that the Maasai went to the the Privy Council in London with their case. They planned to do so, but it did not materialize. We are indebted to Lotte Hughes for pointing out our mistake. A detailed account of this court case can be found in chapter 4 of her book Moving the Maasai: A Colonial Misadventure (Palgrave, 2006). 

Walter Rodney – A Revolutionary for Our Time

Chaitram Aklu reviews Leo Zeilig’s biography of the Afro-Guyanese Marxist Dr Walter Rodney: A Revolutionary for Our Time: The Walter Rodney Story. He argues that Zeilig’s extensive research, drawn from primary sources, provides a brilliant insight into the life and work of Rodney. Aklu also shares his own short eyewitness account of events surrounding Rodney’s tragic assassination in the opening sentences. 

By Chaitram Aklu

On the morning of June 14, 1980, four cars and a hearse pulled up at the Thomas Street entrance of the Georgetown Public Hospital morgue in a lightning-quick, military-style operation. The gates flew open, and the hearse backed up. A body (in a body bag) was thrown in and the hearse and cars sped away. Directing the operation were two senior government ministers who had exited their vehicles—one from a dark green car and the other from a light-coloured car.

I had no idea what I had witnessed until I went to the newsstand at the north-western corner of Parliament Buildings where I regularly picked up a copy of the weekly Catholic Standard newspaper. The female seller whispered, “Rodney was murdered last night.” I went into the Stabroek Market just across from the car park to get my Dayclean ‘paper’ published by the Working People’s Alliance (WPA) and asked the seller if what I had heard was true. He reached into a drawer, took out a narrow strip of folded paper and spread it on the counter. It read “Walter Rodney was assassinated last night.”

Word spread quickly across the country and the world. Condemnation was universal. Within an hour, individuals with reams of paper flyers were distributing them free to the public. A pink one showed a likeness of Walter Rodney nailed to a cross and a few people kneeling at his feet. It was captioned: Catholic Church worships St Marx.”

The internationally known Marxist historian and radical was assassinated at about 8:30 pm June 13th by an agent of the governing party who tricked him with a time bomb, which Rodney believed to be a walkie-talkie. His brother who was injured in the blast survived to tell the story. He named army sergeant Gregory Smith as the assassin.

A Revolutionary for Today

The recently published book (March 2022): A Revolutionary for Our Time: The Walter Rodney Story by Leo Zeilig, published by Haymarket Books, the book provides a most detailed chronology of Rodney’s life and works. The book traces Rodney’s short (38 years) life from growing up in a working-class family, his education and work in the Caribbean, Britain, Tanzania, United States, Canada, Germany and back to Guyana where he was assassinated. Zeilig’s extensive research is presented in 14 chapters and is evidenced by the 37 pages of bibliography and footnotes – almost every paragraph on each page is footnoted. In addition, direct quotes are abundant.

Rodney won a government scholarship to attend the top high school in Guyana. He then completed a degree in history at the University of the West Indies, Kingston Jamaica campus before moving on to the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, where he completed his PhD, specialising in African History.

Zeilig has done a remarkable job in researching and organising the text into one detailed book that provides the greatest insight into the life and work of Walter Rodney from primary sources—The Walter Rodney Papers, which are housed at the Atlanta University Center in the Robert W Woodruff Library.

Housmans Bookshop – We are a not-for-profit bookshop, specialising in books, zines, and periodicals of radical interest and progressive politics. We stock the largest range of radical newsletters, newspapers and magazines of

Rodney believed that one must learn, understand one’s history, and organise before taking action. In London, he frequented Hyde Park corner in the summer where he practised public speaking to perfect his verbal communication skills.

Rodney believed that to change history, “We must read and understand the history that has been silenced by academics and establishment historians.” W.E.B Dubois, the American Marxist historian had already “revealed the shortcomings of the popular and scholarly consensus of the Reconstruction era” in the United States. Gerald Horne, who reviewed Du Bois’ book: The Making of Black Reconstruction (Ed. 2021), noted the book “was the first extended effort to shine Marxism’s sweeping floodlight on the tortured history of his homeland. — it offered a solid foundation for the emergence of like-minded scholars from Eric Williams to Philip S. Foner and Walter Rodney” (The Nation May 16-23, 2022). Du Bois was persecuted by the US Federal Government, which indicted him as a foreign agent, tampered with his mail, and intimidated his friends and supporters to silence him. His passport was revoked. Unlike Rodney, Du Bois chose to exile himself to Kenya where he died in 1963.

