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Uprising in Kenya – thousands protest austerity and struggle for liberation

A new chapter in Kenya’s history is being written as young people of Gen-Z express their discontent, undergo political awakening, and collectively protest for a life free of poverty and humiliation. In their messages and actions, Gen-Z protesters have made it clear that their demands for change go beyond policy reforms and challenge the heart of global power relations and capitalism. As Kenyans take to the streets again to exercise their democratic rights, Zachary Patterson reflects on the context, challenges, and successes of the past 10 days of protests.   

By Zachary Patterson

Broadcasted for the world to see through TikTok live stream before quickly going viral across several other social media platforms, a video shared early Tuesday, 25 June, by a young Kenyan TikTok user showed a group of anti-riot police – teargas cannisters in hand and truncheons drawn –surrounded by hundreds of peacefully protesting citizens, forcing the officers to retreat to their vehicle and speed away from the Central Business District (CBD) intersection. The nearly two-minute video shows the protestors jointly chanting “we are peaceful” as they rushed to the intersection to encircle the officers, defuse hostilities, and prevent further violent repression. Other images of unity and collective action portray siblings protecting each other from unlawful arrests, groups of young protesters caring for one another amidst clouds of teargas, and Supreme Court staff and lawyers distributing water to protesters as they marched towards their destination, where they would seize and occupy parliament. These photos and videos of collective people-power are just a few of hundreds – if not thousands – of images and clips shared by Kenyan protesters on that historical day as they took to the streets of Nairobi, Kisumu, Mombasa, Kakamega, Nakuru, and Kericho to resist and challenge parliament’s approval of President William Ruto’s austerity Finance Bill, which introduced unpopular tax proposals and levies that would further increase an already onerous cost of living for the majority of citizens.

Public outrage and collective demonstrations opposing Finance Bill 2024 began the week prior, when on Tuesday, 18 June, hundreds of primarily Gen-Z Kenyans gathered to protest the legislation in Nairobi CBD. As Rasna Warah explains, the events marked the first time since Kenya’s independence that a spontaneous and organic people-driven movement took to the streets in droves to oppose political leadership and IMF-influenced austerity policies. Protesters were met in the streets by brute police force, resulting in the arrests of nearly 200 peaceful protesters including the detainment of Njeri Mwangi, a member of the Mathare Social Justice Centre Secretariat.

In the hours and days that followed, more Kenyans raised their voices against the punitive Finance Bill and the government’s violation of citizens’ constitutionally protected right to peaceful and unarmed assembly and protest. Mobilized through social media under hashtags #OccupyParliament and #RejectFinanceBill2024, the politically amorphous yet unified movement quickly grew, collectively rallying around issues of concern and demands for change rather than ethnic divisions historically cultivated and exploited by the governing class for political control. On the morning of 19 June, mass protests erupted across the country and following the murder of Rex Kanyike Masai by riot police and the use of live ammunition during a peaceful demonstration on the afternoon of 20 June, the movement launched ‘7 Days of Rage’ – a week of planned protest actions that include #OccupyStateHouse and #totalshutdown among others to express their undying determination in opposing Finance Bill 2024 and challenging the unaccountable leadership of the Ruto administration.

For the many who fought a Western-supported KANU dictatorship for decades, such as NARC Party leader Martha Karua, the Generation Z challenge to the oppressive Kenya Kwanza regime is a continuation of the struggle to liberate the country from foreign influence and revolutionize the status quo of politicians favoring their own interests.

A historical, fearless moment

Public discontent reached new heights on Tuesday, 25 June, as young Kenyans – many of whom are directly impacted by these financial measures – were joined by other community members and activists to show their disapproval and desire for change in the streets of cities across the country. As the day progressed, what started as a mass protest against a proposed tax bill morphed into widespread dissatisfaction with President Ruto – namely his use of colonial-era violence against peaceful protesters and the announcement of the arrival of 400 Kenyan police officers in Haiti to terrorize the population of the Caribbean Island in the service of US imperialism.

In the early hours of 25 June, thousands of anti-Finance Bill protesters surrounded the parliament building in the capital city to shut down procedures to approve the government’s plans to raise more than US$2.7 billion in new tax revenue from workers and rural poor, as dictated by a new financial agreement with the IMF. Despite threats of police violence, internet shutdowns, and the arrests of hundreds of protesters in the days before – including the abductions of many known bloggers, activists, and social media political influencers the previous night – protesters refused to be intimidated and courageously stormed parliament in a direct action that echoed louder than ever before the youth’s political consciousness and their demands for radical social change.

In a country with a history of Western-backed authoritarian leadership carrying out disappearances of left-wing students and workers – most notably done by former president Daniel Arap Moi’s Special Branch – and the recent memory of bloody confrontation and the deaths of 75 protesters during the opposition party-led anti-austerity protests last year, Kenyans are fully aware of the dangers of opposing belligerent and brutal power and have remained fearless.

The mass demonstration on Tuesday did not end without violence, casualties, and property damage. Yet many of those active within the movement have reported that government-paid goons disrupted protests, instigating violence and looting – an infiltration tactic known all too well by many organizers and activists. Social media posts and witness accounts suggest that once again disorder, chaos, and division are what the ruling class seems intent on provoking during peaceful protests that challenge the status quo. In a comment given to Socialist Worker, one protester stated that ‘we are the flames burning up the country and we will not stand still while we are robbed and made poor’.

Despite challenges, Gen-Z influenced a historic moment and a unified movement that overcame all ethnic , social and cultural differences, and defied all structural obstacles to collectively demand dignity and justice.

While numbers are contested, as the day ended it was reported that at least 14 protesters had lost their lives and over 200 people were being treated for gunshot wounds and other injuries at Nairobi’s central Kenyatta National Hospital. It’s expected that thousands of others were injured across the country, and hundreds arrested. State-led violence continued into the night as Kenyan Defense Forces were deployed to harass and assault citizens as they returned home, and residents of Githurai suffered an evening of police terror that left a yet unconfirmed number of citizens dead. The day ended with President Ruto’s public address where he called protesters treasonous and vowed to quell what he called ‘a grave threat to national security.’

All eyes on Kenya

In a sudden reversal on Wednesday, 26 June, President Ruto announced plans to withdraw the controversial Finance Bill. In a statement given to the press, the president said that the people of Kenya have spoken loudly in opposition to the bill. However, according to Article 115 (1) of the Constitution of Kenya, the president does not have the authority to withdraw a bill, and instead can only assent or return the bill to parliament with recommendations. In fact, under Article 115 (6), even if the president refuses to sign the bill, after 14 days the bill automatically becomes law. Like the empty promises offered during his 2022 presidential campaign that assured voters of his platform to ease economic hardships for the poor and working class, Ruto seems to have done nothing more than provide Kenyans and the international community with political theatre.

In its simplest understanding, the government’s 2024 tax bill will drastically increase the cost of foods and other basic needs. This tax increase comes by suggestion from the IMF as a way to increase state revenue, offset the budget deficit, and lessen the national debt. These are not taxes on the rich or the wealth of the bosses, but instead on daily staples such as bread and milk, as well as fuel and hygiene or menstrual products. The mass opposition to these measures come from those that will bear the greatest burden – the poor and working class of Kenya who consume these goods at the greatest level per capita.

