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Critical Review of the Belt and Road Initiative

This article by Oussama Dhiab critically examines China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) as a “soft” platform for win-win cooperation, highlighting China’s shifting foreign policy in North Africa, the perceived inequities in economic and infrastructural partnerships under the BRI framework and the need for African countries to assert agency to ensure that markets are regulated and that trade agreements support African interests.

By Oussama Dhiab

Following the Arab revolutions, North African countries experienced a state of disengagement from former colonial powers. Numerous issues, such as sovereignty, national decision-making, economic exploitation, and cultural hegemony, became central to the debate in Arab public opinion. Simultaneously, this presented a valuable opportunity for China to present an alternative offer, with a narrative based on mutual respect and the principle of win-win cooperation. The Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) was the most suitable framework for this new “offer”. There is no doubt that Chinese soft power plays a major role in promoting the “Belt and Road Initiative.” However, additional evidence indicates the limitations of this policy, or at least the beginning of its change. In this paper, I will try to expose the idea of the limits of Chinese soft power as well as the win-win principle of this cooperation

1- Limits of China Soft Power in North Africa

The unexpected uprisings in the Arab world caught the Chinese government and investors by surprise. The initial response from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was a “wait and see” policy, especially since no one could predict which regime would fall next.

Especially since Western intervention and the changing of regimes in countries that have had historical relations with China, such as Algeria, Egypt, and Syria, could bring about pro-Western regimes that align with Western positions, potentially harming Chinese interests. China fears that Western intervention could transform the region from sovereign states into entities subservient to American hegemony.

The Syrian revolution, for example, represents a threat to China’s interests considering it is located in a geographical area adjacent to Chinese influence and could bring about regimes more aligned with American interests in the region. Furthermore, the rise of Islamic-oriented movements in Tunisia, Egypt, Syria, and Libya (despite their varying nature) might fuel the ideology of separatist Islamic movements in Xinjiang. Thus, we witness this shift from the principle of “peaceful development” to the notion of “responsible power.”

Consequently, the central government had many reasons to be concerned and wary of the “Jasmine Revolution.” The wave of uprisings of the so-called “Arab Spring” seemed to engulf all repressive countries in North Africa. Destabilization in these countries not only threatened China’s fragile commercial interests abroad but also posed a potential threat to the regime of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) within its own borders. Chinese analysts considered the links between the security of North Africa and China, and the potential actions Beijing could take to promote stabilization in the region.

The debate on China’s role in North Africa and the unprecedented activism in the region has turned into an ongoing discussion about the need to modernize China’s traditional foreign policy, including its adherence to the principle of non-interference. Some researchers have adopted a more pragmatic approach to the concept of non-interference and proposed new ideas that attempted to complement it with a solid theoretical framework justifying Chinese activism in foreign diplomacy as a natural and legitimate evolution. For example, in 2010, Zhao Huasheng from Fudan University proposed the idea of “constructive intervention” (建设性介入 Jianshexing Jieru), suggesting that China could enhance its credibility as a reliable actor by acting as a peacemaker in a regional crisis and cooperating with major powers to address local instability.[1] Beijing has always linked the concept of stability with sovereignty and territorial integrity. If we take Libya as an example, Beijing’s primary concern seems to be that Libya could eventually fragment into separate states, which goes against China’s traditional emphasis on the importance of sovereignty in managing security crises. In 2011, Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi emphasized this point: “the sovereignty, independence, unity and territorial integrity of Libya,”

Indeed, there has been a noticeable shift in Chinese foreign policy in recent years. Beijing’s response to the Arab uprisings has evolved from a passive stance of ambiguity to a position of action, albeit still cautious. This shift was motivated by the high cost of a wait-and-see policy and the potential consequences for China’s political and commercial interests. Many examples in the region support this paradigm shift, which challenges the notion of Chinese soft power and its principle of non-interference. The most striking example is that of Libya. The internationalization of the Libyan conflict and the increasing inability of the Gaddafi regime to ensure the security of investments and foreign nationals pushed for a change in China’s policy of non-interference. Since some of China’s investments and projects in Libya resulted from bilateral agreements with Gaddafi rather than simple commercial contracts, they were vulnerable to regime changes. With several of its state-owned enterprises, such as CNPC and China Railway Construction Company, winning significant contracts, and over 75 other Chinese companies operating in the country, and nearly 35,000 Chinese nationals in Libya,[2] strict adherence to its foreign policy, the principle of non-intervention in the  US/NATO backed intervention in Libya, was tested by China. The above factors combined to pressure Beijing to act to protect both its foreign investments and its nationals in Libya.[3] Following this situation, the People’s Liberation Army Navy helped evacuate nearly 35,000 Chinese workers from the country before the start of NATO airstrikes. These factors also compelled China to consider political instability in Africa as threatening its interests, shifting its perception of intra-state armed conflicts in Libya from that of a non-threatening internal issue to a threat. This led to a reconsideration of its approach of absolute non-intervention in the US/NATO intervention in Libya     .

What proved to be a challenge for Beijing was the need to find a balance between protecting its interests in Libya and maintaining its foreign policy of non-interference in the internal affairs of other states. This is where Chinese pragmatism came into play. From passive and tepid statements urging parties to the Libyan conflict to resolve their differences through dialogue, Beijing moved towards experimenting with both multilateral and bilateral actions aimed at protecting its interests in Libya. In particular, it viewed multilateral interventions as a discreet intervention option that struck a delicate balance between its identity as a non-interventionist power and intervention to protect its threatened nationals and investments in Libya. Beijing opted for a UN-led multilateral intervention. Another example that confirms this shift from soft to hard power is the joint Sino-Russian military exercise that took place in the Mediterranean in 2015, as well as the opening of China’s first overseas military base in the Red Sea near Egypt in Djibouti. Additionally, in January 2018, two warships from the 27th Chinese naval escort fleet made a friendly stop in Algiers for a four-day visit as part of a four-month tour.

2 – Is BRI a win-win partnership between China and North Africa?

The European Union has always expressed a Eurafrican imperial viewpoint, emphasizing economic interdependence and complementarity through an amnestic approach to the Arab Mediterranean.  The EU’s free trade agreements, such as the DCFTAs, it embodies a new Western-centric thinking regarding the issue of development and establishes a new neocolonial mindset, aims to transfer and enforce its trade norms on its former colonies in the Arab Mediterranean and beyond and continue to enforce the subordinate economic status of African countries by hindering effective strategies for economic diversification and industrialization through premature liberalization.

The North African disillusionment with former colonial powers after the Arab revolutions, coupled with the desire to break free from this cultural and economic hegemony and diversify markets, has made China an increasingly sought-after country for trade, construction, investments, diplomatic consultations, and even security operations. By establishing close ties with Africa, China is expanding its interests and deepening its presence in the region. In accentuating its presence, China tries to maintain its political neutrality regarding regional conflicts and controversies, notably by adhering solely to soft power tools. This flexible and pragmatic strategy allows China to become increasingly active on the diplomatic front, establishing various cooperation platforms, such as the Sino-African Forum, the Sino-Arab Forum, and recently within the framework of the Chinese mega project “一带一路” (yidai yi lu) or “the new Silk Road.”

In this regard, the Belt and Road Initiative has provided three significant advantages for North African countries. Perhaps the most important is escaping the suffocating grip of the United States and the European Union. Secondly, it allows for the diversification of export markets and the attraction of more Asian investments. Finally, it reflects a desire to establish a cooperative partnership with a major Asian country without a colonial past. In fact, for North African countries, China appears as a counter-model, even to be the most welcomed development model in Africa compared to the European models according to surveys conducted by Afrobarometer [4], due its foreign policy based on respect for national sovereignty, territorial integrity, and recognition of the ruling regimes. Its diplomacy favors win-win partnerships, dialogue, negotiation, non-interference, respect for international regulations, and the rejection of sanctions and conditionalities, known as the “no strings attached” approach.

North African countries, which suffer from low connectivity across their territories, have sought to leverage the Chinese Belt and Road Initiative to enhance their infrastructure. In Egypt, among these mega projects, there is the New Economic Belt project for the Suez Canal corridor, the New Administrative Capital project, the Golden Triangle project, and various roads, bridges, tunnels, and land and seaports, as well as traditional and renewable energy projects. Algeria, a historic partner of China, has greatly benefited from Chinese expertise in improving the country’s infrastructure. Dozens of mega projects have been completed in just a few years, including the East-West Highway, the new Algiers airport and terminal inaugurated in April 2019, the largest mosque in Africa in Algiers, the Olympic stadium in Oran, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the Constitutional Court in Algiers. Other projects have been implemented to expand the railway network, such as the construction of a 750 km aqueduct connecting In Salah to Tamanrasset in southern Algeria, among others. Tunisia has also sought Chinese expertise to build a solar power plant aiming to develop at least 835 megawatts of solar power by 2030. Other significant projects undertaken by China include the cultural sports center in Ben Arous and the diplomatic academy in Tunis.

Although some important infrastructure projects, cooperation seems to be more beneficial for China. This imbalance, which we will analyze, leads us to question any discourse of “partnership,” “cooperation,” or “win-win.” Taking Algeria as a case study, we observe that firstly, the trade balance favors China, and the Algerian state finances most of the projects undertaken by Chinese companies. Chinese foreign direct investment (FDI) in Algeria represents only 6 percent of Chinese FDI in Africa.[5]  Secondly, there is very little technology or expertise transfer from the Chinese side, as Algerians have limited access to management positions. [6] This is due to assigned employment quotas that do not specify the types of positions Algerians are supposed to hold in joint projects. Consequently, Algerians tend to hold blue-collar positions such as janitors, security guards, drivers, etc., meaning low-cost local labor. Graduates in Algeria seem to have limited access to Chinese companies. The contribution of Chinese companies to reducing unemployment remains very limited. In a country where a high number of university graduates are unemployed, figures indicate that three-quarters of graduates remain jobless, with an even higher rate among less educated workers.[7]  Thus, Chinese presence in Algeria mainly benefits the groups of workers who suffer the least from unemployment. Additionally, these workers often receive minimum wage, around 117 euros, indicating that the contribution of Chinese presence is somewhat limited and not very adequate to Algerians’ expectations regarding the issue of unemployment.[8] Moreover, the growth capacity of the Algerian private sector is hindered by the presence of giant Chinese state-owned enterprises. Small and medium-sized private enterprises struggle to compete with well-established Chinese companies, which end up winning most bids and signing the majority of contracts. Thirdly, construction agreements with Chinese companies mostly have a limited impact on the economy in terms of job creation. Despite regulations requiring the employment of Algerian workers, the majority remain Chinese. There is no control over the implementation of employment policies, as the Algerian government sought quick solutions to solve the housing crisis, one of the causes of social unrest in the 1990s. For example, when the US$1.1 billion project for the Algiers mosque was signed, Algeria and China agreed that out of the 17,000 jobs generated by the project, 10,000 would be reserved for Algerians. However, reports indicate that at least 10,000 Chinese workers were on site at the project’s outset.[9] The high skill and efficiency of Chinese workers were cited by both parties to justify such a violation.

The issue of job displacement seems to be a very concerning issue in countries where China has mega-projects such as Egypt and Algeria. As for Tunisia, despite the official interest in the New Silk Road initiative and the “total support” for this project, as highlighted by the Minister of Foreign Affairs Khamis Al-Jhinaoui, there is a real gap between aspirations and reality. Chinese presence in Tunisia remains very modest compared to neighboring countries.

This difference in Chinese presence in North Africa is linked to historical factors. Unlike other North African countries, Tunisia had a unique stance in recognizing Taiwan, which led to a stagnation in relations between the two countries for a period of time. The relationship between the two countries is centered more on cultural and human aspects than political ones, which often links Chinese presence in Tunisia to teaching Chinese language or Chinese tourists, despite some assistance in infrastructure development.

Economically, Tunisia’s main export markets are still European markets. Despite efforts to diversify the economy, the EU accounts for over 50% of Tunisia’s imports and exports. France is its main trading partner, accounting for 30.6% of exports and 15.1% of imports.[10] Italy comes second, followed by Germany, Spain, and Turkey. There are only 10 Chinese companies operating in Tunisia, with a combined annual turnover of around US$10 million, while there are over 4,000 European companies.[11] With a small operating capacity of only 548 jobs according to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ figures.[12] Despite the signing of many trade agreements and the establishment of mechanisms such as the China-Tunisia Cooperation Forum and the Tunisia-China Investment and Trade Forum to strengthen bilateral relations, total trade between the two countries has remained low. In 2017, the total volume of trade between the two countries reached only $1.5 billion.[13] However, there is a significant gap between Tunisian imports and exports to China. This has led to an exacerbation of Tunisia’s trade deficit with China, where the deficit recorded in 2015 and 2016 reached 99%.[14]

In return, and despite the criticisms that may be directed at the European Union, Tunisia’s trade balance with the European Union (EU) was in surplus by the end of August 2023, reaching 5.9 billion dinars, according to the latest statistics from the National Institute of Statistics (INS) on foreign trade at current prices for the first eight months of the year 2023.

This surplus is the result of an increase in exports, which reached 28.8 billion dinars, while imports slowed to 22.9 billion dinars. Tunisia’s exports to the EU, which account for 71% of total exports, increased by 15.2%, while imports, which account for 43.4% of total imports, decreased by 7.8%.[15]

The flow of Chinese products has touched every sector without exception, with dominance in electrical equipment, representing 53% of Tunisian imports from China, valued at 2295 million dinars.[16] In second place are textile imports, metals, and manufacturing industries, valued at 1018.3 million dinars, and finally, cars and mechanical equipment exclusive to the European exporter, valued at 239 million dinars in 2017, representing 5.5% of Chinese exports to Tunisia.[17] On the Tunisian side, the majority of exports to China (with a total value of 72.3 million dinars) consist of mineral or chemical raw materials and low-value-added agricultural products.

While China has benefited from Tunisian consumerism to promote its exports to Tunisia by 100% in recent years, the Tunisian side, due to economic slowdown and decline in both national and foreign investments during the same period, has not been able to expand its presence in the Chinese market. Faced with China’s continued growth in the domestic market, reaching 8.9% in 2017, Tunisia has been unable to capture more than 0.012% of the total Chinese market, which amounted to 3.6 trillion dinars, according to indicators published by the World Trade Organization.[18]

Of course, there are many criticisms regarding the nature of the division of labour and the composition of exports between North African countries like Tunisia and Algeria on one hand and the European Union on the other. However, what I mentioned above, I believe, is necessary to think rationally about the question: Is China a genuine partner and fundamentally different from traditional hegemonic powers? At least in terms of trade exchanges and the nature of the division of labour, it doesn’t seem to be very different.

It is important to note that since the launch of the BRI initiative in 2013, the curve of Chinese exports to Tunisia has continued to rise, while Tunisian exports have remained stagnant, similar to neighboring countries. However, the discourse promoting the BRI was often based on a narrative of Win-Win for a project supposed to offer more opportunities for these North African countries.

The trade deficit extends beyond official channels to include parallel trade and smuggling. Chinese products are the most common to evade Tunisian land and sea ports, resulting in huge customs losses for the state each year, which, according to a report published by the World Bank in 2014, amounted to approximately 500 million dinars.[19] The same report indicated that the value of smuggled goods from Libya and Algeria, including electrical and mechanical equipment, electronic devices, and textiles, is about one billion dinars per year. The enormous difference between Chinese investments totaling 12.9 million dinars and the value of Chinese exports to Tunisia (4330.6 million dinars) partly reflects the strategy and limitations of the economic relations drawn by the Chinese. Chinese businessmen still view the Tunisian market as a limited, expensive, and insecure market for direct investment but welcoming for products from China. Conversely, the Chinese market remains inaccessible for a Tunisian economy mired in crises due to debt and declining production.