While studying in Jamaica and London, Rodney could not confine himself to the university campus. In Jamaica, he visited rural communities to learn about the struggles of the working class. According to Zeilig, in London, he was able “to survive the bourgeoisie trapeze – delivering a work of serious, radical, and respectable scholarship to pass his exam, but also managing to say things that were ground-breaking.” This is Rodney’s genius. He successfully defended his PhD thesis: “A History of the Upper Guinea Coast, 1545–1800” in 1966.

He immediately took an 18-month teaching position at the University of Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. He believed in President Julius Nyerere’s Ujamaa development policy to transform Tanzania through socialism and engaged himself fully–both on and off-campus—in teaching and organising.

A Committed Socialist and Black Power Activist

His commitment to Tanzania’s development was unwavering. So committed he was to supporting the development policy that he asked for a pay cut (in solidarity with locals) when economic conditions deteriorated there. Always leading by example, he supported agricultural development by participating in the growing of crops. Zeilig writes, “He grounded with students and radical politics.” He spoke on campus and outside of the university. But he ran afoul of Nyrere’s government when he observed that it was deviating from true socialism and disagreed with the direction in which the country was heading and was almost banned. Later, he was to be disappointed that Nyerere was playing a game to keep himself in power and was not serious about transforming the lives of Tanzanians. It turned out Rodney was right.

In 1968, after his University of Dar es Salaam contract ended, Rodney, fully committed to socialism and his family (he had gotten married in England and now had three children), returned to Jamaica to work. According to Zeilig, he did not fit into the elite and started going off-campus to depressed areas such as Trench Town and speaking with and learning from the Rastafarian community – bringing his expertise as a historian and radical to these communities. This was also during the Black Power Movement.

Rodney did not introduce Black Power to the Caribbean, but he used his knowledge “to elaborate the complex historical layers to its development.” He spoke, Zeilig writes, “not as an act of flamboyance or self-regard, but as a way of connecting the gaping absences of official accounts of independence.” He taught the true meaning of black power, emphasising that “when repression escalates, so does stagnation and poverty for the poor.” He disagreed with Stokely Carmichael (later known as Kwame Ture), who visited Guyana and the Caribbean in 1970, that Indians should not be included in the Black Power Movement – calling Carmichael’s position ‘unhelpful.’ Rodney saw people as a class rather than as a race – the poor working-class people. Rodney grounded with Kingston’s unemployed numbering about 150,000, which accounted for one-quarter of the capital’s population, one-third of which “were involved in much of the city’s already-notorious economy based on petty crime, theft, prostitution, and trade in marijuana,” Zeilig writes.

Zeilig wrote that Rodney saw possibility in the “racial expression” of the Rastafarians, a role they could play in freeing the region from foreign control.” Zeilig quotes from author Horace Mitchell’s Rasta and Resistance (1985) that Rodney was “fully aware of the negative influences of the movement, but he was sure that if the positive attributes could be harnessed —– the Rastafarian movement could be part of the dynamic regeneration of the working people in the search for complete freedom.” He engaged in regular group meetings with them. As a result, Rodney was trailed by the security forces and after just nine months was banned from re-entering Jamaica in October 1968 while on a trip to Canada to attend an academic conference. However, it was from those meetings (groundings) with the poor and suffering, that he produced the still widely read book, Groundings with my Brothers (1969).

Rodney returned to Dar es Salaam where he undertook to redraft the country’s High School Curriculum. He was writing, lecturing, researching and travelling. By then his international travels were also being monitored. Once on a visiting professor’s visa to the United States, his travel documents were seized.