The IMF has influenced Kenya’s economic polices since the 1990s, but since his election in September 2022, Ruto has been an enthusiastic servant to the demands of international finance capital. As a result of his allegiance to Western influence, the demands for change from the working poor stretch beyond the Finance Bill to a rejection of public sector privatization, social benefit cuts, and the dismantling of domestic health and education systems. The visible beneficiaries to this faithfulness have been the ruling elite and political class, which has aided the wide popularity and support for the current mass, youth-led movement.

The popular uprising in Kenya has shaken the government and the ruling class. It has raised fears in other African capitals and Western boardrooms where international finance capital is negotiated. Today, 27 June, Kenyans peacefully take to the streets once again to demand accountability, and remind Ruto and his government that the people in their majority hold real power in their democracy. Mobilizing people using the hashtags #RejectFianceBill2024 and #ZakayoStopKillingUs, the coalition of organizers are calling on Gen-X, Millennials, Gen-Z, and all other Kenyan citizens to join the 1 million people march to the state house and parliament.

While questions remain about whether this youth-led movement can inspire a broader, more inclusive national social movement that can mobilize the various factions of the working class while avoiding the cooption and depoliticization that often accompanies the support offered by international NGOs and civil society organizations, it is clear that their actions to date have sparked a nationwide political awakening. What the youth have decided for themselves is that they will not sit idly by as pawns of Western multinationals and organisations, and that they will make their voices heard for the future they desire– shedding their fear and exerting their collective power to forge a Kenya that is equal and just. Those of us in the global north, in ROAPE, and across Africa, stand in full solidarity with these emancipatory demands and with all Kenyans in their opposition to the repression of democratic rights. The world will be watching Kenya today, and we will be cheering for the people in their struggle for liberation.

Zachary J. Patterson is an independent researcher, activist, and ROAPE.net contributor. He writes on Kenya, NGOs, socialist politics and movements on the continent. He works in the space of art and revolutionary politics and is an organizer with the Indianapolis Liberation Center

Featured Photograph: Tafari Davis of the Social Justice Traveling Theatre on 25 June (Brian Inganga).

Forty years of capitalism and economic crime in Africa

After Voices for African Liberation: Conversations with the Review of African Political Economy, ROAPE is pleased to publish a new edited collection, Capitalism and Economic Crime in Africa: The Neoliberal Period. The volume brings together a collection of research articles, briefings and blog posts that were published over a period of nearly 40 years (1986–2023), in our journal and on our website. Here, editor Jörg Wiegratz introduces the book, followed by Yusuf K. Serunkuma’s foreword to the collection. Both Wiegratz and Serunkuma firmly locate economic crime in Africa within a global, neoliberal capitalist order that sustains accumulation in the global centres of power and wealth and reproduces dependency and underdevelopment on the continent.

Editor

Jörg Wiegratz

The book offers an analysis of economic crimes and market irregularities, including matters of trickery, illicit trade, parallel economy, economies of violence and criminalisation of the poor in neoliberal Africa. It interrogates economic crime as a product of neoliberal reform and transformation (as well as of historical structures). It unpacks crime as a social – and particularly as a political-economic – phenomenon of capitalism. The volume explores what these economic crimes have to do with, and can tell us about, power, class, accumulation, dependency, (under)development, state–business relations and capitalist transformation on the continent.

In so doing, it sheds new light on the co-production of these crimes by a range of actors from the realms of economy, politics and international development, including international financial institutions and other donors. It responds to the imperative to advance the analysis of the link between capitalism and crime in Africa as more countries across the continent become fully capitalist societies.

Illustrating the relevance of African cases to debates in and across various disciplines – concerning, for example, corporate and white-collar crimes, state crimes, crimes of the powerful, (il)legality, regulation and social harm – this volume engages with a variety of literature to explain economic crimes as phenomena of global and local capitalism. The book includes a foreword by Yusuf K. Serunkuma and an afterword by Laureen Snider. Roape.net today publishes Serunkuma’s foreword.

Organised by the Uganda revenue authority, November 2023 (LinkedIn)

Serunkuma’s analysis takes into focus the temporal dimension of corporate crime. He notes that scholars often write about the state of affairs in contemporary Africa without properly integrating the criminal activities of corporations into their analysis. This is partly because the scale, details and impact of the most recent and ongoing crimes are to a large degree unknown by the time of present-day analysis. It’s common for corporate crimes to be investigated, exposed and prosecuted many years, if not decades, after the crime takes place. He wonders what to make then of scholarship – on democratic governance, poverty, human rights, political violence, or economic development in African countries – that does not factor in corporate crimes of major entities, such as transnational corporations.

Further, when eventually a court ruling against a Western corporate criminal is announced in the Western metropole (as in a recent case of corruption by the company Glencore in South Sudan), the victims of ‘yesterday’ in the periphery are unlikely ever to hear about the news from the court, let alone benefit from what capital pays as fines to the metropole state. Further, Serunkuma notes that Western wealth and lives are underpinned and enabled by corporate criminality carried out in Africa. The criminal extraction and pillage from the continent are outsourced to corporations. This is a continuation of a core feature of European colonialism of yesterday in today’s age of neoliberalism, that is, under conditions of neo-coloniality.

Overall, the texts in the collection show the analytical relevance and fruitfulness of an engagement with economic crimes for understanding contemporary capitalism in Africa. The papers further confirm the importance of paying attention to history and structure and in using critical lenses in the study of the many actors (including state, capital and international organisations) that are implicated in the social making of criminogenic capitalism. The authors brought together here unpack and critique, in a timespan of over three decades, the mainstream approaches and discourses regarding crimes (and its containment) in the economy and point out their analytical and political-economic shortcomings.

The combined material is a resource for a historical and critical account of the many facets of the links between capitalism, crime and violence, past, present and future. Crimes can be lucrative and that matters, after all, to many, for many reasons, in the world of current capitalism. Crimes are here to stay – in all probability at staggering forms and levels – in any of the future capitalisms. The crucial question is this: how can the grand criminal accumulators of our time (and their many enablers) be confronted and resisted economically, politically, legally, socially and culturally? A lot is at stake…

Foreword

Yusuf K. Serunkuma

On 2 November 2022, Bloomberg reported a story about how, less than four weeks after South Sudan gained independence in 2011, a delegation of Glencore Plc traders flew into Juba by private jet in search of oil. The publication of this story followed the conclusion of a court case filed by the UK government’s Severe Fraud Office (SFO) investigators. The Bloomberg story recorded that the court found the Glencore executives guilty of, among other accusations, “carrying with them $800,000 in cash to pay bribes” across the African continent to acquire undue advantage in existing agreements.

In a more startling revelation – a key, but more hidden feature in the chronicles of ‘capitalism and economic crime’ in Africa – the newspaper noted that over the period of 2011–19:

These traders hand delivered large quantities of cash to government officials, they sought to profit from political turmoil and they inserted themselves into government-to-government deals that had been already negotiated at preferential rates (emphasis added).

The reporting of this story is itself instructive. Many newspapers across the Western world carried this story, taking different angles and editing them along the way, sometimes deleting entire sections. Bloomberg initially titled the article, in somewhat scholarly, non-journalistic fashion, Cash, traders and oil: how Glencore bribed its way across Africa, but the story underwent several edits as more details emerged. Currently, at the time of publication of this book, the story is titled UK court fines Glencore for bribing its way across Africa. When the story first appeared on the Bloomberg website, it was free to read for anyone with access to the Internet. But currently it is locked behind a paywall.