Tunisian officials and business circles interested in integrating Tunisia into the BRI have always tried to promote Tunisia as a gateway to the European Union and its markets, emphasizing that Tunisia is the first country in the southern Mediterranean to have obtained a free trade agreement with the EU. However, China seems less motivated and discouraged for some reasons.

This imbalance is not only related to the trade balance; As for tourism, despite the steady increase in the number of Chinese tourists coming to Tunisia following the cancellation of visas for tourist groups, this is accompanied by many difficulties faced by travel agencies in Tunisia. Ben Hassine talks about a certain hegemony of Chinese tour operators in the tourism sector:

We see a change in Chinese behavior regarding the tourism sector. At first, we were on equal footing with them, but in recent years, we noticed      a desire to dominate the market, and this phenomenon is increasing day by day. The competition imposed by Chinese tour operators is fierce. This leads to an irrational decrease in prices. If you are not able to lower prices, you will lose the markets to the Chinese tour operator.[20]

Regarding other North African countries, Morocco has made remarkable progress in its trade relations with China as it has become its third supplier. However, ultimately, the distinctly asymmetrical nature of this cooperation characterized by a heavily imbalanced trade balance persists, with Moroccan products remaining very limited in China. This deficit has widened due in particular to the increase in imports of capital goods and intermediate goods from China. Taking the example of the textile and clothing sector, which represents nearly 38% of jobs in the industry. As a producer and exporter of textiles, Morocco has suffered the consequences of the termination of the Multifiber Agreement at the end of 2004, which liberalized global trade in clothing in favor of China. The rise of Chinese textiles first occurred in the EU market and then in the local market. This phenomenon has destroyed nearly half of the jobs in the industry in both Morocco and Tunisia. These two countries are indeed traditional suppliers to the European Union and have not yet managed to face Chinese competition.

Conclusion

The Chinese Belt and Road Initiative coincided with the emergence of an anti-colonial rhetoric in North Africa. The Arab revolutions paved the way for disengagement from former colonial powers. Many issues, such as sovereignty, national decision-making, economic exploitation, and cultural hegemony, have become subjects of intense debate in Arab public opinion. It was within these circumstances that China presented an alternative offer based on the discourse of sovereignty, respect, and mutual gain. Many promises were attributed to this initiative. China’s increasing demand for natural resources has always been seen as an opportunity to industrialize the economies of North African countries, for technology and expertise transfer, for improving the region’s infrastructure, for promoting small and medium-sized enterprises, for investments, and especially for combating unemployment. Ten years after the launch of such a large-scale project initiative, it is premature to evaluate its impact and draw conclusions as much remains to be done. While it is true that, in countries like Algeria and Egypt, the Chinese have built much-needed infrastructure to improve connectivity, on the other hand, this initiative tends to boost the tourism market in Tunisia and Morocco. In return, the expansion of Chinese presence through the Belt and Road platform has caused painful restructuring of some of the most vulnerable and job-generating sectors in the region, such as textiles for Morocco and Tunisia.

Chinese policy towards North African countries has theoretically shifted from South-South solidarity and its ideological drivers to a more utilitarian logic, primarily aimed at ensuring the sustainability of China’s economic growth. State-owned enterprises (SOEs) are among the main drivers of this growth. There is a type of mutual benefit involving Chinese capital owned large companies, as these companies adhere to the broad guidelines set by the CCP in its policies. In return, these companies benefit from Chinese state projects abroad. China’s state-owned companies themselves provide opportunities for small and medium-sized Chinese enterprises, which are economic actors governed by the logic of capital accumulation and maximum profit.

This transformation, in my view, is also rooted in the changes within the Chinese governance system. China has moved from a phase characterized by centralized rule by the Communist Party and the state, driven ideologically, to a new stage where multiple factors shape Chinese foreign policy. These factors range from the Communist Party to Chinese banks, state-owned enterprises, as well as medium and small private companies, and even Chinese immigrants with their small businesses. These entities are governed by highly interconnected relationships that sometimes intersect and sometimes diverge. However, they undoubtedly contribute to shaping a new, more pragmatic Chinese policy that gives greater margin to capital interests.

This has resulted in a trade imbalance between North African countries and China. It should not be forgotten that the low investment rate, the few jobs offered, and the stagnant projects of promoted industrial zones make the visibility of a better future unclear. Finally, North African countries must ensure that this cooperation allows them to build their own diversified economies and not remain suppliers of raw materials. African countries must ensure that markets are regulated and that trade agreements are in favor of African interests. Otherwise, this partnership, born in circumstances of national emancipation for North African countries, and which seems imbalanced in its inception, may lead to a new form of hegemony.

Oussama Dhiab is a PhD political science candidate in the University of Tunis, China Studies researcher and a Teaching Assistant and Carthage University.

Featured Photograph: Table Bay Harbour, Cape Town, South Africa (11 August 2017).

Notes

[1] Zhao,(H). “Noninterference in internal affairs and constructive involvement — reflection on Chinese policy”, Xinjiang Normal University Journal—Philosophy and Social Science 32, no. 1 ,2011, pp23–9.

[2] Engelbrekt, (K)., & Wagnsson, (C). “Introduction. In K. Engelbrekt, M. Mohlin, & C. Wagnsson (Eds.), The NATO intervention in Libya: Lessons learned from the campaign”,New York: Routledge , 2014, pp. 1–14.

[3] Engelbrekt, (K). “Why Libya? Security Council Resolution 1973 and the politics of justification”. In K. Engelbrekt, M. Mohlin, & C. Wagnsson (Eds.), The NATO intervention in Libya: Lessons learned from the campaign, London: Routledge, 2014, pp. 41–62.

[4] The African barometer 2014-2015 survey

[5] Ghannem, D , Benabdallah, L. “Algiers and Beijing have improved their economic ties, but Algeria can certainly benefit more.” Carengie middle east center, 18 November, 2016: https://carnegie-mec.org/diwan/66145

[6] Méditerranée. Revue géographique des pays méditerranéens / Journal of Mediterranean Geography. (2013, December 30). L’Algérie made by China. Retrieved June 23, 2024, from https://journals.openedition.org/mediterranee/5468

[7] National Office of Statistics (Algeria), 2011, Activity, Employment, and Unemployment in the 4th Quarter of 2010.

[8] African Development Bank Group. (n.d.). Publications. Retrieved June 22, 2024, from https://www.afdb.org/en/documents/publications

[9] National Office of Statistics (Algeria), 2011, Activity, Employment, and Unemployment in the 4th Quarter of 2010.

[10] Nordea Trade (2019), ‘Tunisia: Economic and Political Overview’, https://www.nordeatrade.com/en/explore-new-market/tunisia/tradeprofile

[11] Ghanmi, L. (2018), ‘Tunisia joins China’s Belt and Road Initiative as it seeks to diversify trade, investment’, The Arab Weekly, 9 September2018,

https://thearabweekly.com/tunisia-joins-chinas-belt-and-road-initiative-it-seeks-diversify-trade-investment

[12] العلاقات الثنائية بين جمهورية الصين الشعبية و الجمهورية التونسية” Bilateral relations between the People’s Republic of China and the Republic of Tunisia.

https://www.diplomatie.gov.tn/fileadmin/user_upload/pdf/LES_RELATIONS_TUNISO-CHINOISES_ar.pdf

[13] World Bank (n.d.), ‘World Integrated Trade Solution, China Exports/Imports by Country, 2018’, https://bit.ly/2RacJ52, https://bit.ly/365rb2l

[14] Figures from the WHO. https://oec.world/en/profile/country/tun/

[15] Accueil. (n.d.). Statistiques. Institut National de la Statistique – Tunisie. Retrieved June 23, 2024, from https://www.ins.tn/statistiques/50

[16] Mohammed Samih Beji “العلاقات التجارية بين تونس و الصين “Trade relations between Tunisia and China., Nawat, 8 april 2019

https://urlz.fr/dUFc

[17] Ibid

[18] Ibid

[19] Ayadi (L), Benjamin (N), Ben Sassi (S), Gaballand (G) «Estimating Informal Trade across Tunisia’s Land Borders» The World Bank policy research paper, December 2013 http://documents1.worldbank.org/curated/en/856231468173645854/pdf/WPS6731.pdf

[20] Interview conducted by the author with Wissem Ben Hassine.

China and Capitalist Dynamics in Africa: a structural critique

In this article, Michael Kpade reflects upon China’s economic relations with the African continent through the lens of Africa’s historical and ongoing struggles with dependency, economic instability, and underdevelopment while arguing for a nuanced understanding of China’s role in Africa within the broader dynamics of global capitalism, advocating for policies that promote economic sovereignty and mitigate systemic crises inherent in global capitalism.

By Michael Kpade

The post-independence era of Africa (i.e between 1960 and 2000) has largely been perceived as a disappointing tragedy due to the failure of states to fully overcome the legacies of colonialism and dependency. Characterized by political instability, violent conflict and economic stagnation it has been dubbed the “Lost Decades.” This failure is the impetus that haunts the African political and economic machinery. In the wake of rising tensions between the United States and China, Africa has become the foreground of a vicious power struggle. Hence the emergence of a supposed ‘concern’ from the West about China’s role on the African continent. These concerns range from fear mongering about China’s ostensible colonialist project through varying narratives such as the debt trap, labor importation and the erosion of political agency. Yet, from an African perspective, the key concern is how one might evaluate the recent trends in capitalist expansion in Africa through the lens of economic history and political economy in order to inform policy-making geared toward economic sovereignty in the future.

Two primary mistakes are made in the traditional analysis of the China-Africa relationship. One is to interpret ‘Africa’ as a singular political and economic entity. The second is to homogenize the People’s Republic of China and the private Chinese enterprises. They are both structurally different and embody distinct socio-political implications. From a bilateral perspective, the economic reality of the China-Africa relationship is one of extreme power imbalance. As Eric Orlander, co-founder of the China Global South Project, put it here, “Africa is not important to China at all” as an economic partner. According to data from the Observatory of Economic Complexity, henceforth referred to as the OEC, in 2021 the total percentage of exports from African countries to China was about 4%, with each African country accounting for less than 1% of total economic activity. For Chinese imports from Africa, the percentage was a little over 3%, with South Africa and Angola accounting for 1% each. Conversely, the percentage of South African imports from China is about 21%, with exports amounting to 14%. Similar imbalances are reflected in the economies of major African nations like Angola, Nigeria and Ethiopia. In short, the bilateral relationship in Olander’s words is “one that is important to some African countries, one that is grossly imbalanced and one that is declining relative to the growth of the Chinese economy.”

However, this type of imbalanced relationship isn’t particularly new in the history of Africa’s economic development. The so-called lost decades was a period wrought with recessions, stagflation as well as boom and bust cycles on a global scale.The growth rate fell from 5.4% to a modest 2.8%. The ripples could be felt across the world, where the African economy remained relatively paralyzed for decades. There, from 1975 to 1990 the growth rate of GDP was consistently negative. By the year 2000, about two in every ten poor people were in Africa, an increase from the measure determined in 1970. GDP per capita had also decreased by 11% in about the same period of time. Furthermore, at the dawn of the 21st Century one of primary sources of economic support – Western aid  fell dramatically ensuring that development in Africa had hit a fatal slump. (See here for more).  Thus, it appears then that when the Western economy is thriving, Africa is barely making ends meet but when the West is in crisis, Africa is incapacitated. Indeed, it is this unequal relationship that scholars of the dependency school sought to investigate including Samir Amin, Walter Rodney and Raul Prebsich. It is the view of many but not all such scholars that the expansion of advanced economies occurs at the expense of developing countries by technical or deliberately exploitative means. (See The Laws of Worldwide Value by Samir Amin or How Europe Underdeveloped Africa by Walter Rodney).  This increasing dependency coupled with the accelerating levels of poverty in the midst of aid, loans and various forms of ‘economic assistance’ from the IMF and World Bank only served to confirm and reinforce the view that underdevelopment in Africa was a result of military, political and economic efforts to systematically undermine growth.

Fahdel Khaboub, Associate Professor of Economics at Denison College, presents  a useful theoretical framework for assessing the structural causes of crises of African economies. It consists of three main components: food deficits, energy deficits and low value added industrialization. Consider the example of Nigeria. In 2021, the OEC recorded the value of crude oil and petroleum gas as comprising almost 90% of Nigerian exports. On the import side, it reveals a shocking 18% characterized by refined petroleum oil followed by a complex portfolio of high value added materials and food products with wheat accounting for the second largest single import at 5%. Most African countries are endowed with different resources, business environments and other unique advantages and yet they face similar structural constraints highlighted by Khaboub. This includes an overreliance on food security even if it means borrowing to buy from outside rather than investing in agriculture or expanding partnerships with fossil fuel companies even if they can not guarantee sustained access to energy for all instead of investing in renewable energy. Even worse is dependency on expertise, technological services and parts or other high value goods that, in some cases African governments are forced to buy under the pretext of economic assistance.

Furthermore, they are rewarded by the IMF through loan approvals for parochially focusing on rudimentary exports including raw materials, cash crops and low value apparel which cannot afford the needs or the lifestyle of the country. As a result, they tend to experience sustained trade deficits which require borrowing to finance economic activity. This deficit results in the depreciating value of the national currency, accelerating the inability to meet the needs of the state. In addition, subsidies on agriculture, energy and health sectors can only be maintained in most at-risk countries by relying on either loans from foreign lenders, international financial institutions or measures by the central bank, where possible, to stabilize the economy thus ensuring that any debt trap also spirals into a cost of living crisis. In cases where the debt bubble bursts, the option to subsidize essential public goods disappear with IMF loans being dependent on imposing arguably inhumane taxes and other austerity measures further destabilizing the political environment (see Protests in Kenya and Ghana, Threats of Strike in Nigeria).

Khaboub’s analysis is remarkable in that it emphasizes, under the lens of international finance, the cyclical nature of the conditions that ensure underdevelopment in Africa. He makes a convincing case on how these structural deficits are not only by design but become necessary factors to achieve any semblance of economic stability, thus initiating a self-destructive cycle. Consequently, without radical strategic investments, that is investments focused on the long-view and geared towards building economic sovereignty, Africa will continue to exert passive agency in the face of neocolonial power.

The question remains; why would Africa consider China a more suitable partner for strategic investments?  Of course, there are structural issues which are themselves the legacies of colonialism and of the neocolonial interventions aimed at undermining decolonial projects. In addition, there are at least two other factors. The first is political and related to the consistent popular rejection of sustained dependency on former colonial masters. Consider the examples of Ghana, Nigeria and Kenya. The leaders of each nation have had to deal with a public that is angry about its increased dependency on institutions that serve former colonial powers. Ghana’s parliament has been hit with internal bickering, shaming political opponents for seeking IMF support. Young Kenyans are protesting the IMF backed austerity package and the nation’s US backed military exploits in Haiti. Nigeria’s Tinubu is losing faith from the young as he too seeks to impose austerity measures that have been greenlit by the IMF. (See the following for more: Austerity in Nigeria, Squabbles in Ghana’s Parliament, Imperialism and Youth Protests in Kenya). Whether the ideological motives of the political parties are neoliberal, conservative or socialist, portraying oneself as independent, unswayed and constantly challenging international authority is the modus operandi of African political actors. This has become even more clear in Mali, Gabon and Burkina Faso after the recent coup d’etats which have gained popular support because of the deposing of western backed leaders, driving out western military personnel and other efforts to delink from the West (see Popular Support for Coups in West and Central Africa).  For political reasons alone, African governments have a vested interest in finding alternative options to the highly unequal multilateral institutions and bilateral economic relationships with western states to decrease this dependency. The rise of China as a global leader is a unique opportunity for Africa in this regard. 