But returning to Tanzania confirmed the direction in which Nyerere and the Tanganyika African National Union (TANU) were heading. Rodney and CLR James the Trinidad-born historian, Marxist and leading figure in the Pan-African movement, withdrew from the 6th Pan-African Congress of June 1974 when it was revealed that Nyerere was inviting anti-democratic leaders from Africa and the Caribbean to attend and speak. They feared that would have turned the congress into a political spectacle. Zeilig writes, “Guyanese President Forbes Burnham had already extracted a promise from Nyerere that he would not allow the congress to become a platform for anti-Burnham protests.” Robert Hill, Congress collaborator is quoted by Zeilig: “Tanzania and TANU wanted to turn the 6th PAN-AFRICAN CONGRESS into a state-led jamboree of post-independence leaders, bullies, and murderers.” Tanzania’s Peoples President and Ujamaa as the means of transforming the economy were being questioned.

In Chapter Six, Zeilig examines Dr Rodney’s 1972 book: How Europe Underdeveloped Africa (HEUA) in which Rodney skilfully accounted for how Africa became underdeveloped, poor and dependent. Zeilig referenced HEUA: The gradual incorporation (underdevelopment) of Africa and African labour was exploited “as a source for the accumulation of capital.” And “The African contribution to European capitalist growth extended over such vital sectors as shipping, insurance, the formation of companies, capitalist agriculture, technology and the manufacture of machinery.” Further “Algeria in the earlier 19th century displayed far fewer deficiencies – than by the end of the century – stripped of its millions of hectares of forest, robbed of its mines, of its liberty, of its institutions and thus the essential prop and motor of any collective progress.”

The book also notes: “Schooling, which had been widespread when the French arrived in 1830, was almost completely wiped out. By 1950 UNESCO reported 90 per cent illiteracy among the Algerian population.”

Organising the Guyanese Working People

In September 1974, Dr Rodney returned to his native Guyana, only to find on landing that the job he had accepted at the University of Guyana was rescinded on the direct instruction of Forbes Burnham. Dr Rodney immediately declared that he had returned home to stay. He was offered employment in other countries. Instead, he organised the Working People’s Alliance (WPA), bringing together pressure groups from the two ethnic groups. The goal was not necessarily to contest elections. However, his wife, a nurse was given a job in the City’s health service.

Dr Rodney would not be intimidated. He took jobs in and out of Guyana and applied for grants to continue his work, including short stints in the US. When Burnham failed to exile Dr Rodney permanently, his wife was also denied the right to work in 1979. He secured a research grant from a Canadian organisation which allowed him to travel and do research. From this grant, he produced his last major work: A History of the Guyanese Working People (1977) in which he presented a historical account of the emergence of working-class unity between Afro- and Indo- Guyanese.

At the same time, Dr Rodney became the leader and organiser for the Guyanese people of all races and especially the youths. Zeilig writes about Dr Rodney’s Hamburg lectures from the manuscripts which show, “The lectures give a powerful impression of an activist and thinker in astonishing form. Rodney engages with challenging and wide-ranging issues, including the continent’s past, slavery, independence, and projects of radical socialist development.” He would rebuke the Third World pseudo socialists such as Forbes Burnham and Julius Nyerere whose Ujamaa had failed to transform Tanzania and raise the standard of living of the working people. At one of his meetings in Georgetown, Dr Rodney told a gathering of what seemed like thousands that the electoral road to change in Guyana was blocked but that his Working Peoples Alliance was promising a new government by Christmas.

Dr Rodney was officially invited to join in the independence celebrations of Zimbabwe but he was banned from leaving Guyana, after he was charged with arson in July 1979 (he was later cleared of the charges). He managed to skip out of the country unnoticed and arrived in Zimbabwe via what came to be known as the ‘Rodney Airport’. Burnham was also present at the celebrations.

The Tragedy

Dr Rodney was assassinated on the night of June 13, 1980. His body was seized by the government for nearly a week. At a memorial on June 21, at the Brickdam Cathedral, Dr Rodney’s friend and associate George Lamming, who delivered the eulogy, began by telling the audience: “We are gathered here in a dangerous land at a dangerous time.”