Glencore headquarters in Baar, Switzerland (Wikimedia Commons, January 2024)

One cannot miss the double injustice to specifically African publics – the actual victims of Glencore’s crimes – as reporters of gigantic corporate crime (the first crime) thus draw profit from the act of reporting this crime (the second crime). Consider that the real victims of this crime may never even hear about the story because they can neither access an Internet connection, and nor do many then have the resources to pay to read the article. Seen through a centre–periphery dichotomy, this is the absolute embodiment of the multifaceted conspiracy of the capitalist machine against its victims, where criticisms of the crimes of capitalists are only visible and discussed at the centre.

Let us follow the details of this case more closely, as this is an outstanding and common – but perhaps one of the most deftly hidden – manifestation of capitalism in Africa, as this volume, with essays published across three decades, so succinctly demonstrates.

The SFO started its investigation in early 2019, focusing on the Africa desk in Glencore’s London offices, head office for the company’s oil and gas business. The investigation found that a total of US$29m in bribes had been handed out by Glencore “to secure its access to oil in Cameroon, Equatorial Guinea, Ivory Coast, Nigeria and South Sudan”. Sums were withdrawn “in cash from the company’s Swiss cash desk, recorded as ‘office expenses’, despite there being limited evidence of any office operating in the country”. More money would be withdrawn as “service fees” (a whopping US$5.5m). The money “was used to bribe officials in the country’s national oil and gas companies”.

Glencore pleaded guilty to these accusations in June 2019 and the Southwark Crown Court judge, Justice Fraser, noted that “the facts demonstrate not only significant criminality but sophisticated devices to disguise it”. The company was ordered to pay a fine of US$400m – paltry in view of how much the company made and continues to make – which definitely, sadly, will never be given as compensation to the real, individual victims of the ongoing cycles of violence in South Sudan, Nigeria or Cameroon. Indeed, even when SFO director Lisa Osofsky acknowledged that “for years and across the globe, Glencore pursued profits to the detriment of national governments in some of the poorest countries in the world”, it was clear these people or countries – the on-the-ground victims of these crimes – would never receive any compensation.

Over and above these multiple injustices to the Africans, for the purposes of this volume four instructive conclusions can be made from the case above: (a) it becomes apparent that the full scale of this archive and record of events – with the open admission to crime, and fines – went unknown to the scholarly world for this entire decade. Considering that (b) these events were successful, as Glencore had planned, fomenting violence and profiting the company, it follows that these crimes, to use Marx’s term, formed the “material conditions” or the “problem space” in which individuals and families, small-scale businesses, local big businesses and governments in Sudan, Cameroon and Nigeria negotiated and made their history in this decade.

As this volume makes visible, it is arguable that (c) Glencore isn’t alone in playing this game. Other big corporations that have their headquarters in the Western world – working with local agents, of course – are busy finding illicit, clandestine, illegal, fraudulent, predatory, hidden, fake, militaristic, violent, collusive and back-door ways (these being the keywords to this volume) to advantage themselves in dominating and exploiting the African continent – and this appears to be a core component of what is discoursed as capitalism. These conclusions then help us to see the big picture – relating to scholarship about Africa, underdevelopment and capitalism – and I want to propose that the texts in this volume are read with the following concerns in mind.

How then should we think about the scholarship produced in this same period, focused on items such as democratic governance, poverty, human rights, political violence, kinship relations, food safety, environment and economics, or even seemingly distant subjects such as literature and popular culture, without integrating the crimes of Glencore and others in the overall analyses? Because they were unknown and were not part of the archive. On the other hand, how should we think about the UK itself and other big businesses based in Western capitals in Paris, Berlin, Bonn, Brussels and New York? Added to these, of course, is the quality of life of individual persons in the Western world who make their history in the material conditions enabled by, among others, their super-rich, who – as has just been demonstrated – are fomenting conflict in Africa? These questions need to be pondered and reflected upon intensely.

It should be obvious by now that I am a student of dependency theory (such as elaborated by Amin and Wallerstein), where the world is seen as divided into the centre and periphery, with the resources, often in the form of raw materials, moving from the periphery (mostly the so-called formerly colonised world) to the centre, which are often the capitals and industrial towns of the former colonisers and are now the centres of capitalism (of global banking, gambling and speculation). The ways in which these resources move to the centre – as this volume and the case of Glencore make clear – is often entirely criminal and fraudulent: patents, taxes, debt traps, trade misinvoicing, the fictions of value addition, open theft, unequal exchange, foreign aid, and soforth. These crimes sustain the vulgar levels of inequality between Africa and the Western world.

I also come to this volume as a decolonial scholar, discontented with the language games of discourse – stuff such as rethinking, re-examining, reframing, re-imagining – and knowledge production about Africa. While I appreciate these discourses as ways of mobilising a framework of studying and writing about the present nature of colonialism on the continent, I am disenchanted by sister disciplines (anthropology, international relations, political science, among others), by their failure to integrate political economic dynamics into their analyses of the world and by the tendency to read Africa as independently constituted and African actors as having absolute agency.

In the old order of decolonial thinking and reform (c.1960–80, specifically the period before structural adjustment), knowledge production focused on the ways through which people make their livelihoods and subsistence possible from within this dialectic of European–African interactions. It is my contention that analyses are incomplete, if not entirely inaccurate, when the material side of things – especially its often hidden criminality – is not made visible. It is my contention that political economy, especially one that highlights the circulations of capital and extraction, is the heart of revolutionary and meaningful scholarship, and the essays in this volume ought to be the beginning point of any scholarly agendas in whatever discipline.

Most of the essays in this volume are empirical writings, demonstrative of the ways in which capitalism reproduces itself. One therefore cannot miss the spirit in which this volume was put together: the activism about and criticism of the crimes of capitalism, and how these crimes ought to be exposed and challenged. These essays touch the different forms of ‘technocratisation’, depoliticisation and structuring of the violence of capitalism, and the open violence of the practice itself enabled by the very system upon which capitalism thrives.

It is not just structural adjustment, but the collusions of fertiliser industries, intellectual property and other seemingly benign moves, such as Kenya’s wars against drugs. We are prompted to ask: when does capitalism reproduce itself without crime? Does corruption have any moral, human ethic, outside the impetus of profiteering through dispossession? But, more importantly, one is made to appreciate the networks and sophistication with which these crimes are executed and, perhaps reiterating Marx’s proposition that revolution (not reform) was the most appropriate response to dealing with capitalism’s inhumanity, the manner in which they are disguised as progress.

Jörg Wiegratz is Lecturer in Political Economy of Global Development at the University of Leeds and Senior Research Associate at the University of Johannesburg. He specialises in neoliberalism, fraud and anti-fraud measures, commercialisation and economic pressure and related aspects of moral and political economy, with a focus on Uganda and Kenya. He is a member of the editorial working group of ROAPE. His books include Neoliberal Moral Economy: Capitalism, Socio-Cultural Change and Fraud in Uganda and Neoliberalism and the Moral Economy of Fraud.

Yusuf Serunkuma is a regular contributor to roape.net and a columnist in Uganda’s newspapers, as well as a scholar and a playwright. In 2014, Fountain Publishers published his first play, The Snake Farmers, which was received with critical acclaim in Uganda, Kenya and Rwanda.

Featured Photograph: Cover image of Capitalism and Economic Crime in Africa: The Neoliberal Period (25 June 2024).

ROAPE: looking back to move forward

ROAPE’s Reg Cline-Cole introduces the first issue of the journal (Vol. 51, Issue 179) in the year of our 50th anniversary, and as a fully open access publication. Though this year, Reg explains, is a new beginning, it is also a return to ROAPE’s radical origins half a century ago. The entire new issue is available for the first time fully open access, with no paywall or barriers to access anywhere in the world. Each article, briefing and review is accessible through the links below.