The second factor is strategic and requires some historical context. Between the 1960s and 2000, orthodox economists diagnosed Africa’s “Lost Decades” as consequences of soviet style public policies or political and economic mismanagement despite the fact that many African countries were either forced or willing to operate their economies more liberally than most progressive nations at the time. The African consensus was that development could not occur without raising massive amounts of capital. This proved a tall task as Western partners saw in Africa mostly risks including political instability, humanitarian crises and the rise of HIV/AIDS. However, the fact that FDI inflows from China total nearly $112.34 billion between 2000 and 2022 at a time of decreasing Western investment  says something unique about the vision China has of Africa compared to the West (see Boston University Global Development Policy Centre for more statistics). Deborah Brautigam, Director of the China Africa Research Initiative at Johns Hopkins University describes US companies as seeing “risks whereas China sees opportunities.” One important difference is that unlike western ‘development aid’, Chinese bilateral loans are focused on ‘development finance’. The terms are reflective of a high risk financial environment where trust is built through Africa’s resource backed loans and China’s technological capacity to spearhead infrastructure led development. The benefits, however, are that China gains the opportunity to access new markets, secure critical supply chains and build political alliances on the world stage while Africa earns largely unrestricted development finance to pursue development goals therefore avoiding the conditionalities that come with western assistance. While these are arguably positive achievements, they certainly are not radical, that is to say, they don’t fully address the structural deficits described above. For those concerned with the long run, this raises critical questions about the trajectory of the type of capitalist development in Africa, its prospects and the future role of China in the process.

When Marx wrote Capital, he justified his focus on England on the grounds of data accessibility and the fact that the advanced capitalist economies provided a mirror that could reflect to developing nations their own futures. Therefore, to understand the dynamics of capitalism, one need only understand the economic system of the most advanced capitalist economies. For many years, that vision has been shared by heterodox and orthodox economists alike. However, the rise of China as a major economic power with a distinct brand of capitalist development, challenges the hegemony of the US model of capitalism. Though not distinct from the capitalist system as a whole, China’s model of development adheres to the logic of cheapening as introduced in Patel and Moore’s History of Seven Cheap Things. As the authors of this book argue, for the capitalist process to sustain itself it needs to continuously extract profit while maintaining social balance. In fact, Adam Smith’s famous invisible hand was meant to formalize an internally chaotic system that was in his view, simultaneously socially harmonious. In this model, ideas like perfect competition and the free market are handmaidens to the natural price – the cheap price. On that note, the cheapness of energy, labor, land and food are essentially indicators of rapid substantive development. At the same time, cheapness can justify violent accumulative tendencies ranging from colonial/neocolonial theft, slaughter and fraud. Crises of production demand the periodic establishment of frontiers in the form of natural discoveries and technological advancements which become victim to these accumulative tendencies to maintain low prices. China is a good example of this structure of economic behavior, however with a stronger focus on soft power and cooperation rather than the military and diplomatic sabotage of its western counterparts. Africa remains critical to the cheapening efforts that drive price formation and the fact that Africa provides a market for cheap Chinese manufactured goods as well as a method to secure global supply chains at a relatively cheap cost is simply an indication of its frontier status in global capitalism.

In short, even Chinese capitalism governed by a logic of cheapening can have huge consequences. Occasionally straining beyond its limitations, falling into crises and recovering by virtue of the exploitation of frontiers are only some of the systematic barriers to overcome. More importantly, these crises that may emerge from the cheapening process or its disruption, include various social issues such as: alienation, unemployment as well as negative pressures on planetary boundaries. The after-effects may emerge in the chaotic structure of social formations including xenophobia, populism, and war. Nevertheless, they are not mistakes afflicting capitalist development, but rather inherent to the process of capitalist development.

Rather than falling prey to reductive narratives where China is the crown prince of colonialism, inheriting the mantle from the West – the reformed colonial abuser- a more nuanced analysis requires that we disentangle what mainstream narratives have struggled to frame as”The Chinese Problem” from the systemic problems of capitalism. Rather than a rejection of the gains of development in Africa, this article has argued for a different method of evaluating development that is through history and economic systems. Such an analysis is necessary if we as Africans are to avoid the calamities of the advanced economies in our laborious road to sustained development. As the wheels begin to churn in the capitalist machinery, we must identify crises expressed as disturbances in the capital order and social disharmony as integral to the capitalist mode of production of which there would be no ‘capitalist development’ without. Furthermore, we must ensure that the administrative capacities of the state are prepared to mitigate some of these crises. On that note, one might claim that the role of China in Africa has been to prove that successful alternative modes of development exist which, without any judgment, have little to do with adopting western values. Instead with a pluralistic view of economic growth Africa gains more agency in determining her future than it has had before.

Michael Kpade is a senior at The New School University. His interests include economics, philosophy and ecology.

Featured Photograph: Container – MSC China (22 December 2006).

First came the floods that washed away people’s homes, then came the bulldozers that destroyed everything that was left

Before the mass revolt in Kenya spread countrywide in June, it had started in the informal settlement area of Mathare, in Nairobi, following forced evictions after flooding in the area. Wairimu Gathimba writes about how this wave of brutal action in the city was simply the latest in a long history of brutal evictions. Gathimba looks at the long struggle by residents to remain in the city in the face of such evictions, and what we can learn from their battle to keep their homes.

By Wairimu Gathimba

At the Madaraka Day celebrations in Bungoma this year, President William Ruto gave a lengthy speech where among many things, he (re)affirmed his commitment to Bottom-up Economic Transformation Agenda (BETA), gave a firm warning to land grabbers and boasted of several of his government’s achievements including how during his controversial visit to the US, he was able to negotiate “…the renewal of the African Growth and Opportunity Act, an instrument which has enhanced access to the US market for African exports, and catalysed the rapid growth of Kenyan exports, especially in the textile and apparels industry.”

Meanwhile, 400km away, in Kenya’s capital city Nairobi, residents in the neighbourhoods of Mathare, Mukuru, and Kibera were once again facing demolitions. This time, the demolitions followed widespread flooding in the city, after which the government sought to crack down on those who have built on riparian reserves along the city’s rivers. The disproportionate focus of this crack-down on informal settlements, however, raises questions. Various other neighbourhoods in the city also experienced flooding; the UN Avenue in the diplomatic blue zone of Gigiri was closed for a while following flooding, and in its neighbouring settlement of Runda, we saw the city’s affluent moving around in boats as the raging waters of Ruaka river left their home compounds unspared.

Such ‘segregated’ action is not new in the machinations of the city. A lot has been written of Nairobi’s colonial hangovers, not least because of the continued class basis of the city’s geography 60 years after independence and the way access to city services is spread along these same lines. Land, both in the urban and rural areas, has always been the key arena in which Kenya’s colonial and post-colonial (read neo-colonial) elite have expressed their priorities.

Under the racial hierarchy of the Kenyan colonial government, Europeans inhabited the cooler suburbs to the West; the Asians were relegated to the North and part of the East, while Africans mostly settled in the Eastern and Southern parts of the city. The areas to the East, where Africans settled, were densely populated as the colonial government discouraged the provision of large-scale public housing to limit the excessive influx of Africans into the city, which had been envisioned as a white city.

Africans were only meant to be temporary residents of the city on a work basis, but as their populations increased as they fled the reserves upcountry to make ends meet elsewhere, so did the burgeoning of the informal(ized) settlements they created. Despite this, the city’s development plans ignored these settlements, and thus, they were locked out of the provision of essential infrastructure. Nairobi’s 1948 Master Plan and other major urban development plans entirely neglected informal settlements, and 60 years after independence, little, if any, planning in these settlements exists, and when there are ‘reforms’, it is often done piecemeal through small, boutique projects led by civil society actors.

Today, over 60% of the city’s population lives in these settlements, which occupy just above 5% of the land area of Nairobi. In 1995, this figure was just slightly lower at 55%; which Graham Aalders argues mean that informal settlements should not be perceived as isolated “pockets of poverty” that we can continue to ignore but as part and parcel of the city where most of its population lives. For the city’s middle-class inhabiting other parts of Nairobi such as along Thika Road or those in the more affluent suburbs, it is easy to think of these neighbourhoods in this manner.

In the course of my interaction with these settlements as a member of the Kenyan social justice movement (most social justice centers are in Nairobi’s Eastlands) and through my work as a researcher, I have come to find that residents possess a very different view of themselves and the spaces they inhabit. In place of viewing these places as “pockets of poverty”, I have come to think of them as self-built pro-poor neighbourhoods, where residents are able to survive in a city that was never meant for people like them.

When I asked her why she returned to Mukuru following the 2021 demolitions, one resident explained to me how, in Mukuru, she can survive on the Ksh10,000 (US$78) she makes monthly, paying rent, paying fees for one child in high school and another in university and feeding her family. Following the Expressway-led demolitions in Mukuru, she was forced to move to Pipeline, where she told me she found it very hard to survive, even struggling to put food on the table because of the expensive rent.

Another 65-year-old woman who has lived in Mukuru kwa Njenga since the early 1980s told me she returned following the 2021 demolitions because she was able to enjoy some dignity there; she had her own Fresh Life toilet on her compound, could use the clothing lines as freely as she desired and could plant some sukumawiki outside her two-room house.

This is not to say that these neighbourhoods do not have their problems; residents themselves are profoundly aware of the issues they face in these settlements. In talking about the issue with the Expressway demolitions of 2021 in Mukuru kwa Njenga, one resident told me that:

We know the importance of roads. This is a ghetto, we experience floods and fires sometimes, and we need fire engines and other emergency responders to be able to get to us. We understand these challenges exist. We understand roads benefit the public, even if it takes a long time for us to see the benefits.… But what happened was that they demolished entire villages. It was total destruction. I have never seen a government devour its people like that.

Despite the “ghetto-like” conditions they live in, residents of Mukuru and Mathare have, over the years, developed a deep sense of belonging and even appreciation for these neighbourhoods. Many people I have spoken to in both communities were born there, and many arrived there as children or young adults, staying in these places for four, five decades. The statement “huku ndio ocha” (‘this is our hometown’) is one I’ve heard one too many times. Yet when government officials arrive in informal settlements to carry out demolitions, they often tell residents they should return to the places on the back of their IDs. The assumption in this statement is that these residents are rural migrants who have ties back ‘upcountry’ and can resume lives there at the drop of a hat. Yet this is not the case. At a forum I attended in early June following the evictions in Mathare, a resident in her 50s told me that she has lived since she was six, while many others talked about how they were born in the neighbourhood.

This is not particularly surprising and is in line with the colonial government’s visions of Kenyans as temporary residents of cities who are just here to work, or to put it simply, tenants at the government’s will, who are inhabitants for as long as it is convenient. When the reigning administration needs to put up a ‘pet legacy project’ to signify it has been working as in the case of the Expressway, or to offer some semblance of a response to a flood crisis (despite ignoring the meteorological warnings of floods and even forcing the met department director to apologize for his prediction) as is the case currently, the residents of Nairobi’s informal settlements become disposable, required to move at no notice. The city, with its grand visions, as outlined in various strategic plans such as “Nairobi Metro 2030 Strategy: A Vision for a World-Class Metropolis”, Vision 2030, etc., considers these locations removable “stains” on an aspiring world-class city. Once locked out of the colonial city, the workers residing in Nairobi’s informal settlements are again excluded from the post-colonial “world-class metropolis.”

Yet, as Wangui Kimari writes, even though these locations may be considered ‘stains’ on the aspiringly modern metropolis, they endure as a defining feature of its landscape. They refuse to be erased, shaping a significant part of the city’s culture and forming their own popular economies, whether through the malls of Eastleigh or thrift markets such as Gikomba. In the context of demolitions, residents refuse erasure by returning to sites they were evicted from within months of demolition. Indeed, at the forum in Mathare I attended, I could already see a new structure being put up on one of the demolished plots. A community organizer in Mukuru kwa Njenga recently told me, “sisi tumeamua kukwama huku” (‘We have decided to stick here’).

In such instances, we see rebuilding on demolished sites emerge as resistance, a way in which residents who inhabit spaces that many other actors (public and private) want them out of refuse to let go of their claim and their homes. Residents often understand that their inhabitation of spaces that are central in the city is unwanted; a resident of Mukuru once mentioned to me understands that the land they live on is like a “hot cake” due to its proximity to the CBD, the airport and the Industrial Area and that “they have no benefit”, because they do not pay most of the rents (house rents, taxes, etc.,) the city would hope to extract from its citizens. Or in other words, these residents of neighborhoods have escaped the rigidity of market-driven systems which would expect that they only occupy land if they can pay premium prices for it.

For its “hot cake” nature, such land remains subject to a variegation of ownership claims from multiple interests. First, are residents, who lay claim to the land by virtue of occupation for decades, decades over which, in light of being locked out of formal land tenure systems, they have even developed their own popular land transfer/purchase agreements. A resident of Mukuru kwa Reuben once explained to me that the buyer and seller simply meet with their witnesses and a village elder and sign an agreement, after which cash exchanges hands and the land is recognized as the buyer’s. Residents perceive of themselves as legitimate inhabitants of such land, and even in the event of state-ordered evictions, expect compensation and relocation. Second are the private actors who are clearly networked with the governing power. Ownership claims from this group often stem from the 1980s and the 1990s, when Moi often allocated land to his cronies as a political reward. Both parties find themselves embroiled in lengthy court battles, and as these go on, residents remain on the land, even if under uncertain conditions.

These uncertain, under-constant-negotiation, intricacies of occupation, however, become flattened by the state in the typical Kenyan fashion of “orders from above” when deemed necessary. In 2021, there were demolitions in Mukuru kwa Njenga “necessitated” by the Expressway, while in 2024, there are demolitions in Mathare, Mukuru, and Kibera “necessitated” by floods. In these two instances, eviction orders are legitimized by promises of prosperity (the Expressway) or public safety (floods) to carry out evictions that would otherwise attract immense backlash under normal conditions.

Even then, demolitions are carried out with a heavy-hand, contrary to the law, as laid out in previous judgements on evictions. The current demolitions, for example, are primarily carried out at night and over the weekend. For these reasons, residents distrust the intentions behind such demolitions, often suspecting that private interests are at play. After over 40,000 people were left homeless in Mukuru kwa Njenga in 2021 following a round of evictions related to the Expressway – the Expressway link road meant to pass through the settlement ended up not even passing through it, reinforcing the resident’s beliefs that the Expressway was just an excuse to reorder the space into a more desirable world-class form. Despite their bulldozers being on-site, the Nairobi Metropolitan Service later denied involvement in these evictions.

In Mathare, the same views are currently being expressed. Following the revelation of the orders ’to return’ to the location at the back of one’s ID at the forum mentioned earlier, a woman asked, “Wanataka tutoke Nairobi nani abaki uku?” (‘They want us to vacate and leave this place to who?’) and was answered “Wao na watoto wao” (‘Them and their kids’) by others in the focus group. And in both Mukuru and Mathare, residents also report being extorted by various actors. In Mukuru kwa Njenga, a resident showed me a receipt of payment to a company that claims ownership of the land there, and in Mathare, administrators at a school recounted to the Nation newspaper how they were asked to part with Ksh1 million (US$7.500) so that the school is spared demolition.

With such things happening, we must question the very nature of the official narrative of eviction and be more perceptive about how evictions are conducted in the name of public good but are often just points at which state, county government, and private interests converge to form an opportune moment for the erasure of “stains” on Nairobi’s modernist visions for itself. And as residents rebuild on the sites of demolitions once again, we must, as Kimari writes, open our eyes to the issues of the very existence of these informal settlements and advocate and campaign for national land reform, and social justice for all.

Wairimu Gathimba is a writer and researcher within Kenya’s social justice movement.