CLR James, who had cautioned Dr Rodney’s associates to “take care of Rodney and keep him safe” when Dr Rodney returned home in 1974, chastised Dr Rodney for “taking too many risks”. I agree with James– Dr Rodney did take too many risks. I disagree with those who say that there were divisions in the military, and that would help in the removal of Burnham’s authoritarian regime. Labour leaders were bought out or intimidated by the regime. No revolutionary leader, including Fidel Castro, gave support to any opposition forces in the country. In fact, Castro strengthened relations with the Guyanese leader. And as Zeilig informs us, two leading members of Dr Rodney’s WPA who joined the short-lived 2015-2020 Coalition Government, of which the largest party was the People’s National Congress, refused to testify at the Rodney Commission of Inquiry (CoI). Not even mentioned by the CoI were the two senior government ministers who supervised the removal of Dr Rodney’s body to a private mortuary.

The CoI (2016) concluded “that Rodney was the victim of a State-organised assassination on June 13, 1980, and this could only have been possible with the knowledge of then PNC Prime Minister Forbes Burnham,” and that “Gregory Smith was not acting alone but had the active and full support, participation and encouragement of the Guyana Police Force, the Guyana Defence Force, agencies of the State and the political directorate in the killing of Dr Rodney”.

Finally, Zeilig writes: “What we see in the Archive — and what I have tried to capture in this book – is Rodney’s exhaustive historical work and scholarship.” He has been very successful in doing just that. This book is a very interesting and informative read.

Chaitram Aklu is a writer, educator and union leader based in New York City. He writes on a variety of topics including history, education, environment, labour and current events.

Featured Photograph: “From the Archive Walter Rodney’s last speech” New Frame, 25 March 2021 (illustration by Anastasya Eliseeva)

 A version of this article was first published in Guyana Chronicle (21 June 2022)

The CIA versus the UN in the Congo: The covert delivery of fighter jets to Katanga in 1961

An edited extract from White Malice: The CIA and the Neocolonisation of Africa by Susan Williams.

The events in this extract took place shortly after the assassination on 17 January 1961 of Patrice Lumumba, the first democratically-elected Prime Minister of the Congo (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo).

The new nation started to unravel almost immediately after independence from Belgium on 30 June 1960. A mutiny broke out among the ranks of the national security force, which was used by the Belgian government as an excuse to send in troops. UN Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld condemned this intervention and swiftly organized an operation to send a UN peace-keeping force to the Congo.

The crisis worsened the day after the arrival of the Belgian troops, when the mineral-rich province of Katanga seceded from the Congo under the leadership of Moise Tshombe. This illegal secession had the backing of the Belgian government and of multinationals – as well as the private support of President Eisenhower.

It was in Katanga that Lumumba was murdered. White Malice reveals that the CIA had a far greater involvement in the assassination of Lumumba than has been acknowledged by the US government.

The CIA continued to spread its tentacles deep into the Congo after Lumumba’s death: on land, by sea, and by air. This edited extract records one strand of its secret operations in the Congolese skies.

As reports of Lumumba’s death sank in across the world, there were revelations of deepening US involvement in the Congo. On 17 February 1961, a story broke in the British newspaper, the Daily Telegraph, that an American cargo airline was secretly shipping Fouga Magister jets to Katanga.

This was shocking news. For the French-built Fouga CM. 170 Magister was a jet-trainer aircraft that could be used for combat: with a maximum speed of 400 miles per hour, it had the capacity to carry and use rockets, bombs and two machine guns. The delivery of fighter aircraft to Katanga was in clear violation of UN Security Council resolutions and contrary to official US policy.

The British press got hold of the story by chance because a US cargo aircraft was unexpectedly forced by engine trouble to land in Malta, then a British colony, in the early evening of 9 February 1961.The aircraft was a Boeing C-97 Stratocruiser – a long-range, heavy, military cargo plane – on which the words ‘Seven Seas Airlines’ had been painted over but were still visible. Otherwise, the only marking was the registration number on the tail, which identified it as a US plane. It had flown from Luxembourg and was apparently bound for Johannesburg; it carried three Fouga jet trainers. The names of the crew members, all Americans, were given to the US consul general in Malta.