By Reg Cline-Cole

This issue of the Review of African Political Economy marks a new and significant beginning, but one which, in many ways, is something of a return to ROAPE’s origins half a century ago. It also reflects notable elements of the journal’s subsequent evolution and continuing preoccupations. In addition to being the first of ROAPE’s 50th anniversary year, this issue is the first to be produced in partnership with ScienceOpen, our new publishing platform (Jasini 2023; ROAPE EWG 2023a). ROAPE now returns to independent publishing as part of ‘a revolutionary new beginning’ (Lawrence 2023b), while remaining solidly anchored in the journal’s founding ethos of radical left scholarship and activism (ROAPE EWG 2023b). Issue 181 of the journal will be devoted to a celebration of ROAPE’s first 50 years of existence and an assessment of its impact. It will also reflect on its future direction and prospects. Consequently, this editorial serves as something of a prelude to highlight the various ways in which the contributions making up the issue provide ongoing reassurance that textual and other forms of activism in and by ROAPE continue to consolidate and diversify in interesting, productive and impactful ways both in print and online (Cline-Cole and Littlejohn 2014).

But to begin, a recap of – and justification for – ROAPE’s seemingly ‘back to the future’ publication strategy and a reminder that this, like all strategic decision-making, is solidly anchored in the journal’s founding – and operating – ethos. Peter Lawrence’s (2023) recollections of ROAPE’s beginnings, early struggles and ongoing challenges offer an important primer. He makes it clear that while knowledge production was always at the centre of ROAPE’s intention to promote a radical political economy in and on Africa, actual dissemination of this knowledge represented a challenging proposition. As he reminds us, increasing production and distribution costs, alongside a steadily increasing demand for more labour power than even committed founder-activist intellectuals and employed workers could continue to provide gratis or at the risk of intensified self-exploitation, made for an increasingly precarious first half of the journal’s existence. Undoubtedly, too, as he is at pains to explain, contracting out production of the print journal in 1999 to Carfax (and, subsequently, via acquisitions and mergers amid a far-reaching restructuring of the global publication industry, to Taylor and Francis) was clearly a considered response to a very real existential crisis. It was not a response entirely of what had by this time emerged as the cooperative ROAPE Publications’ own choosing. Nonetheless, in the years since, but particularly during the Taylor and Francis era, the ROAPE Collective in pursuit of the journal’s remit has been able to take advantage of its relationship with the corporate publishing giant for both subversive and progressive ends (ROAPE EWG 2023b).

Promoting and documenting radical transformation in Africa during this period of transactional alliance has taken place in a context of editorial autonomy, expanded readership and greater financial security for the journal and, with it, the opportunity to combine knowledge production and activist praxis in both intensified and expanded ways. Roape.net, our now 10-year-old online platform, expands ROAPE’s presence and reach well beyond the print journal, which it both complements and extends, in addition to maintaining a vibrant ‘real-time’ (semi-)autonomous existence – see, for example, its campaigns and video sections. Indeed, ‘Connecting people and voices for radical change in Africa’ (Zeilig, Chukwudinma and Radley 2023) became a regular section in the print journal aiming ‘to give readers … a picture of what has been published on Roape.net over the last few months, and invit[ing them] to connect and follow the articles, blogposts, authors and debates online’.

Fittingly, then, the news that ROAPE was to return to independent publishing was released via Roape.net, where it has attracted much interest as well as expressions of solidarity, including subscriptions and donations. Such solidarity is as heartening and reassuring as it is symbolically significant and materially invaluable. But – just like the Connections workshops identified as a significant recent ROAPE initiative by one of the Collective’s founders (Lawrence 2023b) – it is also revolutionary in its liberating intent. Central to the realisation of this shared intent has been, once again, the combined and increasingly integrated roles of the print journal and Roape.net. Held in Accra (November 2017), Dar es Salaam (April 2018) and Johannesburg (November 2018), the ROAPE Connections workshops aimed primarily to ‘bring together left activists and intellectuals in debate and consideration of the potential for radical socioeconomic transformation and engagement in the continent’, but also ‘to open up a discussion about widening and diversifying audiences for a journal like ROAPE in Africa and doing this [while also] convert[ing] audiences into partners’ (Bujra 2019; emphasis added).

In the event, reflections on (Bush, Graham and Zeilig 2018; Bujra, Mgumia and Zeilig 2018; Dwyer 2019), and associated reports of (Bush et al. 2018; Bujra et al. 2018; Dwyer et al. 2019) the workshops conveyed a sense of the contested nature and varied complexities inherent in the practical politics of knowledge generation and activist praxis. But they speak also of a certain excitement and/or anticipation, seemingly tinged with trepidation, as iterative processes of negotiating connections for radical change evolved and outcomes of co-producing mutually rewarding partnerships between activists and activist scholars emerged, often slowly and fitfully (Bujra 2019; Dwyer 2019). Rising to the challenge of forging meaningful alliances in this way elicited much introspection among workshop participants of varying social identities and self-representations. But although race, age, gender, occupation and origin/geography/location emerged as significant axes of differentiation, they also represented individual and group identity characteristics which mediate the lived/shared histories and contemporary experiences of imperialist oppression and capitalist exploitation. Potentially, therefore, they constitute the basis also for a shared consciousness around the case for radical transformation, as well as the means – protest, resistance, solidarity and mobilisation – for achieving social and political change of this kind.

Nonetheless, connecting with the complex and dynamic everyday realities within which multi-generational activist colleagues operated via the Connections workshops proved anything but straightforward. This was a timely and sobering, if entirely predictable, reminder of how power struggles are integral to social mobilisation. But it also seemingly provided support for the sentiment, shared by several members of the ROAPE Collective prior to the workshops, that ‘the journal had in some sense “lost its way” [and] needed to reconnect with old comrades across the continent and make new connections in order to become more embedded in the ways (new and old) that it once was’ (Dwyer 2019, 633–634). And yet, justifying the very existence of the workshops on the grounds of a ROAPE disconnect required, at the very least, the equivalent of a shared or common language encompassing all those variously involved in the struggle for a radically transformed Africa. Hence the absolute necessity for a ‘common language of struggle and activism’ (Dwyer 2019) or ‘radical message and vocabulary’ (Bujra 2019): one that would ultimately take the form of ‘open dialogue’ to stimulate ‘a genuinely collaborative effort, locally embedded but also responding to [politically engaged] local and international debates … on how to provoke social transformation [while] avoid[ing] sectarianism’ (Bujra 2019).

In the event, and arguably because of rather than despite productive tensions, creative dialogue and imaginative message delivery, assessments of the impact of ROAPE Connections have thus far been overwhelmingly positive and encouraging, and not only or even primarily from a (global core or metropolitan academic) ROAPE perspective (Roape.net 2019; Roape Online 2019). Thus, African activists and activist scholars have subsequently sought to build on the momentum created by ROAPE Connections by organising their own follow-up workshops independently of (but in at least one case partly funded by) ROAPE (Dwyer 2019). At the same time, ROAPE itself has been involved in discussions about how best to capitalise on and create new opportunities for strengthening and expanding these links and connections.