Featured Photograph: Destruction of a slum in Kibera (17 November 2009).

Momar Coumba Diop – the knowledge activist in Dakar

In a celebration of the work and life of Momar Coumba Diop, friend, neighbour and collaborator, Pascal Bianchini marks the life of a deeply principled Senegalese scholar who paved the way for an independent system of knowledge production in Senegal and beyond, that could include scholars from every continent. Generous, thoughtful, and deeply inquisitive, Momar told the story of Senegalese society, history, and culture subject to internal pressures from social movements and external constraints from structural adjustment and global forces.

By Pascal Bianchini

On 7 July, Momar Coumba Diop passed away in a hospital in Paris. Momar was born in 1950, in Ouarkhokh in the region of Louga. After attending a primary school in his home region, he became a secondary student at the Lycée Blaise Diagne in Dakar. In 1971, he went to the University of Dakar and was enrolled in the Philosophy department. Afterwards, in 1976, he went to Lyons in France to study for a Ph.D. which he obtained in 1980. The title of his dissertation was: The Mouride Brotherhood. Political Organization and Method of Implantation in Urban Areas. Back in Senegal, after working for a short period at the Social and Economic Council, he was recruited by the University of Dakar in 1981 as a lecturer. In 1987, after difficult surgery, he was no longer able to give lectures and found a position as a researcher at IFAN (Institut fondamental d’Afrique noire). He officially retired from IFAN in December 2015.

Regarding his own contribution to social sciences in Senegal, everyone agrees that Momar was a prolific scholar. He has been able to pinpoint new and important issues, he gathered data from serious fieldwork while having a good knowledge of the existing literature. For instance, in his PhD, he showed that the dynamic process of the extension of Muridism (one of the two main Muslim groupings in Senegal along with the Tidianes)  was not only effective in the groundnut basin around Touba (as shown by Jean Copans or Donal Cruise O’Brien) but also reached Dakar and other large cities, especially through associations called dahiras, attracting people with prayers sessions and religious conferences.

Then during the 1980’s, Momar carried out an inquiry among the workers at the CSS (Compagnie sucrière sénégalaise), one of the larger factories in Senegal. This fieldwork was a part of a project launched by Copans on the working classes in Africa. Momar’s work was also relevant and innovative when he studied and publish on the student movement in Senegal. Then, with his friend, Mamadou Diouf, the Senegalese historian who is now at Columbia in the United States, he published the groundbreaking volume, The Senegal under Abdou Diouf (1990). The volume was a detailed analysis of the succession in power from Senghor to Diouf, taking into account concepts already in use (clientelism, passive revolution, etc). It was an accurate description of the political process in Senegal, subject to internal pressures from social movements and to external constraints from structural adjustment. The publication of the volume was a landmark event for the social sciences in Senegal, proving that – from now on – Senegalese scholars were able to assume a leading role in knowledge production.

A confirmation of this step forward was to be found in the next volume edited by Momar, Senegal: Trajectories of a state (1994). Then, for about two decades, Momar, as an editor (or co-editor) was able to publish about a dozen or so books. This great contribution to Senegalese social sciences would be too long to mention in detail but I can just give an idea of the various subjects dealt with: Senegalese politics, economic policies, cultural policies, international relations, trade unions, associations, information, education, transports, social movements etc.

Momar will be remembered as a rigorous and patient conductor of a collective symphony gathering sociologists, historians, economists, jurists, philosophers or even journalists. At the end of his life, he was still working on a new version of a volume published in 1995, Senegal and its neighbours. He was also working on another important work on the history of the University of Dakar. Unfortunately, one may fear that these two projects will remain unfinished works.

Momar can be defined as a knowledge activist, a kind of Senegalese Diderot – the Enlightenment philosopher, critic, and writer – as he has been described in the press where various tributes were paid to him in recent days. He gave his life for the sake of Senegalese and African social sciences. Momar was not a vocal ideological activist. He was wary of politicians and reluctant to add his name to a petition. His commitment was different. It was mostly intellectual: his major concern was to pave the way for an independent system of knowledge production in Senegal and beyond in Africa but that could include scholars from every continent.

However, in particular circumstances, Momar took on political responsibilities, as was the case in 2008, when he played a key role during the Assises nationales (National Conference) that intended to recast Senegalese institutions to enhance democratization and accountability, as a reaction to the authoritarian drift of President Wade’s regime. He had also close friends among the Marxist intelligentsia, for instance, Amady Aly Dieng (1932-2015) or Abdoulaye Bathily.

I met Momar in 1994 after having read a chapter he had written about the student movement published in Senegal: Trajectoires d’un Etat. He provided me with documentation on this topic for my own research. Later on, he asked me to write a chapter on the student movement for one of his edited volumes, Senegal between the local and the global (2002). This personal anecdote epitomizes Momar’s approach. Despite his fame, he remained a modest person.

Thanks to his extended networks, he was able to set-up research programs, in particular Senegal 2000, or scientific institutions such as CREPOS (Research Center for Social policies) yet his personal career was the last thing in his agenda. Fleeing society events, he was nevertheless always elegantly dressed in local style. During the last years, as we were neighbours in the district of Mamelles, in the north of Dakar, where we often had the opportunity to get together. However, even though I knew he had health problems, his death surprised me because he rarely raised these issues in our conversations. I will always remember Momar as a kind man, punctual when giving you an appointment, greeting you with a large smile that was both benevolent and mischievous.

Pascal Bianchini is an independent scholar, researcher and activist based in Senegal. He has written extensively on social movements, protest, class and schooling in Africa. He is co-editor of the volume, Revolutionary movements in Africa: an untold story (Pluto Press, London: 2024)

Featured Photograph: The photographs in this blog come from a book that paid tribute to Momar-Coumba Diop (Barry Boubacar, Thioub Ibrahima, Ndiaye Alfred et al., Comprendre le Sénégal et l’Afrique aujourd’hui. Mélanges offerts à Momar-Coumba Diop. Karthala, 2023).

Voices for African Liberation

In April 2024, to coincide with the 50th anniversary of ROAPE and the 10th anniversary of www.roape.net, Ebb Books published Voices for African Liberation: Conversations with the Review of African Political Economy. The edited collection presents 38 interviews with African and Africanist socialists conducted by the Review of African Political Economy between 2015 and 2023, bringing to life older voices of liberation and lost radical histories alongside newer initiatives, projects, and activists who are engaged in the contemporary struggles to reshape Africa – to make, win, and sustain a revolutionary transformation in our devastated world. Here, we publish the book’s introductory chapter, which locates the volume’s conversations in ROAPE’s 50-year history providing radical analysis of African political economy.

Leo Zeilig, Chinedu Chukwudinma, and Ben Radley

In 1974, 50 years ago, the newly launched Review of African Political Economy (ROAPE) journal boldly announced its intentions in the first editorial, “Appropriate analysis and the devising of a strategy for Africa’s revolution must be encouraged and we hope that the provision of this platform for discussion will assist that process”. The question of what is to be done to change Africa’s capitalist underdevelopment was also answered, “an anti-capitalist class struggle … as a reminder that liberation is still on the agenda for most of the African continent”. The review was born in a period of great, radical hope. The continent, like the world, was being transformed not simply by the political and economic forces of capitalism, but by major social struggles. These counter-hegemonic movements were not only a challenge to this or that policy or discrimination – as great as these struggles were – but frequently to the entire social and political order.

The global 1968, as it is now described, played out in Africa as much as it did in Europe and North America. As South African-based writer Heike Becker told us in 2017, “students and workers in a range of African countries … contributed to the global uprising with their own interpretations, from Senegal and South Africa to the Congo, to mention just a few. Yet, those African revolts and protests have been forgotten in the global discourse of commemoration”. There were movements from below that joined up with and were part of the same energy for transformation and revolution felt across the world – even if they were generated by distinct dynamics.

Samir Amin (2012), featured in the edited collection discussing ‘Revolutionary Change in Africa’. Source: Wikimedia Commons

By 1974, progressive change on the continent, which since independence had frequently come from above in the form of big state projects of change, had started to flounder. Even in Tanzania, once regarded as the Mecca of revolution, the project of ujamaa (cooperation, or familyhood) was beginning to spoil. To a generation who saw hope in Julius Nyerere’s and the Tanganyika African National Union’s (TANU) efforts to reverse a long, brutal history of colonial underdevelopment, cynicism had begun to emerge about the appearance of a new class of exploiters, a petty-bourgeoisie, or bureaucratic elite. Tanzania in 1974, where several founders of the review first cut their political teeth, was no longer the dynamic force it had once been.

Early state-led projects proclaiming socialism elsewhere on the continent had also started to fail or had been overturned. In Ghana, Kwame Nkrumah – the “father of African independence” and one of the main advocates of African socialism – had been overthrown in an American backed coup in 1966. In Guinea, Algeria, Egypt, and Congo-Brazzaville, left-leaning projects and the socialist politics of the first wave of independence were looking fragile, and often oppressive. Yet, independence was still being keenly fought for in large parts of the continent, and in these late independence movements, or second wave of liberation struggles, new and radical forces seemed to promise real independence, and a socialism grounded in each country’s specificities.

The first issue in 1974 was enthusiastic about these possibilities, noting in the editorial there were “valuable lessons for the mobilisation of popular forces throughout the continent, but also a specific determination on the part of the liberation movements and the peoples, notably in Guinea, Angola and Mozambique, not to settle for token independence and continued economic domination”. Or as Ruth First, one of the founders of the review, described in 1975 to her husband – Joe Slovo – after a visit to newly independent Mozambique, “I may say I’m thrilled to bits. Tanzania is one thing, but Mozambique! Wow”. Two years later, she moved to Maputo to contribute to the transformation of the country.

Frantz Fanon – the greatest theorist of national liberation – had argued in his 1961 classic, The Wretched of the Earth, that only in armed struggle was real liberation a prospect. So, it was to these new, second phase liberation struggles – which had seen hard and long armed resistance to colonial occupation – that the hopes of socialism and transformation could be firmly pegged. Amílcar Cabral, the great leader of Guinea-Bissau’s late independence, saw in the earlier wave of struggle the inherited state as the central failure: “It’s the most important problem in liberation movements. The problem is perhaps the secret of the failure of African independence”.

Nnimmo Bassey (2012), featured in the edited collection discussing ‘Extraction-Driven Devastation’. Source: Wikimedia Commons

By the mid-1970s, the first issues were being written, copyedited, typeset, then collated, folded, and put into hand-addressed envelopes and sent around Africa, to liberation movements, political prisoners – including smuggled to African National Congress (ANC) and South African Community Party (SACP) prisoners on Robben Island, wrapped in Christmas paper! – and to universities and activists around the world.

The journal – or the “new platform” as it was described in the first editorial – was enthralled by Guinea-Bissau’s independence in 1974 along with Angola and Mozambique the following year in 1975, countries that seemed to promise real liberation and socialist transformation in the victory against Portuguese colonialism. ROAPE saw itself as a fraternal, broad, though Marxist platform, supporting these movements and helping, where possible, with the exceptionally difficult issues of socialist development. Yet this was not a scholarly activity, far from it. As the first editorial pointed out, “merely providing an alternative analysis could be … emptily ‘academic’. It is hoped therefore that our contributors will also address themselves to those issues concerned with the actions needed if Africa is to develop its potential”.

Agency was vital, with a range of questions being asked about the subjective factors of liberation. Among the questions the review posed were what role was there for the state? Could it be wielded for radical change? What about the development and role of popular classes in political change? Who powered the new movements on the continent, and was there a viable socialist project in the renewed struggles for national liberation? What role did the working class play, were they the agents in the projects for socialist reconstruction or the recipients of reforms from above?

In these early days these questions were vital. They could be seen in the debate between Ruth First and [anthropologist] Archie Mafeje in ROAPE’s pages in 1978 about the meaning of the Soweto uprising in 1976 in South Africa, or in the discussions on the intervention of Cuban forces in Angola from 1975. The Cuban intervention was celebrated by some at the review while others remained sceptical. Were Cuban troops not in Angola to make sure the oil (and profits) from American owned rigs in Cabinda continued to flow? As part of this security detail, Cuban troops were required to repress striking workers. The contradictions abounded, and arguments raged on.

ROAPE was also clear about its role in providing a forum for the debates on the frailty of socialist projects from above, intended as direct interventions which could explain and assist the movements and new governments attempting to challenge the continent’s underdevelopment. Many of its early members – John Saul, Peter Lawrence, Ruth First, Robin Cohen, Mejid Hussein, Duncan Innes, Mustafa Khogali, Katherine Levine, Jitendra Mohan, Gavin Williams – were militants in these new projects, in one way or another. Yet, in these years there was always a tension at the heart of the review’s radical endeavour. A tug of war between state-led, top-down projects for socialist change, and class struggle – in the strikes and workers’ occupations in Tanzania in 1973, the strikes of oil workers in Angola, or the uprisings across South Africa after 1976, for example – empowering change from below. This tension, from above or below, remains alive in ROAPE today.

In 2014, the Editors of ROAPE wanted to connect to a new generation of radicals on the continent and elsewhere, who were involved and interested in socialist politics and revolutionary change. The connection was a homecoming for the journal, where the Review’s heart had always been, but to some extent we had become lost in the thicket of academia and publishing. Many barriers stood in our way: paywalls that locked down our content, academic grants, career advancement and research assessments, and the deadweight of post-structuralism. Yet much was with us. The spirit of the period contained prodigious revolutionary energy, in the celebrated and tragically defeated struggles in North Africa and the Middle East, but also in the almost entirely unreported revolutionary wave further south – most remarkably in Burkina Faso, Nigeria, and Senegal.

Esther Xosei (2017), featured in the edited collection discussing ‘Afrika and Reparations Activism in the UK’. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Roape.net was launched in 2014. For a decade, roape.net has been a forum for radical commentary, analysis and debate on political economy and the vibrant protest movements and rebellions on the continent. One of the most exciting areas of the website has been our interviews. These interviews – perhaps more than any other part of the website – bring to life older voices of liberation, frequently hidden, or lost histories, and newer initiatives, projects and activists who are engaged in the contemporary struggles to reshape Africa: to make, win, and sustain a revolutionary transformation in our devastated world.

In the pages that follow, we present an edited selection featuring 38 of these interviews conducted between 2015 and 2023, organised into three parts. The first part, Lessons from the Past, focuses on historical movements, figures, and periods – from Walter Rodney, Amílcar Cabral, and Steve Biko to Ghana, Senegal, and Tanzania in the 1960s and 1970s, and beyond – as part of the vital process of learning from past defeats and victories to inform contemporary struggle.

The second part, Weapon of Theory, should not be mistaken for abstract theorising. On the contrary, the section features conversations with organic intellectuals and committed scholar-activists of national and international renown whose prime focus and concern is on developing theory from real-world observation to inform revolutionary struggle and transformative change. As Amílcar Cabral said in his speech of the same title, delivered in 1966 to the first Tricontinental Conference of the Peoples of Asia, Africa and Latin America held in Havana, “every practice produces a theory, and [if] it is true that a revolution can fail even though it be based on perfectly conceived theories, nobody has yet made a successful revolution without a revolutionary theory”.

The third and final part, Militants at Work, covers a range of contemporary anti-imperialist and anti-capitalist struggles, as told by those directly involved. It moves from Shell Oil in Nigeria, anti-imperialism in Senegal, and reparations activism in the United Kingdom, to food sovereignty in Kenya and North Africa, campaigning against patriarchal oppression in Tanzania, and crisis and resistance in Zimbabwe. The full archive of interviews, along with all other material on the site, can be found at www.roape.net.

Voices for African Liberation: Conversations with the Review of African Political Economy is available to order through the Ebb Books website.