Parts for the engine were flown from the US to repair the cargo plane; once it was ready to fly again, the aircraft and its sinister freight left Malta for Entebbe, Uganda, in the night of 13 February. While in the air, the captain reported to air traffic control that it was short of fuel and needed to alter course for Fort Lamy (now N’Djamena), the capital of Chad; this was a ploy to justify flying in the direction of Katanga. It then flew to Elisabethville (now Lubumbashi), Katanga’s capital.

Patrice Lumumba meeting with UN Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjöld at UN headquarters in New York on July 24, 1960. Credit: UN Photo

British authorities in Malta had not appreciated the significance of this flight until the story broke in the press. At this point they quickly shared information about the episode with the colonial office in London, generating a file of reports and correspondence which has provided many of the important details set out in this edited extract.

*

Seven Seas Airlines was closely linked to the CIA, either as a CIA proprietary company or as a company contracted to the agency. Set up in 1957 by the American brothers Earl J Drew and Urban L ‘Ben’ Drew, the airline based its fleet in Luxembourg. Its headquarters was in Manhattan.

In July 1960, Seven Seas had been awarded a contract with the UN for the delivery of relief goods to the Congo. The company’s four Douglas DC-4s were mainly used for flights from Europe to Leopoldville (now Kinshasa); later that year the company purchased two Boeing C-97s from the US Air Force, which were deployed to the Congo to carry UN troops and supplies around the country.

Jan Knippers Black, in later years an American professor of human rights and international politics, was unexpectedly exposed to this world in 1961, which she wrote about in 1980 in an article for the Washington Monthly. Every evening, she recalled, she ‘stumbled upon a nest of Americans’ at cocktail hour in the Hotel Dolphin in Luxembourg. She described herself as ‘a naive 21-year-old woman from rural Tennessee, vagabonding across Europe’; they were the managers and crew of Intercontinental US and Seven Seas. She was entranced by the ‘spectacle of the crews staggering in’ and one of them, a Seven Seas pilot—amused by her ‘wide-eyed wonder’— arranged for her to fly to Katanga. It was a ‘bizarre adventure’, which made her curious about the airlines.

Some years later, explained Black in her article, ‘I ran across the son of the man who had identified himself to me as the manager of Seven Seas. The son confirmed what I already suspected: his father, now retired, was a career CIA officer. Both Intercontinental and Seven Seas had belonged to the CIA, he said’.

Another aircraft company linked to the CIA and operating in the Congo was Southern Air Transport, which flew DC‐6 transports. The CIA’s involvement with Southern Air became a matter of public record in 1973, when documents relating to a planned purchase of the airline were filed with the Civil Aeronautics Board in Washington, DC. The documents revealed that the CIA proprietary airlines, including Southern Air Transport and Air America, all shared the same Washington address. Southern had begun its connection with the CIA in August 1960, according to a 1973 report in the New York Times; the article quoted a Miami-based pilot as saying, ‘Everybody knows Southern was doing spook stuff’.

Another airline flying in the Congo with links to the CIA was Air Congo. On 1 June 1961, Michael Hathorn, a medical doctor escaping South Africa for exile in Accra, flew to Ghana via the Congo. ‘We boarded an Air Congo plane’, he recalled later, ‘and we were rather disconcerted at first to find that half the seats had been removed and the rear half of the cabin was filled with cases containing bank notes and ammunition!’

Air Congo featured prominently in the brutal treatment of Lumumba in his final weeks of life. When he was taken to Leopoldville on 2 December 1960 from Kasai, where he had been captured, he was flown in an Air Congo plane. Then, when he – along with Maurice Mpolo, the Minister of Youth and Sport, and Joseph Okito, Vice President of the Senate – were flown to their deaths in Katanga on 17 January 1961, their journey was on board an Air Congo DC-4. They were beaten so badly by Mobutu’s soldiers that the radioman vomited and the air crew, horrified, locked the door to the cockpit.