Not surprisingly, political economy in both theory and practice dominated all aspects of the workshops including, above all perhaps, the varied interactions between ROAPE and its interlocutors and comrades, captured to varying degrees in and by the workshop reporting and commentary mentioned earlier. After all, ongoing reconnection with our historical (and, hopefully, expanding) contemporary constituency depended heavily, as Peter Dwyer (2019) so perceptively put it, not just on ‘knowing who we are’, but also on being reminded of the existence of actual limits to the realisation of the transformative potential and aspirations of a small, albeit well-meaning and fully committed radical and activist, academic journal based in the global North, notably in support of (particularly young) African scholar-activists on the ground. Communicating all this accurately and convincingly to a wider and absent ROAPE audience became therefore as big and as formidable an academic and political challenge as the task of negotiating mutually intelligible language and vocabulary for in-person deliberations during the respective workshops. Here, the Roape.net online platform demonstrated its value yet again, offering complementary and alternative ‘real-time’ audio, video and social media dissemination formats to go with ROAPE’s standard quarterly text and print journal output, thereby diversifying both message and target audience, as well as expanding the journal’s reach and, hopefully, transformative influence.

Nor does the foregoing exhaust the alliances or connections forged by ROAPE in pursuit of radical change in Africa during the last quarter century. Thus, it was naturally Roape.net that we opted for when publicly restating our steadfast solidarity with Palestine , and where we continue to provide a forum for spirited exchange between our contributors and readership, as well as a supportive platform for committed intellectual and other forms of activism which continue to animate a ROAPE Collective and readership united against colonisation and imperialism and resolutely for liberation of the colonised, notably those who continue to bear the brunt of the costs of social and societal reproduction under occupation. And it is to this platform, among others, that we would direct those who remain perplexed by, and continue to require an explanation for, South Africa’s leadership role in resisting and protesting Israeli occupation, most recently by instituting proceedings of genocidal acts of omission and commission by Israel in Gaza with the International Court of Justice at The Hague (Holligan and Slow 2024; ICJ 2023). Also, while both the print journal and Roape.net naturally carry details of a variety of additional initiatives such as bursaries, internships, prizes and competitions to connect more meaningfully with our wider constituency, we actively encourage our audience to make the most of Roape.net for accompanying interviews, spotlights, blogposts and so forth which breathe life into the personalities of award recipients and prize-winners, for example, as well as their frequently inspiring stories, in ways which static text on a page, no matter how long the read (and, yes, there are long reads on offer on Roape.net too), is rarely capable of capturing in all their multidimensionality.

Thus, the forms of knowledge production and dissemination negotiated during Connections, which are both described in detail (Bujra 2019) and justified at length (Dwyer 2019), become both a logical extension of such a multi-media approach to activist academic publishing, and a reinforcing of an ongoing de facto strategy of textual and related resistance, protest and mobilisation by the journal. Indeed, contacts initially established via any number of such interactions have often developed into lasting relationships with the journal. New (and old) acquaintances become (often regular) contributing authors and reviewers, for instance, and/or recruits to the Editorial Working Group and International Advisory Board, or as Contributing Editors, as we actively seek on an ongoing basis to renew, expand and diversify membership of the Collective. This is not only to ensure institutional survival and reproduction; it is also, equally importantly, a major tenet of radical, representative and progressive politics.

Always central to ROAPE’s existence, founding ethos and mission, radical and progressive politics continues to be key to the journal’s expanding and intensifying connections at all levels (often well) beyond Connections. And, as a key component of ROAPE’s emergence and increasing consolidation as a journal with multi-media output, Roape.net has proved invaluable in extending and diversifying the journal’s reach and impact. That this has happened while the print journal was being published by Taylor and Francis, a leading global academic publisher with a stable of more than 2700 academic journals and a huge online presence of its own, is significant (Taylor & Francis n.d.), for it partly reflects support for ROAPE initiatives like Connections and Roape.net from Taylor and Francis.

However, this interaction, while undoubtedly mutually beneficial, has in practice been ultimately transactional, driven by the pursuit, separate but interlinked, of institutional survival, on the one hand, and profit, on the other. Always first and foremost an alliance of convenience, there was little in the way of shared politics or common ideological beliefs, but recognition of the need for a negotiated capacity, albeit under constant review, for mutual accommodation. In the event, such a capacity would be sorely in demand during ROAPE’s internal deliberations over the initial transition from independent to commercial publishing and its immediate aftermath during the 1990s and early 2000s. Negotiations over a change this radical were unlikely ever to be straightforward or, as it transpired, without potential risk to unity and cohesion in the Collective. After all, the proposed change did not just represent a seeming potential threat to the integrity of our founding ethos and operating principles. It would also require major restructuring of internal working practices and relationships. And of course, all this needed to be achieved without sacrificing collective responsibility and decision-making or, arguably worse still, risking the journal becoming irretrievably enmeshed in overt ‘comprador’ networks and roles. Put differently, the existential crisis confronting ROAPE was considerably more than the purely material; it was also about its very identity, its raison d’être. There was a largely unspoken assumption that commercial publishing would be an open-ended, stop-gap measure, not a permanent solution.

In the event, pressure from contradictory beliefs and competing interests resulted in group cohesion being subject to undue stress during what was, by any estimation, a period of major upheaval. Given how high the stakes were, however, it was not entirely surprising, if regrettable, that exchanges were often heated and encounters occasionally bruising; lingering resentment combined with irreconcilable differences and (in/)voluntary departures to leave scars which sometimes ran deep and, in the odd case, remain only partly healed. It was an experience which, for a then recent arrival like me, helped to instil beyond all doubt the primacy of the Collective and the importance attached to collective responsibility and shared decision-making, not only during turbulent times, but in all dealings with, and in, a new, uncertain and rapidly changing corporate world which, by definition, would be at odds with much of ROAPE’s ethos. ROAPE would weather this immediate crisis and even go on to thrive in the intervening years, becoming increasingly adept, as we have seen, at closely aligning its new status of relative influence and/or affluence with its long-term goal of ‘connecting people and voices for radical change in Africa’ (Bujra 2019). Investing in Roape.net as our window to our expanding and diversifying world emerges as strategic and forward-thinking. In short, that ROAPE was able to maintain an identifiably separate existence throughout from, first, Carfax and, subsequently, Taylor and Francis can be considered key to future-proofing the ROAPE brand and identity, while also securing its radical credentials and progressive reputation over the last 25 years. The prospect of a return to independent publishing would otherwise be a considerably more daunting proposition.

None of which is in any way to minimise the scale of the challenge ahead. On the contrary, it is to highlight the explicit and continuing – multi-layered and complex – role of politics and political economy in a still evolving story. Thus, for ROAPE, meaningful connections and alliances of various kinds are routinely forged or rekindled during (potentially) transformative encounters (Bush, Graham and Zeilig 2018); participants in such shared encounters learn much about, and are active in, elaborating strategies for, and/or mechanisms of, social mobilisation in ways which reinforce transcontinental activism and solidarity (Dwyer 2019); and audiences or observers at these encounters become converts to active partnerships in a common struggle against the (particularly local) ravages of imperialism and capitalism (Bujra 2019). In truth, however, even though this all refers specifically to Connections-related encounters and their outcomes, the observations could be said to be equally true of ROAPE-sponsored events in general, and for most of the journal’s existence, rather than just the period since 2017. By the same token, ROAPE’s ‘foundational call for meaningful connections at all levels – intellectual, social, and political’ (Bujra’s 2019) long predates Connections which, however, gave this potentially transformative sentiment a much-deserved fillip. Consequently, the Editorial Working Group came away from Connections encounters noticeably exhilarated, but also, and in equal measure, challenged and chastened. Connections was an output of, and contribution to, long-running conversations regarding ROAPE’s immediate and long-term future going back to its founding: What was ROAPE (still) for? To whose ultimate benefit? And with what (lasting) impact/outcomes?