Leo Zeilig is a writer and researcher. He has written extensively on African politics and history, including books on working-class struggle and the development of revolutionary movements and biographies on some of Africa’s most important political thinkers and activists. Leo also writes political fiction.

Chinedu Chukwudinma is a socialist activist and writer. He writes on African politics, popular struggles, and the history of working-class resistance on the continent. Chinedu has written extensively on the Guyanese revolutionary Walter Rodney.

Ben Radley is a lecturer at the University of Bath. His research interests relate to the political economy of development in Africa, with a focus on resource-based industrialisation, green transitions, and labour dynamics. He is the author of Disrupted Development in the Congo.

AI and the digital scramble for Africa

We are told that Artificial intelligence (AI) has the potential to be a powerful tool for advancing democratic concerns and human rights across Africa. Yet, there are also early indicators that AI could undermine democratic institutions and processes, especially if these technologies prioritise colonial-capitalist development trajectories. Scott Timcke looks at some of the issues at stake.

By Scott Timcke

Fortunately, there are institutions, universities and think tanks across the continent where people are thinking about Artificial Intelligence (AI) at the nexus of democracy, technology, and economic issues. This post briefly outlines some of the key challenges that are relatively under-discussed when covering efforts to preserve and extend democracy in Africa.

Simplified, democracy is a system of government in which power is vested in the people, who rule either directly or through elected representatives. Other core principles include freedom of expression, consciousness, and assembly, as well as free and fair elections with universal suffrage.

The current orthodox understanding of modern democracy was conceptualised and designed during industrialization, with some extension and modifications through public administration and the welfare state after the Great Depression. The wave of decolonization also included expressions for liberation, enfranchisement, representation, and independent self-rule to overthrow colonial occupation. African people, including its intellectuals, were active participants in these debates and developments. Some embraced the democratic idea, others emphasised aspects like economic self-determination, while others thought liberation could be found through other methods and frameworks.

Nevertheless, the variety of responses, nearly three generations of Africans have fought hard for democratic representation; they have done the hard labour insisting on equality before the law; and they have struggled tirelessly to create and defend democratic  elections. Given this history, it is imperative that African people be cautious to ensure that AI does not undermine this political investment.

Mineral, metal and data extractivism

Africa possesses substantial reserves of minerals and metals that are essential for manufacturing AI systems, including cobalt, tantalum, and gold. However, mining has often exploited African resources without providing sustainable benefits for local populations. It is also true that mining can bring ecological destruction, destroying the quality of life for directly impacted communities. Yet, African governments have significant leverage in the responsible sourcing of minerals which are key for ethical AI, both in Africa and beyond.

On the topic of avoiding rampant extractivism, there are valid concerns about a ‘digital scramble for Africa’ where foreign headquartered multinational technology firms extract and monopolise data from the continent, concentrating AI capabilities in the Global North or China. This data extractivism mirrors historical patterns of resource extraction from Africa by colonial powers. Domestic African data governance and AI development capabilities are critical to ensuring the continent shapes its own digital future.

Although not the only body, the AU is well positioned to remind governments that the development of AI systems ought to prioritise democratic governments over brute capitalist extractivism, whether it be for minerals and energy or whether it be for data. Doing so can help mitigate or avoid ‘digital colonialism‘ where multinational technology firms extract African data without permission or benefit for local populations.

Labour protections for click-workers and remote workers

Turning to labour concerns, across the continent there are indicators that the future of AI related work in Africa will likely be click-workers doing data cleaning and labelling. As infrastructure expands, and confronted with poor employment prospects, young people across Africa, will likely participate in the global gig economy, like completing microtasks on online platforms. This kind of granular sub-contracting work presents significant challenges, for example, low wages, repetitive tasks, the real prospect of AI managers, and the lack of access to essential social safety nets. These undignified working conditions ought to prompt African governments to consider adjusting labour protection policies to specifically respond to this pattern of precarious work while also making unionisation efforts easier.

Beyond the realm of AI, radical African voices will likely need to experiment with designing and implementing industrial policies that are labour-absorbing. These can contribute to social well-being. By proactively shaping the future of work, African governments should be forced to bridge the protection gap for vulnerable workers and build a more resilient and equal economy.

Revisiting neoliberal assumptions

Mainstream economics has become closely associated with neoliberal policies favouring free markets and limited government intervention. However, the neoliberal approach has failed in addressing issues like inequality, climate change, and economic resilience.

As Harvard economist Dani Rodrik recently wrote in an essay published by the neoliberal IMF, “The neoliberal policy paradigm favors expanding the scope of markets (including global markets) and restricting the role of government action.” Importantly, he adds that “Today it is widely recognized that this approach failed in a number of important respects. It widened inequality within nations, did little to promote the climate transition, and created blind spots ranging from global public health to supply-chain resilience.”

There now exists a window to develop and deploy new approaches to tackling the major challenges Rodrik lists. This includes the assumptions around AI governance and the role of the market. The shifts in capitalist-globalisation today might provide space for new models allowing more democracy in national policies that are context-specific and take into account a country’s institutions, industry, demographics and geography.

As an important body, the AU could play a pivotal role in promoting a democratic use of AI across the continent. Given the global nature of AI systems, we must urge multilateral cooperation in developing shared ethical AI frameworks. Already existing AU bodies have established critical working groups to lay out guidelines for accountable AI aligned with democratic principles.

Even so, there is scope for labour-led initiatives to develop imaginative policy solutions tailored to Africa’s socio-economic context that leverage the cost of AI while regulating risks. Ideally African countries should act together to retain the policy space needed to protect the rights of workers to shape their collective digital futures.

Scott Timcke is a Senior Research Associate at Research ICT Africa and a Research Associate with the University of Johannesburg’s Centre for Social Change. His second book is Algorithms and The End of Politics (Bristol University Press).

Featured Photograph: Digital training in Ghana (Christian Yakubum, 17 April 2024).

Everything must fall, everything must change

ROAPE’s Njuki Githethwa writes that the current regime in Kenya has been struck a devastating blow by the uprising of youth. The state has been weakened and is now vulnerable. This regime can fall. A revolution in Kenya is in the air. But the success of this revolution, Githethwa argues, depends on how well placed the social forces, revolutionary movements and organisations are to harness, sustain and extend this uprising.

By Njuki Githethwa

The youth in Kenya are no joke.

They stormed the National Assembly in Kenya on 25 June 2024. They set part of it on fire. They ransacked the hallowed building, smashing everything in sight. Some even ate the food in the cafeteria that was specially made for the ‘dishonourable’ members of parliament and senators. Others smashed into the Senate Chambers and took over as the people’s representatives, including one who acted as the Speaker. The golden mace, a symbol of parliamentary authority, was carted away to set-up a people’s parliament in a liberated zone away from the discredited and dishonoured National Assembly.

MPs were besieged. They were whisked away to safety through an underground tunnel that was not unlike what is known in Kenya as a ‘panya route’, colloquial for a hidden and illegal track. Panya is Kiswahili for rats. The MPs were treated like the parasitic rats that they have become in Kenya. In passing the unpopular Finance Bill 2024, the MPs, or MPigs, as they are derogatively referred to by activists, had become more than rapacious rats.

The youth were not done yet.

They broke into the buildings of the Supreme Court, the symbol of the second arm of the government. They ransacked and destroyed items in the office of the chief justice who is largely seen as siding with President Ruto and the Kenya Kwanza (KK) regime – the ruling alliance in the country. An office in the chambers of the Governor of Nairobi County was also torched, so were the constituency offices and homes of some of the members of Parliament who had voted yes to the Finance Bill.

The sound and fury of the youth was widespread across cities and towns in Kenya. The youthful protestors had dubbed it as 7 days of rage beginning 21to  27t June. The 25 June was the climax of the rage, referred to as Super Tuesday, that saw the storming of parliament.

It has never happened this way in the history of resistance in Kenya. More will happen in the future. The resistance of the youth is palpable. It’s the same for the masses of people across the country who have been reduced to beggars by the grasping regime.

The Gen-Zs are leading this resistance in the best language that oppression understands. Radical militancy and shaming the regime. What more shame is there than to see MPs fleeing and scampering for safety, some of them even fainting out of fear. This helps to drum into the ears of the politicians how their fickle power is. How power easily flips over, or as the Gen-Zs, mostly speaking in Sheng and Shembeteng slang, puts it in a hip hop song, Ina come, ina go! (It comes, it goes).

At least 41 youthful protestors have been killed by the Kenyan police in this uprising. They rest in power. They are martyrs of our liberation. Thousands have been injured. Many others are still missing. This uprising will not go down in vain.

Behind the sound and fury

The current regime in Kenya under President Ruto and the KK Coalition came to power after the contentious 2022 elections. The regime rose to power behind the guise that they were the true representatives of the underprivileged, the suffering majority whom they referred to as hustlers. They said they were against the rule by dynasties, and the wealthy, represented by Raila Odinga, the flagbearer of the Azimio Coalition and his supporter, Uhuru Kenyatta, the former president.

The majority of youth, especially in central Kenya, and amongst the Kalenjin communities, the bedrock of support of the current president, saw in Ruto a chance to elect one of their own, a fellow hustler who claimed to be a former chicken seller. His supporters were exuberant when he won the 2022 elections. Finally, their man was in power. Down with the dynasty! they said.

In the optics of tribal politics, those who elected the current president were blind to the fact that Ruto was not a hustler like them, but the leader of a cabal of greedy politicians who rose to power and accumulated loathsome wealth through a conniving and a sweet-talking mouth, what Uhuru Kenyatta, his predecessor, termed derogatory in Kiswahili as mdomo tamu tamu (sweet mouth). His supporters forgot that Ruto rose to leadership and wealth at the height of the infamous Youth for KANU 1992, known in short as YK 92, that malfeasant outfit of young political mercenaries who were supporting the Moi–KANU dictatorship, not for the welfare of the country, but to satiate their personal greedy for power and wealth. They supported former president Daniel arap Moi  in plundering the country, including printing fake currency, and in the process, they became very powerful and wealthy.

Ruto was an ardent disciple of a ruthless dictator. Some of us knew that gullible Kenyans had consumed mass poison that would kill the people and the country little by little. The youth in the uprising are expunging this poison from their veins and from the masses in the country.

When did the rains begin to beat us?

Kenya is a deeply unequal country. The gap between the poor and the rich has continued to widen since the country gained independence from British colonialists in 1963. Deprivation and want continue to squeeze the people across generations who struggle against the dead- ends of animal survival. Successive regimes in Kenya have failed to reduce the inequality gap but rather widened it in trickle-down economics driven by the IMF and World Bank, and other varieties of market-driven economics.  It is these generational frustrations, anguish and fury that Ruto and the KK brigade tapped into even when its key economists and advisors were beholden to this very neoliberal economics and politics themselves.

Once in power, the KK government tethered the country onto foreign interests. Global economic shocks raged on, fuelled by the aftereffects of Covid- 19, the war in Ukraine, and related economic imbalances. Ruto and KK stalwarts had shouted themselves hoarse during the campaigns arguing that these factors had nothing to do with the devastation to the Kenyan economy. It was all a result of a ‘dynasty politics and economics’ which they vowed to high heavens to unmask and undo once in power.

Yet the ascension of Ruto and KK did not amount to anything markedly different from previous regimes. The cost of living escalated, especially amongst the lower classes in the country. The poor were getting poorer as neoliberal measures strangled the country, driving the masses to the edges of survival. Education has been commodified, including university education, making it expensive and out of reach to millions of struggling families. Health insurance through the National Hospital Insurance Fund (NHIF) has been whittled down to a rebranding gimmick. Rights to decent housing have been muddled up in schemes referred to as affordable housing that are not only incomprehensible and confusing but are a kind of a pyramid scheme to whet the appetites of the greedy undertakers of the state and politicians. The recent drought and floods in the country were a god-sent opportunity for the KK regime to hide their incompetence. The regime has consoled itself like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand even as the masses are drowning in oceans of poverty.

Enter the Finance Bill 2024  

The Finance Bill 2024 was meant to push through a raft of wide-ranging punitive taxes. These included taxes on essential goods, services, digital content, individual incomes, and many more. This bill was both loudly and silently rejected by many sectors in the country, including by corporates and professional associations. Rejection of the bill was vocalized by the youth, led by the Gen-Zs, who took to the streets in a mighty show with the protests across the country. The youth were, after all, the group that would be most affected if the unpopular bill was passed.

Youth turned cyberspace into a terrain of resistance and mobilized millions of others to the streets through the power of social media and community organizing. The hashtag #RejectFinanceBill2024 came alive. The young felt as though they had nothing to lose. Their lives, as Karl Marx quipped in 1848 about the working class, have nothing to lose but their chains, are already wasting away in unemployment and being drowned by the high costs of living. On the other hand, they could see politicians notoriously enmeshed in corruption, embezzlement of public funds, devilish opulence, and other forms of abuse of office and extravagance.

The rage of Kenya’s near revolution was fuelled by generation of hurt and disappointments by neo-colonial governments in Kenya.  The rage was a festering boil that burst open.  Antennas of political consciousness of the youth, especially the Gen-Zs, who largely seemed apolitical, were raised high. The movement erupted like a volcano and the lava of discontent spread across the country. It could not and cannot be stopped, by anything or anyone, except with the complete fulfilment of their demands and a just social order in Kenya. The youth stormed the barricades of arrogant power from various fronts, organically, faceless, leaderless and tribeless.

This youthful uprising is a game changer in the politics of resistance in Kenya. Previously the label of political apathy has been proved utterly wrong. They took by the scruff the necks of incompetent power that has gripped this country for many of years.  Their resistance finally scored initial gains.

As a result of the uprising, President Ruto and his coterie of discredited MPs and government operatives were forced to concede and dropped the unpopular Finance Bill 2024 on 26 June.

Ruto’s actual words of concession “Listening keenly to the people of Kenya who have said loudly that they want nothing to do with this finance bill 2024, I concede.”

Whither the Revolution?

The uprising by the youth in Kenya has scored the first and central demand – the total rejection of the Finance Bill. This is a major victory, but it also deflated the magic and energies of the uprising. The state is already consolidating its power through the police and the armed forces. Subsequent protests in Nairobi and across the country under the rallying call of #RutoMustGo have been less intense. At worst, street protests have been infiltrated by goons hired by pro- regime politicians, just like the Kenya Land and Freedom Army, popularly known as Mau Mau, in the 1950s was infiltrated by loyalists of the colonial regime.  Many protesters have retreated to their comfort zones and social media to savour the victory of the uprising, and to voice other discontents.

Most uprisings in the past end in retreats, betrayals, reforms or revolutions.  Experiences of revolutions in Africa and elsewhere in the world show that the vulnerability of the state is a key ingredient of successful revolutions.

The underbelly of the current regime in Kenya has been struck a devastating blow by the uprising of youth. The state has been weakened and is now vulnerable. Its technical knock- out could be imminent. This regime can fall. It will fall, not if, but when. The fire of mass uprisings has been re-ignited by the youth. A revolution in Kenya is in the air.

How this revolution will chaperon a radical and just social order in Kenya depends on how well placed the social forces, revolutionary movements and organisations are to harness this uprising. Already they are various moves in this direction, including by the united front of various leftist political parties and movements, such as the Communist Party of Kenya, the Revolutionary Socialist League, Kongamano la Mapinduzi (Coalition for Revolution), Students union, social justice centres, feminist collectives, among others.

The youth led by the Gen- Zs know that now it is their time to bask in the sun of change. The future is theirs. They are seizing the time. The working class are fighting for their survival, the middle class for their security. An anti-establishment social movement is coalescing, led by the vibrancy, energies and dynamism of youth. A new and fresh political order is emerging in Kenya, as elsewhere in Africa.

Everything must fall. Everything must change.