*

When the three Fouga Magister jets arrived in Katanga, David W Doyle, the chief of the CIA base in Elisabethville, was at the airport. ‘Not long after the Lumumba incident’, he wrote in his memoir True Men and Traitors, ‘three Fouga Magisters . . . were secretly flown in by US commercial air craft and crew, in direct violation of US policy, to join Tshombe’s forces. During a routine airport check-up, I chanced on them being unloaded from a US civilian KC97 pipeline cargo aircraft at night’. He added that when he chatted with the American air crew, it seemed to him that they were mere delivery men, with ‘no idea of the situation their cargo was about to make more tense—the aircraft were obviously there to shoot down UN planes’. Years later, Doyle identified the crew as US Air Force personnel.

The three Fougas, Doyle explained in his memoir, were training aircraft, but they were armed and perfectly able to destroy UN transport planes. ‘The UN was furious’, he said, ‘and it was suspected that was a CIA operation to help secretly build a stable, pro-Western Katanga in case the rest of the Congo were to fall under communist domination’. But if that was the case, he insisted, ‘nobody had told me anything about it—which makes CIA involvement highly unlikely’.

Kwame Nkrumah welcomes Patrice Lumumba to Ghana on August 8, 1960, following Lumumba’s visit to the US. To mark the importance of the visit, Nkrumah gave a speech in Ghana’s National Assembly, laying emphasis on the need for Ghana to support the legitimate government of the Congo. Credit: Rue des Archives 3 bis rue Pelleport Paris/The Granger Collection

Doyle’s version of events cannot be true. Documents show that the CIA had arranged the purchase of the Fougas and their delivery by Seven Seas. It is reasonable to assume that Doyle, as head of the CIA base in Katanga, was kept fully informed and was instructed to await the arrival of the planes. Doyle’s claim that he was at the airport that night to carry out ‘a routine . . . check-up’ is implausible, since he was not responsible in any way for the functioning of the airport, and in any case routine checks rarely happen at midnight. Equally unlikely is his claim that he ‘chanced’ on the Fougas being unloaded. Doyle may have felt obliged in his memoir to acknowledge the Fouga episode, since it had been splashed across newspapers in February 1961. And in doing so, he contrived – but unconvincingly – to dissociate the CIA from it.

*

On 17 February 1961 the Foreign Office in London sent a telegram to the UK’s UN mission in New York, headed, ‘Jet aircraft for Katanga’. The American embassy in London, it stated, had received reports that the three French-made Fougas were the first batch of nine to be delivered to Elisabethville.

The Stratocruiser C-97 that had been carrying the Fougas had previously been owned by US Air Force Air Materiel Command at Kirtland Field, New Mexico, and was used in a project code-named ‘Chickenpox’, in which its interior was adapted for the mobile assembly of atomic bombs. The C-97 was then assigned to the US civilian registry and ‘may have been used to ferry arms to Katangan rebels in early 1960s’, according to a flightlog. However, it was not registered under the name of Earl J Drew until 16 February 1961, which was two days after it had delivered the Fougas to Elisabethville.

Aware of the flare-up of tensions over the matter of the Fougas, the British government hastily sought to distance itself from the incident and to prevent further embarrassments. ‘In view of serious political repercussions that could arise out of Aircraft ferrying operations to Katanga’, wrote the colonial secretary to the governor of Malta on 18 February, ‘I should be most grateful if you would do what you can to prevent use of Malta by such Aircraft’.

*

Kwame Nkrumah, the President of Ghana, felt intense grief at the killing of Lumumba, with whom he had had a warm friendship and a strong political alliance. He was outraged: he blamed the US and the Western powers for the assassination. When he learned on 17 February 1961 from the UK press of the delivery of three Fougas to Elisabethville by a US aircraft, he was appalled. Then he discovered that the three jet trainers were merely the first of nine to be delivered to Tshombe.

Ghana’s minister of foreign affairs issued a strong statement to the US ambassador to Ghana on 20 February. If the reports were true, the minister objected, they ‘are obviously of most serious nature’. In this regard, he continued, the government of Ghana called attention ‘to statement made by president of US on Thursday 16th February to effect that unilateral intervention in Congo by one country [or] one group of countries would endanger peace in Africa’.