These questions have been constantly debated in a range of formats and fora both in-house and more widely, but they had become increasingly urgent in the wider context of the neoliberalisation of knowledge production and dissemination, and particularly the extensive restructuring of global commercial publishing which has been under way for practically the entire period the journal has been produced in collaboration with commercial publishers. In particular, and against a background of mergers, takeovers and oligopolistic market tendencies, Open Access (OA) based on article processing charges (APC) rather than journal subscriptions has emerged as the ‘dominant’ or ‘de facto’ (Dudley 2021) funding, and thus the profit generation model in global scholarly publishing over the last 20 or so years (Zhang et al. 2022). And this, even though it continues to be justified for its reported ‘potential to reduce global inequalities in access to scientific literature by removing paywalls’ (Shu and Larivière 2024, 519). Ensuring maximum access to the journal for African authors, readers and institutions has always been a core part of ROAPE’s mission. To this end, the EWG has always sought to expand, protect and/or guarantee such access, including negotiating subsidies, donations and other such ‘concessions’ as part of commercial contracts or agreements, sometimes partly funded from royalties.

Yet, the seemingly unstoppable shift to (ultimately fully) pay-to-publish OA threatens knowledge dissemination of this kind, as well as reinforcing existing global inequalities in knowledge production, even with the selective deployment of seemingly ameliorative measures like APC waivers by some of the largest OA publishers in order to counter the more pernicious of these effects (Frank, Foster and Pagliari 2023; Shu and Larivière 2024). And, as Dudley (2021) has noted, ‘[o]ne ideal of the open access movement has been equal access to scholarly knowledge, but the increasing use of APCs has placed significant financial barriers in the path of independent scholars, those at smaller institutions, and academics in much of the developing world who would like, or need, to publish their work’. This would include a good representation of the authors, activists and scholar activists making up ROAPE’s natural and/or targeted constituency, as the Connections workshops, for example, make abundantly clear. Yet, OA is also believed to encourage the proliferation of substandard and predatory journals and publishing (Frank, Foster and Pagliari 2023), or, at the very least, exacerbate the latter’s negative effects (Dudley 2021), further reinforcing global inequities in knowledge production (see also Anonymous 2021). And so, we have, as a direct consequence of ongoing global capitalist restructuring, another of those periodic major challenges to ROAPE in its quest to continue to promote and document radical transformation in Africa. Notably, the transition to pay-to-publish OA is one that Taylor and Francis, our erstwhile commercial publishers, are heavily invested in and committed to, and in which they have emerged, by their own and other’s accounts, as market leaders (Shu and Larivière 2024; Taylor and Francis n.d.).

We do not believe that OA based on APC will be in either our narrow interest or to the long-term benefit of the wider community of activists and activist scholars we seek to support in their diverse struggles. Furthermore, pay-to-publish OA is not the only option and, as Dudley (2021) rightly observes, ‘true open access should remove financial barriers to publish articles as well as to read them’, an option which is already being pursued by a significant (and possibly growing) number of journals using a variety of funding models (see also Blas, Rele and Kennedy 2019). It is in the light of this and bearing in mind the importance of agency in struggles for social transformation, that ROAPE has opted to return to independent publishing as both a principled and pragmatic stance, and as an overt political statement. In practice, and as a not-for-profit collective dependent upon fundraising, subscriptions and donations, ROAPE has opted for a free-to-read and free-to-publish model based on a combination of individual and institutional subscriptions and donations (Subscribe to Open model, S2O).

As a result, ‘all ROAPE’s work will be available on a single platform with no paywalls. There will be equal access for all researchers, activists, and readers, wherever they are based in the world, and for the foreseeable future’ (ROAPE EWG 2023b). The aim continues to be to provide a platform for African voices and perspectives (Cline-Cole and Lawrence 2021). We hope that, overall, this will also respond to calls during the Connections workshops for ‘more action, less talk’ (Bujra 2019). Yet, as both challenge and opportunity, the transition requires significant modification to existing labour processes and practices; the negotiation of more active roles for the International Advisory Board and Contributing Editors; and that we capitalise on the knowledge, expertise and technology used in developing Roape.net to even greater and more dramatic effect. But as always, success will depend also on the goodwill, commitment and support of comrades in the struggle all over the world, who can both subscribe and donate to the journal and its revolutionary project. Beyond our immediate and local concerns, we hope, too, that ROAPE’s new beginning will draw greater attention to, and closer engagement with no-pay OA initiatives, several of which have proved enduring and might amount to the beginnings of a ‘social movement’ (Frank, Foster and Pagliari 2023). So, it is perhaps inevitable that the most important decision that ROAPE has had to take about its future in the last 30 years is one that involves direct participation in a wider ongoing struggle for social transformation.

In this issue

The selection of four research articles, three debates and two briefings in this issue reflects something of the variety characterising textual engagement, already under way in the journal, with that struggle. Three of the pieces speak to questions of labour and nature exploitation (Pattenden; Del Panta and Lodi; Duffield and Stockton); a further two address knowledge production/dissemination (Ndlovu-Gatsheni; Dieng); while the final four cover the military in politics (Maringira), armed conflict/pastoral banditry (Ejiofor), state repression and organised/popular resistance (Plaut), and US security policy towards Africa (Volman), respectively. Between them the papers cover the continent’s main regions and diaspora and, taken together, represent important contributions to ROAPE’s long-running goals of advocating and documenting social or transformational change in Africa. The issue closes with a tribute to one of our founding editors, the late John S. Saul

We hope readers engage with all the interventions in the issue. More broadly, we look forward to your contributions in future issues of the journal and its online platform at Roape.net. Yusuf Serunkuma, a frequent contributor to both the journal and Roape.net, challenges African (scholar-activists and their allies to critically examine self-censorship in their research, writing and activism (2023). Similarly, an earlier editorial in the journal called attention to Ibrahim Abdullah’s admonition for Africans to write their own histories (Cline-Cole and Lawrence 2021). These and others are recurrent themes which continue to be the subject of intense and sometimes acrimonious exchanges on Roape.net and elsewhere in the journal. Here, for example, Abdullah’s main point resonates with the preoccupations of both Ndlovu-Gatsheni and Rama Salla Dieng; while Maringira and Ejiofor are self-reflective and critical in addressing questions of direct relevance to the marginalised, oppressed and exploited; whereas Pattenden, Del Panta and Lodi, Duffield and Stockton, Plaut, and Volman together tackle oppression, state repression, injustice, dispossession, accumulation and resistance in ways designed to expose vested interests and challenge excesses of neoliberalism, global capitalism and imperialism. At the same time, and to return to the theme with which this editorial opened, celebrating our 50th anniversary is a good time to review and update ROAPE’s history and to reflect on the journal’s hopes and aspirations for the future, starting with a return to independent publishing. It is also an appropriate moment to encourage the continued active participation of our authors and readers in framing and co-producing the journal’s ongoing and future stories.

To read Reg’s full introduction to issue 179 please click here. The entire issue can be accessed and read for free here.

Reginald Cline-Cole is an editor of ROAPE and taught for years at the Department of African Studies and Anthropology, School of History and Cultures, University of Birmingham in the UK.

References

Anonymous. 2021. “Beall’s List of Potential Predatory Journals and Publishers.”