Njuki Githethwa is a Kenyan writer and activist-scholar. He is the Managing Editor of Ukombozi Review in Kenya and a Contributing Editor for the Review of African Political Economy (ROAPE).

Featured Photographs: images taken during the uprising in Kenya (Sema Ukweli, June 2024). 

Djibo Bakary and Niger’s fight for real liberation  

Sixty-six years ago, on the eve of independence, Niger’s first African government council was led by the Sawaba party and its Prime Minister was a charismatic decolonial trade unionist called Djibo Bakary. Sawaba was then overthrown in 1958 by France in Africa’s first coup. Few know about the Sawaba party, its leader Djibo Bakary and the struggle in the 1960s for Niger’s true liberation. For ROAPE, Sahidi Bilan and Rob Lemkin bring the hidden history of Niger’s fight for real liberation to life.

By Sahidi Bilan and Rob Lemkin

When Niger’s military government last year expelled the troops and diplomats of the former colonising power France, some Nigeriens saw it as the resumption of a process rudely interrupted in September 1958. Sixty-six years ago, on the eve of independence, Niger’s first African government council was led by the Sawaba party (Sawaba means ‘liberation’ and ‘well-being’ in Niger’s main language Hausa) and its Prime Minister was a charismatic decolonial trade unionist called Djibo Bakary.

Sawaba’s overthrow in 1958 by France was Africa’s first modern coup d’etat. In no time the party was proscribed and driven underground; it went on to create a resistance movement with the support of African anti-imperialist states like Ghana and Algeria and developed a significant guerrilla training programme with help from the socialist bloc notably the People’s Republic of China.

‘Silence! On decolonise!’ is the title of Djibo Bakary’s great book at once autobiography and manifesto for the radical decolonisation programme of which he was a principal. We use its title to explore a better understanding of the 26 July 2023 military coup and its unilateral  severing of military accords with France and later the United States of America. It is vital to interrogate why no military coup in Niger’s post-independence history (and there have been eight of which five were successful) has had such popular support as that of the CNSP (Conseil national pour la sauvegarde de la patrie, National Council for the Safeguard of the Homeland).

Djibo Bakary

This article gives first a brief introduction to Sawaba’s history and vision for Niger; we then focus on China’s connections, in particular its role in and influence on Sawaba’s remarkably ambitious, but disastrously unsuccessful attempt to invade Niger in 1964; we then outline the intense repression that followed and conclude bringing the story up to the present.

The questions for today include: how aware are Niger’s current rulers of Bakary and Sawaba’s radical decolonial project? Are the recent expulsions of Western military forces part of genuine politics of anti-imperialism or are they merely a populist move by the military government? American and French military presences (Italian and German too) had been justified by the need to combat insurgency. But terror attacks have increased over the last decade. The government is now turning to Russia for military assistance.

*     *     *

“I believe it is our duty is to inform the representatives of France of the will and thought of the overwhelming majority of the people we claim to work for; to serve the interests of the greatest number and not to use it as a springboard to satisfy desires for luxury and power. For this, we need to grapple with our problems by ourselves and for ourselves and have the will to solve them first on our own, later with the help of others, but always taking account of our African realities (…)

For our part, we have said it again and again: we have been, we are and will remain always for and with the Nigérien “talaka” (peasant)”

Djibo Bakary – Editorial in The Democrat 4 February 1956

Nowadays the history of Sawaba is little known or spoken of in Niger. In fact, it was not until 1991 after the end of the Cold War that the full list could be published of Sawabist political prisoners who had died in detention through the 1960s and 70s. According to Mounkaila Sanda, Djibo Bakary’s nephew and a later leader of Sawaba, there has long been a concerted effort to expunge the memory of Sawaba’s struggle from national consciousness along with the systematic repression of its members.

How different it had been in the 1950s!

Sawaba then under its original name Union Démocratique Nigérienne (UDN) was Niger’s principal anti-colonial vehicle of change. Its founder, Djibo Bakary, had experienced his first political awakening as a schoolboy on the streets of the capital Niamey. In his 1992 autobiography Silence! On decolonise (Quiet! We are decolonising), Bakary remembers walking home from primary school and coming across his father then nearly 60 years old breaking rocks in a conscripted road repair gang – part of the colonial system of forced labour (la corvée) which remained in force in French colonies until after World War Two. The young Bakary was infuriated by a system that violated community notions of respect for elders and traditional authority (his father, though poor, was a local village chief).

Sawaba organised among the so-called ‘little people’ (les petits peuples), urban private sector workers, groundnut farmers and minor government functionaries, many of them unionised. They were also known in Hausa as talakawa (the common people).

The party came to power in 1957 in Niger’s first elections under the French Empire-wide Framework Act (Loi-Cadre Defferre) which created partially self-ruling government councils through universal suffrage. Bakary – whose nickname was Thorez, after French communist leader Maurice Thorez – campaigned against cronyism and corruption and told his movement members, ‘the masses follow us not for our beautiful eyes or eloquent speeches but because we will help them fight injustice and repression and render impossible future abuses’.

Bakary promised to strive for a ‘healthy and frank collaboration with the colonial authorities’. Sawaba’s programme was decolonial in the widest and deepest sense. It aimed to improve  across a wide spectrum: food security, export terms of trade for Nigérien farmers, development of infrastructure, education and healthcare, and an expansion of labour migration. However, real power – in areas of foreign policy, school curricula, media, security – remained in the hands of the French-appointed colonial governor. This was to prove critical in the following, fateful year of 1958.

That year Charles de Gaulle came out of retirement to establish the French Fifth Republic, his attempt to restore France’s Great Power status and prevail against the anti-colonial insurgency in Algeria, Niger’s neighbour. A constitutional referendum set for 28 September 1958 was to be held across France’s African colonies establishing a new Communeauté Franco-Africaine (CFA – French-African Community) in which each territory would be granted internal autonomy. Any colony that voted ‘No’ would immediately become independent and entirely cut off from French relations including financial support.

Bakary and Sawaba – along with Guinea’s Sekou Touré – were alone among West African ruling parties in campaigning for ‘No’. They believed the CFA amounted to even less than the limited autonomy than Niger had before. Sawaba put the resources of the state towards its ‘No’ campaign. It even organised street violence against its opponents.  Bakary, in a powerful speech in late August, a month before the referendum, denounced French ‘blackmail’:

From Téra to Nguigmi, the refrain of independence must have its echoes in each village, in each hut…Tell everyone that independence is the end of backward colonialism with its economy of the slave trade, its plunder, its social injustice; it is the end of calculating values on the basis of people’s colour, it is the end of prejudice, it is the resurrection of our race.

French intelligence reports, now held at the National Colonial Archives at Aix-en-Provence, document France’s horror and anxiety that ‘if nothing is done, the traditional chiefs and hierarchy will follow Sawaba and the people will follow the charismatic Djibo Bakary’.

Enter Don Jean Colombani, a Corsican colonial administrator known as ‘the Bulldozer’. With weeks to go before the referendum Colombani arrived to orchestrate an extravagantly funded campaign for ‘Yes’, based on intimidation, and mobilized French paramilitary forces from Algeria and the widespread dropping of leaflets. According to Mamadou Djibo, a historian who until recently was Niger’s Minister for Higher Education, these leaflets threatened death or bombardment of communities that voted ‘No’ and warned that ‘Djibo Bakary will sell you out to the communists.’

Nine days before the plebiscite, the Bulldozer dismissed Bakary and stripped Sawaba of its ruling powers. It was Africa’s first modern coup d’etat. The date: 19 September 1958.

When the vote came, only Sekou Touré’s Guinea voted ‘No’ (and true to its word, France unleashed scorched earth reprisals as promised). Most other territories voted around 90% or more for ‘Yes’. In Niger it was different. Firstly, the turnout was very low (37%), secondly the vote for ‘Yes’ was only 75%. Mamadou Djibo, in his definitive history, observes a general pattern of bullying and intimidation and concludes the vote was rigged.

Why did France do this?

The answer is that Niger (unlike Guinea) was – and, crucially, remains – strategically important. Two reasons. First, its long borders with Algeria and the economic powerhouse Nigeria. Djibo Bakary in the party’s 1961 manifesto Reasons for Our Struggle (Les Raisons de notre lutte) quoted a French senator named Borg: “You must be mad if you think we French will just leave Niger. In losing Guinea, we lost wealth. But if we lose Niger, we lose Algeria, we open the door to Nasser [then socialist-leaning leader of Egypt], we allow the creation of a vast Muslim state from Lagos to the Algerian border”.

The second reason was Niger’s large uranium deposits which had been discovered just a year before in 1957 in the Saharan north of the country.  France’s transition to ‘nuclear energy independence’ in 1974 would be unthinkable without its holdings in Niger which, thanks to neo-colonial pressure, it has for much of the last fifty years extracted uranium at below-market prices. It is notable that the continuity of uranium supply was a major cause for concern by France and other European states after the 2023 coup.

Sawaba’s rival, the Parti Progressiste Nigérien (PPN), campaigned for ‘Yes’ and remained highly accommodating to French interests for the next two decades. It took power following a new election in December 1958 and immediately banned Sawaba.

Bakary left for Guinea and was not to return to Niger for the next 15 years. Many Sawaba leaders were arrested. Many more fled and so began the build-up of a resistance movement with its cadres training all over the world in Ghana, Algeria, China, Vietnam, the Soviet Union and Bulgaria.

Sawaba’s connection with the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and the Communist Party of China (CPC) had begun in 1954 when Abdoulaye Mamani, an organiser from Zinder who later became a celebrated novelist and poet, visited Beijing for a congress of the Federation Mondiale de la Jeunesse Démocratique (World Federation of Democratic Youth).

PRC funding was substantial – French intelligence estimated £1.5 million was donated in 1964 – and represented, in the words of Sawaba’s historian Klaas van Walraven, ‘China’s first violent attempt to gain a foothold in West Africa’. Walraven estimates that over 40 Sawaba cadres went to China for training.

The experience of Hassane Djibo, an agricultural clerk from Kollo near Niamey, may have been typical. Djibo’s route to Beijing was via Cairo, Karachi and Rangoon. On arrival he spent a month familiarising himself with guided tours of schools, factories and even the Peking Opera. Then it was off to Nanjing by train for six months of guerrilla training with combat drill. The camp, which was 15 kilometres outside the city and included an exercise ground, living quarters and a building referred to as the ‘School of the Chinese Revolution’. The recruits were taught in French.

Hassane Djibo’s notebook including notes from 42 political-military tutorials at Nanjing later fell into the hand of French and Nigerien intelligence. Mao’s principles of People’s War are paramount. There is much on the co-ordination between secret and open operations, and between rural and urban struggle. Practical aspects also included weapon-making, first aid, protection against gas. Other courses that may have been especially tailored included guerrilla warfare in desert conditions and preparations for coup d’etat. Evenings, as one might expect, were set aside for self-criticism sessions.

Hassane Djibo kept painstaking notes, ‘The large peasant masses are thrusting to free themselves from domination by imperialism and feudalism.’

From 1961 other Sawaba cadres in China took up positions as announcers and journalists at Radio Peking’s Hausa service. They also taught Hausa to Chinese and international cadres and acted as vital intermediaries between the PRC government and Djibo Bakary himself. They lived in a compound called ‘The African Fighter’. One of these announcers, a lorry driver from Zinder named Amadou Diop, would return to Niger in 1965, as we shall see, to undertake the most daring mission of all.

Much of the information about PRC activities comes from torture interrogations of captured Sawabists following the 1964 attempted invasion. Tragically, by the time Klaas van Walraven was able to conduct his landmark interviews with survivors in the 2000s, many of his confidants had memories blunted by years of brutalisation. And, as is not uncommon in colonial counterinsurgency, many official intelligence records have vanished. In the case of Sawaba, it is not only French records that are missing, reports by the British High Commission in Ghana have also disappeared from the national archives.

In 1963 Sawaba prepared a series of infiltrations from the west, south and east of the country. In the plan, PRC-trained cadre would direct units of 10-15 guerrillas to operate across the entire southern borders of Niger from west to east. The guerrillas would capture border posts, then move to occupy urban and rural centres with support of the peasantry, then on a signal the population would rise in support of the guerrilla. The operation was run by Bakary’s deputy Ousmane Dan Galadima who underwent at least two rounds of training in China. Finance came from the PRC to a Barclays account in Kano, northern Nigeria, where Ousmane was based, coming first to Geneva, then Brussels, then Barclays in Accra, before arriving in Kano.

By 1964 Sawaba was becoming strong again in Niger. French intelligence had assessed that if Djibo Bakary had returned (he was by now in Bamako, Mali, where the pro-socialist Modibo Keïta  was now in power) the pro-French PPN regime would collapse instantly. The government initiated a ruthless crackdown. In May, 35 Sawabists were arrested at a political rally in Djiratawa, a village near the south-central city of Maradi. A day later, 21 of them had died in an overcrowded prison cell from asphyxiation.

The French were concerned the deaths would increase support for Sawaba. The crackdown intensified. In July Niger’s international radio links were severed – almost certainly by Sawabists.

Then in September the Sawaba Political Bureau issued a historic communiqué launching armed action with seven paragraphs of justification. It had resolved: ‘

To assume its responsibilities before history by calling on the Nigerien people to take up arms (and) … join the ranks of the Nigerien freedom fighters united in the Democratic Front of the Homeland.’ And it concluded, ‘Forward for the liberation of the Nigerien homeland!’

The guerillas numbered only hundreds but clearly hoped to pick up thousands along the way. As Ousmane Dan Galadima told van Walraven in 2003, ‘our aim was to free the people from the French yoke’.

Sawaba aimed to establish a People’s Republic of Niger and create a Government of African Union along with Nkrumah’s Ghana and Touré’s Guinea. It was a plan, not for coup d’etat, but for a capture of power by and for the people – as might be expected from an organisation that originated as a social movement.

British and French intelligence concluded Sawaba was well-trained and operated under strict discipline. American intelligence concurred, citing Sawaba as ‘a major force in Niger’s politics.’ But by the time of the invasion, the PPN regime with their French advisers had had time to mobilise the population against the guerrilla. Reprisals were ferocious, many civilians were caught between both sides.

Hassane Djibo, the PRC-trained guerrilla told van Walraven that the hostile reception of the peasantry was a ‘bitter blow’. Many guerrillas were forced to hide in the countryside for weeks where they were chased and starved before capture. Of 240 Sawaba commandos, 136 were taken prisoner, a dozen or so killed, the rest fled back across the borders in retreat.

The PPN authorities’ response was swift and harsh. They knew of the invasion well in advance thanks not least to Sawaba’s inadvisably public communiqués. With French intelligence and military support, they had mobilised the peasantry for counterinsurgency. French police officers had remained in charge of state security and oversaw a programme of ruthless interrogation of captured Sawabists. The Nigerien authorities were also reported to receive assistance in interrogation techniques from Israeli military advisers flown in for the purpose from Tel Aviv.

On 12 October 1964, four commandos were sentenced to death for a border raid. They included Salle Dan Kollou who had trained in Nanjing. All were executed by firing squad the next day in Niamey before a crowd of over ten thousand press-ganged to attend by police loudspeaker. Earlier, the body of another rebel fighter was dragged to the capital’s police headquarters and put on display. Dandouna Aboubakar had been lynched by a peasant vigilante group in Birnin Konni. His mouth was stuffed full of sand, his head and face propped up on a rock, his body later moved to the parliament and left there to rot for three days.

The government assured the people there would be more to come, ‘Blood’s revenge will irresistibly appear. The lynching of the miserable adventurer Dandouna Aboubakar will be but the prologue to a lesson that will be terrible.’ Executions continued until December 1964 and had a devastating effect on Sawaba’s morale. The deterrent impact of fear among the whole population was overwhelming.