President Kennedy was embarrassed. He told Nkrumah: ‘The United States government did not, in fact, learn of this shipment in sufficient time to prevent a transaction which took place entirely outside the borders of the United States’. He added that Adlai Stevenson, the US ambassador to the UN, had condemned the delivery of the aircraft. Nkrumah was unimpressed—and said so.

President John F. Kennedy meets with the President of the Republic of Ghana, Osagyefo Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, 8 March 1961 Credit: JFK Presidential Library /Abbie Rowe

The American embassy in London reported to the UK foreign office on 17 February that its government had little control over Seven Seas, since it operated outside the USA. The embassy added, ‘The French have apparently detained the remaining six Fouga aircraft at Toulouse’.

But there was some confusion about the intentions of Seven Seas. A week later, on 27 February 1961, the UK embassy in Luxembourg sent further information to the UK foreign office about the delivery of the Fougas to Tshombe; the information was then cabled to the governor of Malta on 3 March. The message reported that Seven Seas proposed ‘to transport to Katanga six more Fouga Magister jet trainers (with machine guns) which were awaiting shipment by them from Toulouse’. According to the US embassy in Luxembourg, however, Seven Seas had now given an assurance that it would not transport any more such aircraft to Katanga, in response to the embassy’s ‘strong representations’ after the shipment the week before.

*

The exposure of the role of Seven Seas Airlines in the delivery of the Fougas came as a shock to the UN, which had a contract with the airline. It grounded the entire fleet of Seven Seas planes in the Congo.

But the UN could not stop the airline from operating in Katanga and working directly for Tshombe’s government. Tshombe used a Seven Seas Curtiss C-46A-35-CU Commando as his personal aircraft.

Urban L ‘Ben’ Drew, one of the brothers who had set up Seven Seas Airlines, was working in Katanga for Tshombe in 1961, according to a 2014 article in the South African newspaper The Citizen. Drew, an American veteran of the US Army Air Forces (USAAF), was an ace fighter pilot. He was described as ‘an extremely handsome and sociable man, who liked women and whiskey, who would make a lot of money just to lose it’.

Urban Drew during World War II. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

According to his son, Drew ‘was called upon by the U.S. government to work on clandestine bases in the Belgian Congo and Vietnam’. In a 1975 study of arms trafficking, Drew is presented as ‘an old hand of the CIA with a particularly adventurous past’.

*

Once the three Fouga Magister jet fighters had been delivered to Elisabethville on 13 February 1961, the Katanga Air Force dominated the skies, for the UN had no combat aircraft at all. This superiority in the air was diminished within a few months, when one Fouga was seized by the UN and another was destroyed in a crash. But there was still one operational Fouga left: Kat #93, based at Kolwezi airfield. This Fouga continued to wreak havoc on the UN, bombing and attacking its ground forces and crippling the UN’s ability to fly. Suggestions have been made that in the last few months of 1961, more than one Fouga was operational; however, the evidence thus far is unclear.

UN Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld appealed urgently to a number of countries, including Ethiopia, for jet aircraft capable of protecting the UN forces from the Fouga. Ethiopia willingly agreed, but Britain refused to give them the right to fly over British East African territory, which was necessary for the planes to reach the Congo.

It has been claimed that Kat #93, which was capable of air-to-air attack, shot down the DC-6 carrying Hammarskjöld on the night of 17–18 September 1961 near Ndola airport in British-ruled Northern Rhodesia (independent Zambia from 1964), not far from the Congo border. The crash of this plane led to the death of the Secretary General and all those who were travelling with him; their deaths were separated from the execution of Lumumba by only eight months and by less than 200 kilometres.

Commander Charles M Southall, a US naval intelligence officer working at the National Security Agency’s listening station in Cyprus in 1961, was one of those who linked the Fouga to Hammarskjöld’s death. Giving testimony in 2012 to an independent commission of inquiry into the crash, Southall said that he heard the recording of a pilot’s commentary as the pilot shot down Hammarskjöld’s DC-6: ‘It was, I was told, a Belgian mercenary, up there in his Fouga Magister.’ A pilot himself, Southall made the following observation: ‘Now mind you, the Fougas only had what we call a loiter time of about 30 minutes at altitude, so he must have been pre‑positioned up there’.