Blas, N., S. Rele and M. R. Kennedy. 2019. “The Development of the Journal Evaluation Tool to Evaluate the Credibility of Publication Venues.” Journal of Librarianship and Scholarly Communication 7 (general issue): eP2250.

Bujra, J. 2019. “Creating Alliances, Making Connections.” Roape.net, April 16.

Bujra, J., J. Mgumia and L. Zeilig. 2018. “Editorial: Creating Alliances, Making Connections.” Review of African Political Economy 45 (158): 609–615.

Bujra, J., J. Mgumia, L. Zeilig, I. Shivji, M. Swagler, A. Hopfmann, T. Zack-Williams, A. Murrey, G. Gachihi, S. Nyamsenda, C. Chachage and M. Mbilinyi. 2018. “Connections 2: ROAPE Workshop in Dar es Salaam, 16–17 April 2018.” Review of African Political Economy 45 (158): 609–677.

Bush, R., Y. Graham and L. Zeilig. 2018. “Editorial: Structural Transformations in Africa Today: Interventions from the Left.” Review of African Political Economy 45 (156): 267–274.

Bush, R., Y. Graham, L. Zeilig, P. Lawrence, G. Martiniello, B. Fine, M. Ajl, B. Engels, G. Crawford and G. Botchwey. 2018. “Radical Political Economy and Industrialisation in Africa: ROAPE/Third World Network-Africa Connections Workshop, Held in Accra, Ghana, 13–14 November 2017.” Review of African Political Economy 45 (156): 267–334.

Cline-Cole, R., and P. Lawrence. 2021. “Extractive Capitalism and Hard and Soft Power in the Age of Black Lives Matter.” Review of African Political Economy 48 (170): 497–508.

Cline-Cole, R., and G. Littlejohn. 2014. “On ROAPE, Historical (Dis)Continuities and Textual Activism.” Review of African Political Economy 41 (141): 335–340.

Del Panta, G. 2022. “Defeating Autocrats from Below: Insights from the 2019 Algerian Uprising.” Contemporary Politics 28 (5): 539–557.

Dudley, R. G. 2021. “The Changing Landscape of Open Access Publishing: Can Open Access Publishing Make the Scholarly World More Equitable and Productive?” Journal of Librarianship and Scholarly Communication 9 (1): eP2345.

Dwyer, P. 2019. “Editorial: Reflecting on Resistance and Transformation in Africa: A Workshop for Movements and Activist-scholars.” Review of African Political Economy 46 (162): 632–641.

Dwyer, P., F. Diouf, G. Mkodzongi, B. Kasaab, D. Kiendrebeogo, M. Traore, N. Chakanya and N. Githethwa. 2019. “Connections 3: ROAPE Workshop in Johannesburg, 26–27 November 2018.” Review of African Political Economy 46 (162): 632–664.

Frank, J., R. Foster and J. Pagliari. 2023. “Open Access Publishing – Noble Intention, Flawed Reality.” Social Science and Medicine 317: 115592.

Holligan, A., and O. Slow. 2024. “Israel Officials Support Gaza Destruction, Court Hears.” BBC News Middle East, January 11, 12.33 GMT.

ICJ (International Court of Justice). 2023. “The Republic of South Africa Institutes Proceedings against the State of Israel and Requests the Court to Indicate Provisional Measures.” Press Release no. 2023/77, December 29.

Jasini, K. 2023. “Welcoming ROAPE Journal on ScienceOpen.” June 20, ScienceOpen.com.

Lawrence, Peter. 2023. “John Saul: A Complete Revolutionary Socialist.” Roape.net, September 27.

Roape.net. 2019. “Uprisings and Revolutions: Activists and Researchers Speak.” June 4.

Roape Online. 2019. “Review of African Political Economy Connections Workshops.” YouTube, April 16..

ROAPE EWG. 2023b. “ROAPE in 2024 – An End and a New Beginning.” Roape.net, March 21.

Shu, F., and V. Larivière. 2024. “The Oligopoly of Open Access Publishing.” Scientometrics 129: 519–536.

Taylor & Francis. n.d. “Must-read Open Access (OA) Books: Discover 12 Books Addressing Some of the World’s Most Urgent Challenges.”

Zeilig, L, C. Chukwudinma and B. Radley. 2023. “Connecting People and Voices for Radical Change in Africa.” Review of African Political Economy 50 (175): 143–145.

Zhang, L., Y. Wei, Y. Huang and G. Sivertsen. 2022. “Should Open Access Lead to Closed Research? The Trends towards Paying to Perform Research.” Scientometrics 127: 7653–7679.

When lions learn to paint: reporting the subaltern world

For too long the subaltern world, and Africa, has relied on reporting of events in the world by outlets at the centre of empire. The stories that emerge from these institutions tell complicated lies, peddle myths, and repeat racist tropes about the Global South. Yusuf Serunkuma lauds the impact of Aljazeera, a major news network which was set-up in 2006 and has changed our understanding of the world. He tells the story of lions visiting an art exhibition only to be astonished by the claims made by hunters and their admirers. A lion shakes its head and is heard muttering, “If only lions could paint!” Africa too, Serunkuma concludes, must create its own media network to tell its story.

By Yusuf Serunkuma

It was in the course of Israel’s bombardment of Palestine in 2012 that a remarkable difference between how the international news networks reported on the violence became ever more visible.  While the other networks focused their cameras on and privileged images of rubble and debris, hardly less ugly than other aspects of the assault, Aljazeera English (AJE) made sure to include human life: the maimed and killed, displaced, and starving, women and children. Many viewers must have noticed the stark difference. So did the Israeli government.  Aljazeera journalists and their overall operations then became a target. The network’s bureau was shelled by the Israel Defence Forces, causing immense damage. Years later, in 2021, the building that housed the Aljazeera network inside Gaza was demolished by the IDF forces.

In the recent episode of bombardment, labelled a genocide by many commenters, institutions and scholars, the network was shutdown by the Israeli government. But before the shutdown, attacks on AJE and other journalists had become the norm. The targeted killing of Palestinian-American journalist, Shireen Abu Akleh was one out of many such killings of journalists.  Israel has killed over 105 journalists since 7 October.  Why? Because the Arabs, the subalterns, finally learned to tell their history in the language and modes of the proverbial hunters themselves. The story of the hunt no longer favours the hunter.

Outside of reporting the conflict in Palestine, and the broader Middle East, we ought to reckon with the evolution and example of Aljazeera in the struggle for representation, justice, equality and independence for the entirety of the subaltern, postcolonial world. This is especially so in sub-Saharan Africa where the story of the hunt continues to favour our predators. It is notable that, despite being non-African, through intentional editorial and political decisions, the Qatar-based network has penetrated deep into the hearts of Africans, inspiring millions, and catalysing cross-continental conversations. British broadcaster, the BBC and American outlet, CNN, used to be the to-go-to networks for all international news coverage, as Africa and the Middle East remained invisible. We were spoken for, represented, and studied, while remaining largely on the margins.

By the late 2000s, however, the Qatar-based network had successfully broken the monopoly that both the BBC and CNN had enjoyed across the formerly colonised world. It was the outlet being watched in every home, office, and workstation. It was the TV of choice in hotel lobbies.

Suffice to mention that while the BBC and CNN thrived on their respective empires, oftentimes, patronisingly exhibiting their nationalistic superiority and grand Eurocentricism, Aljazeera English thrived entirely on good-old humanistic, and anti-imperialist journalism. The network did much more than simply pushing back on Eurocentric narratives; it reported on and informed the subaltern world and fostered co-subaltern conversations.