Despite this Sawaba went ahead with plans for a second invasion in 1965. Chinese instructors arrived in Nkrumah’s Ghana to continue the training of cadres who had returned from Nanjing. There were still 300 Sawabist active commandos in Ghana. The French embassy in Accra reported concerns about a second invasion.

Another event was to intervene.

Amadou Diop was a lorry driver from Zinder who combined socialist convictions with a deep faith in Sufi Islam. Diop left Niger in 1959 to avoid arrest and travelled first to North Vietnam and then to the PRC, where he worked as an announcer on Radio Peking’s Hausa Service. He then trained as a guerilla in Algeria and Ghana. In 1964 he had entered Niger as deputy to Dandouna Aboubakar, the Sawabist leader lynched by local people in Birnin Konni (see above). Diop was imprisoned but escaped to Ghana. There he met Djibo Bakary and discussed next steps.

In April 1965 Diop returned to Niger with a plan to assassinate President Hamani Diori. After an abortive effort at the airport, Diop led his unit of five cadres to the Great Mosque in Niamey where Diori and two of his closest cabinet ministers were praying inside an official enclosure in front of a crowd of 20,000 worshippers.

As Diori kneeled, Diop threw a grenade at the President. It landed three rows behind him, killing the four-year-old son of a government official and injuring several others. Bystanders stopped Diop throwing a second grenade and wrestled him to the ground. Diop was stripped naked and taken to the detention centre in the Presidential complex where he was interrogated and tortured over many days with electric shocks – possibly with French officers using their ‘Battle of Algiers’ equipment designed to maximise torture without killing.

Eventually Diop submitted and gave details of names and plans. An enormous clampdown ensued. The French embassy in Niamey was soon reporting that ‘the prisons overflow with Sawabists’ (les prisons regorgent de Sawabistes). Thousands had been arrested. A second invasion attempt pencilled for June 1965 was abandoned. Sawaba had taken a beating from which it could never recover.

Sawaba’s armed strategy was, in the view of its historian van Walraven, carefully prepared, well thought out, effectively co-ordinated. Yes, it has gone down in history as foolish and doomed, but Bakary and Sawaba were right to think they had a chance against the pro-French PPN government of Niger. But its weakness lay in its origins as a social movement which focussed on political agitation and campaigning not military engagement. A millenarian strand in Sawaba’s collective mindset contributed to its over-optimistic expectations.

One veteran, a trainee in North Vietnam, Soumana Idrissa, told van Walraven, ‘we fought with courage, not weapons’. Bakary’s chief lieutenants, Abdoulaye Mamani and Ousmane Dan Galadima had already severely criticised the leader for overestimating Sawaba’s popularity and underestimating Diori’s strength. The well-trailed communiqués announcing the invasion made defeat almost pre-ordained. The overthrow of its principal sponsor Kwame Nkrumah in Ghana in early 1966 spelled the end of Sawaba as an insurgent force. But not quite as a political one.

In 1974 Hamani Diori was toppled in a military coup led by Seyni Kountché. Hundreds of Sawaba prisoners were released. Posthumous pardons were issued for those executed. For a time Kountché expelled French troops and repudiated the defence treaty (like the current military government of Niger) and even moved to recognise for the first time the People’s Republic of China. For van Walraven, Kountché’s recognition represented ‘the historical culmination of older struggles, even if his régime rejected any revolutionary transformation of society’.

Before long, released Sawabists resumed political activity. And not long after that, the arrests resumed. Many were held without charge in a remote prison camp in the Saharan northeast of the country. Abdoulaye Mamani, who had made the first contacts with China in 1954, was held in solitary confinement in an underground cell. He devoted his time to writing a historical novel on African resistance to the barbaric 1899 French invasion of Niger. He wrote the book on strips of toilet paper making use of cracks of light that filtered through the air vent.

Mamani’s novel celebrated Queen Sarraounia who fought the notorious Voulet-Chanoine expedition at the Battle of Lougou on 13 May 1899. In his version Sarraounia drove the French genocidaire Paul Voulet mad and defeated his force by harnessing the powers of the ancestral spirits of the forest. This alternative historical fiction – in reality the French invasion killed tens of thousands of Africans in a conquest that was total (although Voulet did himself get killed) – made Sarraounia into a hero of Pan-African resistance, a legendary symbol of national pride who is still today celebrated every year on Nigérien independence day.

In 1986 Mamani worked with Mauritanian film director Med Hondo to create the influential award-winning movie Sarraounia – one of the great political films in world cinema. [And just at time of writing – on 4 July 2024 – the President of the CNSP General Abdourahamane Tiani announced the creation of a new ‘Sarauniya Mangou’ medal  for acts of patriotism, commitment or sacrifice in the cause of national sovereignty].

It is notable that when Klaas van Walraven conducted interviews with Sawabists in the early 2000s, many told him that Nigeriens were still living in 1900 – a reference to Niger’s continuing subordination to French colonial power.

Last September on the eve of the 65th anniversary of the 1958 referendum – and constitutional coup d’etat – the Secretary of the London-based Collectif de la Nigérienne Diaspora (Collective of the Nigérien Diaspora – CND), Kader Mossi Maiga gave testimony to the All Party Parliamentary Group on Afrikan Reparations at the British Houses of Parliament. At the heart of his presentation Maiga paid lively tribute to the memory of Djibo Bakary whom he called the Father of the Resistance against Françafrique (French neo-colonial domination), the leader of the Sawaba party which agitated for meaningful independence.

The authors thank Mounkaila Sanda, Ibro Abdou and Klaas van Walraven and others unnamed who read early drafts of this article but are in no way connected to any errors there may be. This long-read is an expanded version of an essay that first appeared here.  

Dr Sahidi Bilan is a philosopher, university lecturer and Senior Adviser of the London-based Collectif de la Nigérienne Diaspora (Collective of the Nigérien Diaspora – CND). Rob Lemkin is a documentary filmmaker whose films include ‘African Apocalypse’, a BBC2/BFI feature documentary on the 1899 French invasion of Niger. He is currently at work on a  sequel which will be made with a group of Nigerien cineastes.

Featured Photograph: Sr Capt. Li Fu-kun, Explosives Expert and Lt. Yang Te-yeh, Interpreter, supervising a trainee practising the use of explosives.

Further Reading

Bakary, Djibo (1992), Silence! On décolonise. Itinéraire politique et syndical d’un militant africain. L’Harmattan.

Bilan, Sidi (2023).  Comment l’Afrique a asservi la France.

Bilan, Sidi (2023).  La France doit sortir du déni.

Bilan, Sidi (2023). Réfléchissons

Bilan, Sidi (2023). “Seuls les imbéciles ne changent pas!”

Cabestan, J.P., 2020. Beijing’s ‘Going Out’ Strategy and Belt and Road Initiative in the Sahel: The case of China’s growing presence in Niger. In China’s Global Reach (pp. 131-152). Routledge.

Chaffard, G. (1965) Les carnets secrets de la décolonisation. Paris: Calmann-Lévy.

Djibo, Mamoudou (2001), Les transformations politiques au Niger à la veille de l’indépendance. L’Harmattan.

Djibo, Mamoudou (2003), Les enjeux politiques dans la colonie Niger (1944-1960). Autrepart (27).

Hamani, Djibo. (2012) Quatorze siecles d’histoire du Soudan Central : Niger du VIIè au XXè siecle. Niger: Editions Alpha.

Idrissa, Abdourahmane., Decalo, Samuel  (2012). Historical Dictionary of Niger. Estados Unidos: Scarecrow Press.

Idrissa, K., (1988). La formation de la colonie du Niger: des mythes à la politique du” mal nécessaire”(1880-1922) (Doctoral dissertation, Paris 7).

Lemkin, Rob (2021), Meet Mr Kurtz. Times Literary Supplement.

Lemkin, Rob (2023), In May Jirgui. London Review of Books.

Lemkin, Rob (2024), Conrad in Niger: African Apocalypse in Conrad’s Cultural Legacy (Bloomsbury 2024, in press)

Lemkin, Rob (2025), Testimony is Resistance in Resonance of Conrad (Berghahn 2024, forthcoming)

Lemkin, Rob and Femi Nylander (2021), Colonial Accountability in Niger. Le Monde Diplomatique.

Lemkin, Rob and Femi Nylander (2021), Massacres de la mission Voulet-Chanoine. Quelle justice aujourd’hui ? Afrique XXI.

Mossi, Kader, Sahidi Bilan and Rob Lemkin (2023). We Nigeriens want to be respected. Morning Star.

Mossi, Kader, Sahidi Bilan and Rob Lemkin (2023). Nous, Nigériennes et Nigériens, voulons être respecté·es Politis.

Mossi, Kader, Sahidi Bilan and Rob Lemkin (2023). Nous Nigériens voulons être respectés Le Sahel, Niamey.

Nylander, Femi and Rob Lemkin (2021). Will Macron’s Commission face up to all of France’s colonial atrocities? The Guardian

Parti Sawaba. (1961), Pour l’Indépendance effective du Niger: Les raisons de notre lutte. Bureau du Parti Sawaba: Bamako, 15 Jan. 1961.

Schneidermann, D., 2023. Cinq têtes coupées. Massacres coloniaux : enquête sur la fabrication de ­l’oubli. Seuil, Paris

Walraven, K. van (2013) The yearning for relief: a history of the Sawaba movement in Niger. Leiden ; Brill.

Walraven, Klaas Van (2017), Le désir de calme. L’histoire du mouvement Sawaba au Niger. Trans. A. Idrissa. Open Edition Books.

Further Viewing

African Apocalypse (2020) film in Hausa with ENG subtitles – free to watch

African Apocalypse (2020) film in English / Hausa with subtitles – VOD

Whistleblowing and political economy – the South African case

In recent years we have become familiar with the great sacrifices of whistleblowers. In the global context, Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden have exposed the terrible crimes of the empire. Recently released publisher and activist, Julian Assange, was also incarcerated due to his role in aiding whistleblowers. Ugljesa Radulovic argues that the experiences of whistleblowers in Africa are less well known. Yet, Radulovic identifies that South African whistleblowers have been subjected to vicious, and sometimes, deadly reprisals, similar to that of their counterparts in the West.

By Ugljesa Radulovic

The world has been acquainted with the sacrifices of whistleblowers for some time now. In the global context, Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden have exposed the operations of power and crimes of the empire. Manning’s bombshell disclosure of sensitive military material to WikiLeaks would become known as ‘The Iraq War Logs’ and the ‘Afghan War Diaries’ detailing mass civilian casualties and human rights abuses which were a direct result of US military intervention. As a reward, Manning was sentenced to thirty-five years in prison but was ‘fortunate’ enough to be pardoned after seven years of incarceration.

Snowden is presently one of the best-known US whistleblowers. He worked for the US National Security Agency (NSA) via external contractors, where he disclosed several highly classified NSA documents to the public, implicating US surveillance structures in immoral dealings. He has been characterised as a dissenter and a deviant, with US Council of Foreign Relations president, Richard Haass, even arguing that Snowden’s disclosure did not qualify as whistleblowing but rather as a policy issue. Haass’ view is, of course, wrong, as it has long been accepted that the act of whistleblowing entails the disclosure of illicit, immoral or unlawful practices, under the control of one’s employer, to parties that can effect action. Snowden has been in exile in Russia since 2013.

Australian publisher and activist, Julian Assange, also fell victim to reprisals due to his role in aiding the two whistleblowers mentioned above in communicating their messages. Assange founded WikiLeaks in 2006 as a non-profit publisher of leaked documents. WikiLeaks became known for its role in exposing violations of human rights and civil liberties across the world. It was crucial in making Manning and Snowden’s evidence freely available to the global public. Assange, as a consequence of his civil activism through WikiLeaks, became a political prisoner. He was incarcerated in Belmarsh prison, in southeast London, from 2019 and was inhumanely confined to his cell for 23 hours every single day. On 24 June 2024, Assange was freed from British imprisonment after striking a plea deal with the US Justice Department, having plead guilty to the US Espionage Act.

The narratives of some whistleblowers have even become the subject of high-budget Hollywood films. Two earlier US whistleblowers, Frank Serpico and Karen Silkwood, each received their eponymous films. Serpico was a detective at the New York City Police Department (NYPD). He blew the whistle on systemic corruption within the NYPD, initially following the internal procedure and then going public when he was met with no internal response. After his disclosure, Serpico was shot in the face (yet survived) during a routine heroin raid, with no NYPD police officers making a 1013 call – a call which signals that an officer is in trouble. Serpico was accompanied by other NYPD officers, though he had lost track of them during the raid. Frank Serpico has long suspected that it was a set-up by his fellow police officers to have him murdered.

Karen Silkwood exposed a horrific corporate crime in the US. She worked for a nuclear fuel production facility in Oklahoma. Silkwood uncovered that she was exposed to plutonium, due to abusive and dangerous working conditions in the plant. She compiled the necessary documentation in order to make her disclosure public but was killed as her car was run off the road, en route to her meeting with people that were to aid her in her disclosure. No documents were found in her car after the crash, with many believing that it was an assassination.

The context of South Africa

These cases give insight into the aftermath experienced by whistleblowers. Though, it must be noted that these examples are framed within the West and exclusively reflect high stakes disclosures under the profile of flag-bearing capitalism. What these cases do indicate is that there are striking similarities in responses to whistleblowers’ disclosures, grounded in an attempt to protect the Western military-industrial complex, large corporations, and corrupt policing agencies. A clear fallout pattern emerges in the political economy of whistleblowing across many sectors in the Western world, characterised by career ending reprisals, lengthy legal affairs accompanied by imprisonment, and the threat of assassination.

In the context of South Africa, a state with dramatic class inequality represented by having the world’s highest Gini coefficient at 0.63, there is no exemption from punishment for whistleblowers either. The experiences of South African whistleblowers have been marred by all of the forms of reprisals experienced by whistleblowers in the West, with whistleblowers being subjected to retaliation more consistently, and to a more severe degree, than in the West.

The disclosures of South African whistleblowers have been dominating news headlines for an extended period of time. It is, however, important to note that the act of disclosure only became commonplace in South Africa after the country’s transition to democracy. This is, in part, due to a new Constitution adopted on 3 February 1997. With a new Constitution, legislation was also revamped with a focus on democratic rights for all of the state’s citizens. As a consequence, the Protected Disclosures Act no. 26 of 2000 (PDA) was implemented. This might very well have contributed to greater prevalence rates of disclosure in the country. However, the PDA, it would later be determined, was riddled with loopholes. These loopholes meant that whistleblowers were inadequately protected by legislation.

The PDA was, thus, amended by way of the Protected Disclosures Amendment Act no. 5 of 2017 (PDAA). The amendment, despite having implemented provisions for the broadening of whistleblower protection, is still lacklustre. It fails to meet Transparency International’s best practice guidelines for whistleblowing legislation, complying with only five of the twenty criteria.

Glaringly, under the PDAA, one can only claim a protected disclosure if an employer has charged the individual with a legal contravention. The PDAA’s definition is also far too narrow, which means that the scope of behaviours that qualify as whistleblowing, under the PDAA’s provisions, is limited. Furthermore, individuals that are connected to whistleblowers or are mistaken for whistleblowers are also not subject to protection under the PDAA. The PDAA does not provide protection to whistleblowers for workplace bullying, blacklisting and economic detriments. It also does not provide for explicit obligations for financial compensation, in the event of a whistleblower suffering financial detriments as a consequence of their disclosure. Legislation also fails to mandate financial penalties for the lack of adequate whistleblowing policies. In terms of the threat of physical retaliation, the Protection from Harassment Act and South African criminal law account for some degree of protection, albeit insufficient.