Southall said he heard the pilot call out, ‘I see a transport coming in low, I’m going to go down and look at it’, and then he said ‘yes, it’s the transport’. Southall added, ‘Now whether he said “yes it’s the Trans Air”, “DC6”, or it’s just, “yes, it’s the plane”, I don’t remember, but he said “I’m going to make a run on it”.’

Southall continued, ‘It’s quite chilling. You can hear the gun cannon firing and he said “Flames coming out of it, I’ve hit it! Great”, or “good” or something like that[;] “it’s crashed”. And that was the end of the recording. I remember the watch supervisors commenting that this recording was only seven minutes old at the time’.

Asked who he thought was responsible for the crash, Southall replied: ‘In my view, and it’s a private view . . . there was a CIA unit out there and they had responsibility for fuelling the plane, finding the pilots, coordinating with the Belgian, French mining interests and it was the CIA unit that ensured that [Hammarskjöld’s] plane would be shot down’.

Inquiries into the role of the Fouga constitute an important plank in the current UN investigation into the cause of Hammarskjöld’s death, which was initiated by the UN Secretary General in 2015. This investigation is led by Mohamed Chande Othman, the former chief justice of Tanzania.

Three earlier inquiries into the crash were conducted in 1961-62. The first was conducted by a Board of Investigation set up by the Rhodesian Department of Civil Aviation. The report of the Board identified several possible causes, including pilot error and the ‘wilful act of some person or persons unknown which might have forced the aircraft to descend or collide with the trees’. The subsequent Rhodesian Commission of Inquiry identified pilot error as the cause but without any actual evidence. The third investigation was carried out by a UN Commission, which reported in April 1962; it reached an open verdict and did not rule out sabotage or attack.

There is evidence to suggest that British government representatives influenced the Rhodesian Commission to adopt the pilot error theory. The Rhodesian Commission’s report was welcomed by powerful Western forces, such that the pilot error theory became widely accepted in the decades after the crash. However, this explanation has been challenged in recent years by fresh evidence. ‘It appears plausible’, observed Judge Othman in 2017, ‘that an external attack or threat may have been a cause of the crash, whether by way of a direct attack . . . or by causing a momentary distraction of the pilots’.

*

It is difficult to flesh out the full details of the purchase and delivery to Katanga in 1961 of Fouga fighter jets to attack UN forces. Even as recently as April 2022, a Freedom of Information Act request to the CIA for records in 1961 on Earl J Drew, one of the brothers who set up Seven Seas Airlines, produced only five pages. The pages have been so extensively redacted that two of them are almost blank.

This is a further example of the secrecy that prevents any full understanding of the Congo’s history, so much of which has been shaped by other nations.

Nevertheless, sufficient information has emerged to reveal a thick nexus of clandestine and coercive operations that were used by the CIA to support American plans for the Congo and for the African continent.

Senator Frank Church, the Idaho Democrat who chaired the 1975 Senate Select Committee investigation into the abuses of the CIA, opposed covert action of any sort. He described it as nothing more than ‘a semantic disguise for murder, coercion, blackmail, bribery, the spreading of lies, whatever is deemed useful in bending other countries to our will.’

Excerpted and edited from Chapter 32 of White Malice: The CIA and the Neocolonisation of Africa by Susan Williams and published by C. Hurst & Co. (Publishers) Ltd. © Susan Williams, 2021. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Footnotes have been removed to ease reading; they are available in the printed book.

For more information about the author and the book, see the publisher’s site here: https://www.hurstpublishers.com/book/white-malice/

Dr Susan Williams is a senior research fellow at the School of Advanced Study, University of London. Her books include Who Killed Hammarskjöld?, which in 2015 triggered a new, ongoing UN investigation into the death of the UN Secretary General. Spies in the Congo spotlights the link between US espionage in the Congo and the atomic bombs dropped on Japan in 1945. Colour Bar, the story of Botswana’s founding President, was made into the major 2016 film A United Kingdom

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