These loopholes persist because reforming the law would mean that criminals would be held to account. Since those perpetrating the crimes find themselves at the very top of hierarchal structures, they possess the capacity to influence the state and are often part of the government of that very state. Reform of whistleblower protection legislation would mean that a mechanism for transparency and accountability would be reinforced. Such a mechanism would work against the interests of those perpetrating the crime – those in the top echelons of public and private institutions and businesses.

Reprisals as evidence

History has taught us that the benefit of a revamped constitution, with at least some form of whistleblower protection legislation implemented, has resulted in a higher frequency of reported wrongdoings. Under apartheid, the frequency of reporting such cases was insignificant in comparison to the democratic state of South Africa. But, with makeshift legislation in place, the South African whistleblower is left open to various forms of retaliation. Such retaliation has transpired in myriad forms –  work-related, social, lawfare, and physical.

Work-related retaliation has been executed through work-related ostracisation, disciplinary proceedings, ensuring whistleblowers’ loss of work, and rendering whistleblowers unemployable. Social retaliation has taken the form of social ostracisation, labelling, and even public reprimands. Retaliatory lawfare has entailed the use of delaying strategies, accruing whistleblowers’ legal costs, and the detainment of whistleblowers. The worst of reprisals – physical retaliation – has manifested in the presence of the threat of potential harm to, or the actual assassination of, a whistleblower.

As such, these reprisals have only confirmed an absolute imbalance in the power dynamics between the whistleblowers and the corporate and political criminals. The result has been a prolonged period of suffering by South African whistleblowers. This shows that those with power are able to exert their will over the powerless, whistleblowers in this case, particularly when the powerholders are the perpetrators of crime.

Nico Alant is one such whistleblower, whose suffering lasted twelve years. His struggle commenced on the eve of the triple transition, as the apartheid government was facing mounting political pressure. To stimulate investment, the ‘Financial Rand’ was introduced, trading at a discount to the regular Rand. Some individuals illicitly exploited this two-tier currency system and therefore quickly accumulated substantial wealth, draining the country’s foreign exchange reserves. Alant reported his concerns and faced severe reprisals in the form of work-related retaliation, being sidelined, labelled as a troublemaker and was, thus, rendered virtually unemployable. With a relatively peaceful transition to a democratic state, capital-driven opportunists arose to occupy key positions throughout public and private enterprise. With freshly minted opportunists and a democratic constitution, it is at this point in South African history that the frequency of reported wrongdoing rapidly increased. So too did the retaliation.

Work-related retaliation continued to be an extremely common fallout arising out of disclosure. Disciplinary hearings have been commonly used to terrorise whistleblowers. Simphiwe Mayisela, who exposed improprieties within Africa’s largest state-owned asset manager – the Public Investment Corporation (PIC) – was suspended without charge and faced internal disciplinary action. South African Airways whistleblower, Cynthia Stimpel, faced the same fate, as did National Prosecuting Authority (NPA) whistleblower Glynnis Breytenbach. Ecobank whistleblower, Altu Sadie, lost his job. Many whistleblowers have been rendered unemployable, just like Nico Alant before them. Sadie, Mayisela, and Trillian’s Bianca Goodson are just a few of the many examples of whistleblowers whose careers have been irreversibly tarnished.

Ostracisation also starts in the workplace. It comes from friends and acquaintances alike. Stimpel, after her disclosure, experienced people distancing themselves from her, primarily from a fear of being associated to her. With this, a spillover occurs which affects every facet of the whistleblower’s life. It manifests as social retaliation, enacted through social ostracisation and negative labelling of the whistleblower. One peculiar case of social retaliation in South Africa was the public reprimand that Mayisela experienced. In testifying at the PIC Commission of Inquiry, he was publicly reprimanded for not following the official reporting protocol and for sharing PIC documents with the police. Yet, were it not for his disclosure, revelations regarding wrongdoing at the PIC would not have come to light. He left the PIC Commission of Inquiry feeling embarrassed after experiencing this form of social retaliation.

It gets progressively worse for South African whistleblowers. Retaliatory lawfare is commonly utilised by criminals to turn the experience of a whistleblower into a protracted one. Essentially, retaliatory lawfare is the use of “hostile legal action” against a whistleblower in order to extend their suffering. This has been a common retaliatory strategy utilised in the West, with a recent case in Switzerland an example of this. An anonymous whistleblower disclosed information revealing that Credit Suisse opened several accounts for individuals linked to criminal activities. The scale of the disclosure is enormous, providing irrefutable evidence of Credit Suisse clients linked to “torture, drug trafficking, money laundering, corruption and other serious crimes” being in possession of ill-gained wealth, with the bank keeping the wealth safe for the criminals. This indicates that the bank has not conducted its due diligence, and has ‘indulged’ in the illegally acquired money. As a response to the disclosure, Switzerland’s Federal Prosecutor’s Office has launched an investigation to identify the whistleblower, in order to charge them with economic espionage. This, of course, is a trumped-up charge that would serve the purpose of silencing any further claims the whistleblower were to make while also discrediting the whistleblower. Unsurprisingly, the Swiss government has a poor track record of persecuting banking whistleblowers, as illustrated in the highly unethical attempt to uncover the identity of an anonymous whistleblower.

In South Africa, trumped-up charges against a whistleblower are a common occurrence. Mosilo Mothepu was accused of multiple fabricated charges by her former employer. In attempting to clear her name, it resulted in her amassing R1.3 million in legal expenses. These expenses are one of the primary motivations standing behind the use of retaliatory lawfare. NPA whistleblower, Breytenbach, accrued R14 million in legal fees. Stimpel also spent an extended period of time and money with a labour lawyer (despite the fees being covered by a supportive non-governmental organisation). Moreover, the strategy of utilising hostile legal action also serves the purpose of delaying a final outcome, often forcing the whistleblower to abandon their course of action and succumb to the demands of the party responsible for the wrongdoing. This perversion of the legal system can even go as far as being used as a tool to detain whistleblowers, again – on trumped-up charges.

But, the pinnacle of whistleblower retaliation manifests in a physical form, akin to the experiences of Serpico and Silkwood. Physical retaliation against whistleblowers, or the very threat of it, has presented itself as a frighteningly common occurrence in South Africa. Sometimes it is merely the presence of such a threat that debilitates whistleblowers, as was the case with Mothepu who had to install additional security measures in her home to ensure her personal safety. In many cases, it results in the worst possible outcome for the whistleblower – death.

Such was the case with Mbombela FIFA World Cup stadium scandal whistleblower, Jimmy Mohlala, who was killed in front of his home, with his son being injured in the attack. Moss Phakoe faced the same fate after blowing the whistle on corruption at the Bojanala municipality in the North West Province. Moses Tshake and Philemon Ngwenya blew the whistle on the fraudulent diversion of funds that were intended for the empowerment of black farmers. Tshake was kidnapped and tortured, and succumbed to his injuries in hospital, while Ngwenya was killed at his home. Babita Deokaran is now a famous whistleblower who was in the midst of disclosing procurement fraud in the Gauteng province’s Department of Health. She was shot multiple times after dropping her child off at school. She has since become a symbol for whistleblower martyrdom in South Africa.

Insights gained

What do these cases tell us about the state of whistleblowing in South Africa, and by extension capitalist Africa? First and foremost, there is an obvious power imbalance between those that perpetrate the wrongdoing and those that attempt to remedy it. Despite blowing the whistle in an effort to serve the public good, whistleblowers remain at the mercy of those they reported on – individuals who possess social and economic capital, and thus possessing the capacity to exert their will over the whistleblowers. In some cases, the wrongdoing is remedied but the criminals tend to remain at large.

In examining the problem specific to the South African context, it is evident that the whistleblowers’ predicament also resides in legislation not having adequate provisions in place, provisions with the capacity to police the powerholders. In the absence of adequate legislative provisions, a different political economy is needed to reform the law as the current system makes effective law reform unlikely.

There has, however, been some movement on this front in South Africa. The Department of Justice and Correctional Services recently called for recommendations for the review of whistleblower protection legislation, which signals intent from at least one department of the South African government. Civil society organisations concerned with supporting whistleblowers continue, through a coordinated effort, to plea for the revision of legislation. Yet, several political forces need to align for effective and speedy reform to occur, comprising multiple units of the state (inclusive of independent state institutions), along with social movements. Since blowing the whistle serves the public good, it is undeniable that private interests will also need to signal for whistleblower protection reform.

Where does this leave us?

In conclusion, as all legislative reform is a lengthy process, whistleblowers will continue to be inadequately protected by legislation in the interim. They will continue to rely on civil society to offer them support with practical measures such as advocacy, physical protection, legal aid, financial aid, and guidance. This quandary is arguably more than just an issue of legislation. It is a structural problem, one where absolute power corrupts absolutely. A major problem for redress of structure also presents itself – it is, as David Whyte and Jörg Wiegratz argue, “capitalist states are accomplices to criminal and fraudulent capital”. Thus, initiatives to address issues of corruption, such as strengthening whistleblower protection laws (in this case), need to act in opposition to neoliberal political economy of which South African is a prime example.

This can be achieved through consolidating “cultural and political-economic resistance” to neoliberalism, though this will inevitably be met with confrontation. Such confrontation would emerge from corporations that would cite legal privileges, ones that are designed by law and politics to specifically allow corporate criminals to act with impunity. Yet, even with capitalism’s moral economy, which encompasses a broad scale of social practices, being corrupt and socially destructive, pro-social morals manage to exist in this environment. The actions of whistleblowers, speaking truth to power, in capitalist South Africa, Africa, and the West, are powerful examples of how a different morality can triumph.

Ugljesa Radulovic is a Senior Postdoctoral Research Fellow in the Department of Sociology at the University of Johannesburg, South Africa.

Featured Photograph: Vigil for murdered whistleblower Babita Deokaran in Johannesburg (Fani Mahuntsi/Gallo Imagess via Getty Images).

Smartphones and dance-moves – how the anti-people legislation in Kenya was beaten by the people

Angela Chukunzira writes about a protest movement in Kenya that has changed the country. The current regime has constantly bowed to western imperialism and the Finance Bill was an effort to offset Kenya’s debt to the Bretton Woods Institutions by imposing heavy taxation and economic hardships on the poor. Armed with smartphones and dance moves, Gen-Z took to the streets to redefine Kenyan protest culture.

By Angela Chukunzira 

In May, there were public discussions on the Finance Bill and although concerns were raised on taxation of essential services and other issues connected it, public participation became a facade and concerns of taxpayers were ignored. This was further fuelled by the arrogance of the ruling class and their loyalty to President William Ruto as voting was along party lines. Although this has had some direct consequences on some of the businesses of those supporting the legislation being looted, this serves as a stark reminder to foreground public participation and that parliament should serve as a representative of the will of the people. The current regime has constantly and consistently bowed to western imperialism as observed recently with the ‘peacekeeping’ mission sent to Haiti, and the Finance Bill which was written to offset Kenya’s debt to the Bretton Woods Institutions by imposing heavy taxation on a citizenry that is facing economic hardships.

Gen-Z powered protests

The controversial bill sparked nationwide protests over the past two weeks. The Bill itself was just a tip of the iceberg. There were several underlying issues that have been escalated anger among the citizens and more so, leading the youth into despair.  This hopelessness was enough to mobilise across class and ethnicities. Armed with smartphones and dance moves, the youth took to the streets to redefine Kenyan protest culture. A creative mix of the old and new. TikTok met the streets creatively worded placards were raised, and fearless youth turned out in their massive numbers. The plunder, rot and destruction of Kenyan society could no longer be hidden.

The role of education became apparent and crucial in raising consciousness among this generations. Some of the books that were studied in high school literature served as a reminder and an inspiration of the events of the country. Indeed, the role of literature cannot be underestimated in the struggle. It has made legislators think of the education system and revealed how the new imperialist-backed curriculum  is indeed a ploy to control and de-radicalise the coming younger generations.

Protests were led by the fearless Gen-Z (those born between 1997 and 2012). We witnessed a new crop of protesters. They irritated and shook power to its core specifically because it became difficult to divide them, especially across class. So much so that a legislator criticised them for using Ubers to get to the protests, recording on their iPhones and eating KFC fast foods after the protests. It was a mockery to divide the protestors across class lines, but it had the opposite effect, of strengthening cross class solidarity. It was also ironic to mention Apple, Uber and KFC, global corporations as players in a protest taking place in the Global South.

One thing that struck me was the identity that the protestors chose. Many opted not to self-identify as activists. While this may seem baffling as anyone who advocates for social change could be termed as an activist, but this attitude is rooted in the history of NGOisation of struggle in Kenya. Where resistance has become a career. So, Gen-Z has witnessed those who speak truth to power only to retreat and become apolitical with age. Instead, the new protestors remained defiant, with constant references that they want to fix their own country, not because someone is paying them to be ‘activists’ and in the streets.

The need to fix the country and the extraordinary anger we have seen is also because of the futile capitalist dream that was sold to us by the older generations and the education system has proved to be utterly hollow – the lie that if you study and get a decent higher education, you will secure a job and enjoy a degree of material success. Now that these dreams have stubbornly refused to materialise, the young face  multiple crises, as Kenya faces capitalist and imperial plunder. The protest served as a space to vent these deep grievances.

Ruto’s regime has been insistent on youth exportation of labour to solve the issue of unemployment locally. The young challenged this notion demanding that they want to work in their own country, and decent work should be created locally. There has also been a narrative that digital jobs are lucrative, yet it is the very expansion of capitalism behind technology which has created a more precarious workforce.

The role of social media and new technologies cannot be downplayed either. They have played an important  role not only in mobilising but also in spreading information. On one hand, Artificial Intelligence played a major role in the creation of images and songs that were used in mobilising for the protests. On 22 June, there was a 10-hour long conversation on X(Twitter) that was used to mobilise and inform on the finance bill. There were translations of the Finance Bill in other Kenyan languages and sign language on Instagram and TikTok. Traditional media was also used in mobilising the symbols of the Kenyan flag at the protests, in songs and pamphlets.

From local to global solidarity 

Due to police brutality, protestors were heavily teargassed and live bullets were used to disperse crowds. For those who died and were injured a solidarity fund was quickly set-up to help their families manage their medical and funeral expenses. The fund, on 28 June 2024, raised slightly over KES24, 000,000 which is approximately US$186,000. The distribution of the money to the families is being accounted for with digital receipts being posted for public accountability on X. While this culture of pulling resources together is applauded and has been inherent in our culture since the early years of independence, it has also exposed the failure of our government with the collapse of  social services. Specifically, the collapsed of the public health system.

One of the more positive outcomes of the protests is how younger people are coming to the realisation that neoliberal institutions of justice and human rights exist only to serve the interests of capital. Reflecting from what has happened in Palestine, Sudan and Congo being ignored by the international community, has exposed where their interests lie. These conversations were mostly taking place online when questioning why the international community did not come to our aid with solidarity statements that condemn the use of force by the state.

Post on X (Twitter) roughly translates as, ‘Do not talk about the international community because they are the same ones watching Congo and Palestine like a cinema. We are on our own.’

Although Ruto withdrew the Bill on 26 June, it was part of a strategy to demobilise the protestors. The military was deployed on the streets on 27 June and the numbers of protestors were significantly reduced due to fear of having witnessed deaths and fatal injuries during the earlier protests. However, we cannot downplay the role that the youth-led movement has played in raising awareness on fundamental issues affecting the country. Whether or not the movement will continue mobilising beyond this week, there have been victories and a rise of youth-led protests once again. We celebrate this.

Angela Chukunzira is an activist based at the Ukombozi Library in Nairobi. Her research interests include social movements, the uses of technologies and food sovereignty.

Featured Photograph: Tens of thousands take to the streets against the finance bill (Twitter/@Honeyfarsafi).

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