However, it ought to be noted that the network has a fair number of shortfcomings. Many times, they have reported inaccurately (for example, on the Rwandan opposition), reported some stories rather simplistically (like the DRC, events in West Africa etc.), and sometimes, reproduced Qatar government foreign policy positions (see reporting on Syria and Iraq). Yet these editorial and operational conundrums tend to be true of all networks. Indeed, notwithstanding these shortfalls, AJE has sustained the voices of the subaltern, and offered a counter-narrative destabilising normalised ‘stories’ about the poor — the still exploited peripheries of the capitalist world. Indeed, it is not wild to say that presently, the BBC and CNN and other major networks have started following the example set and the challenge posed by AJE.

*

For many Africans, recalling when they first committed themselves to AJE it is foundational story.  So deeply did the outlet penetrate into the souls of many people across the world that talking about it is to tell a personal story. So, when I was leaving my parent’s house in 2010 to become a man of my own, the first thing I installed in my new apartment, before furniture and kitchenware, was DSTV for one single reason: Aljazeera. I was so obsessed with global events, and badly wanted their documentaries on Latin America, and anti-capitalist struggles. Eventually my wife fell in love with AJE, too.

Opened in 2006 the network quickly became a part of our lives, reporting our tragedies, conflicts, and folklore, giving us voice.  When telling our life-stories nowadays, or dissecting our politics, it is not unusual to cite an Aljazeera news item, interview or feature. For many, AJE is a ‘national outlet.’ If it is not only dark-skinned or brown faces on screen, it is the stories from the subaltern world being reported critically but from an intimate vantage point. Off the top of my head, I can name AJE reporters Mohammad Adow, Rageh Omar, Catherine Soi, Ayman Mohyeldin, Haru Mutasa, Cath Tuner, Yvonne Ndege, Kamal Hyder, Sohail Rahman, Folly Bar Thibaut, Lucia Newman, Zeina Khodor, Nazanine Moshiri. They have connected regions and told our common trials and tribulations. From the stories being foregrounded, and the profile of the reporters, one is able to tell that this is not random, but the outcome of deliberate political and economic decisions.

On Aljazeera, brown and black journalists deliver good journalism in good English. To all of us “conscripts of a western modernity,” or still-recovering colonised minds, if you like, good English is an essential detail. The subaltern world feels like they belonged to this space.  Indeed, not to be left behind, yours truly, after a year of working at The Independent magazine in Kampala, felt confident enough to apply for a job at Aljazeera. Although unsuccessful, it is fair to say that this application was more about the network and less about the applicant. Indeed, despite feeling confident about my abilities, I would never have countenanced the idea of applying for a position at the BBC or CNN.  Both are so distant, not only geographically but also politically.

But at one point, anyone savouring the goodness of AJE had to stop and gasp: As a new player in the global news industry, this network must be rich, how do they manage this finesse? The talents and the tools at their disposal were among the best in the business (journalists frustrated by the outlets they had worked in or simply attracted by the new kids on the block). Understanding that assembling such talent does not come cheaply – financially, politically – Qatar, the country supporting the network became visible.  Remember, for a long time, AJE advertised just one business, Qatar Airways. Thus, we were transported in seeing Qatar, not just as an oil-rich country, but involved in both economic and political contestations: decolonisation, representation, Orientalism. If only Edward Said was alive to write a piece about the de-orientialising potential of this network. To the African continent, Qatar-AJE still stands as a humbling reminder that for us to spread our colours, and paint the world on our terms, we have to own our natural resources, exploit them ourselves, to obtain the results we want. Then, we’ll have the means and freedom to paint our world  – even when painting our tragedies. As I argued recently, decolonisation is thoroughly an economic, agrarian project.

The election violence in Kenya: 2007-2008

Aljazeera English had opened only a year before, when the 2007-2008 election violence in Kenya broke out. The network was almost unknown to many news watchers across the subaltern world. For a very long time, it did not broadcast in the United States. When Kenya went up in flames, however, because of the position the country occupies in the region, and because of the fluidity of the moment, this story had to be reported wholesomely, live, and continuously. Kenya’s Mombasa port is the gateway to the world for many landlocked East African countries. Nairobi is also the headquarters of many international organisations and a regional hub for many of the activities of international actors in the development and security industries. The entire region and world were watching and were hungry for more coverage. Aljazeera broke through the fog and brought us the conflict live.

We all wanted to know what was happening and how it might affect the entire region.  At a personal level, my uncle with whom I lived had only recently moved to Nairobi to work with the UNHCR. The violence prevented him from returning to his workstation in Nairobi. So, we remained glued to the network, watching with bated breath every aspect of the mayhem. AJE was the only outlet offering 24-hour coverage, reporting both breaking news, and analysing events. Working with both local and international reporters, it was relentless.  In this instance as in others since, Aljazeera penetrated deep into the hearts of the continent. Where other networks will devote no more than a couple of minutes to a conflict, Aljazeera devotes entire hours, underscoring a deliberate intention to report the subaltern world.

The Arab Spring, 2010 onwards

It did not take long before the Arab Spring broke out. This being mostly in the Arab world, with years of reporting in this region through Aljazeera Arabic, Aljazeera English outdid itself.  The Arab Spring changed not just the Arab world, but the entire world forever. In a world where (constitutional, capitalist-supported) autocrats reign large, we looked forward in anticipation for a Black Africa Flood – just as our autocrats did.  Aljazeera English brought Tahrir Square into our living rooms. I vividly recall Ayman Mohyeldin unceasingly bringing us live events. We lived this experience because Aljazeera made it visible. The network made the overthrow of Hosni Mubarak look like something that was happening to the whole continent, as it made the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood to power all the more understandable. We watched firsthand NATO’s demolition of Libya, and the agony of a once modern and thriving country being reduced to a slave route. I will never forget the sight of market women in downtown Kampala, glued to their TV sets, crying when the NATO-backed rebels finally caught up with Moammar Gaddafi and murdered him.

Outstanding shows

But it wasn’t only the wonderful reporting; there is also the network’s shows, films and award-winning documentaries. The most outstanding of them all remains Richard Gizbert’s ‘The Listening Post’. They don’t just report the news, rather, they report and debate the way the news is reported.  This is a mainstay of courses in critical media studies, discussing angles of reporting, media freedom, and vantage points. An absolute classic for journalism schools. The show called ‘The Stream’ continues to connect the subaltern world on social media, focusing on activism, and other current issues especially as debated on the margins of society, in the spaces of public and popular culture.

Then there is ‘Counting the Cost’, ‘The Inside Story’, and ‘Talk to Aljazeera’ that remain outstanding shows, which take us deep into the world of news with exceptional analysts (mostly scholars, activists and cultural icons), and the newsmakers being challenged to explain their actions. I will never forget Mohammad Vall when he sat down with Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni and asked the aging head of state whether he wouldn’t be remembered as a dictator. As a regular viewer and lover of the network’s films, I do not know how many times I cited The Rageh Omar’s Report on Somalia, America’s New Frontline Part I and II, and how this show inspired my work as a graduate student from Uganda going into Somalia, and how it gave me some sense of international geopolitics in the Horn and Africa more generally. The films streamed by AJE’s Witness, and People Power, especially when ordinary people stand up to western imperialism, and capitalism, particularly indigenous people’s struggles against oil giants, ignited my interests in political economy.

At a personal level, my bookshelves are loaded with titles inspired by AJE’s punditry, Op-ed writers and commentaries: Marwan Bishara’s The Invisible Arab, David Lamb’s The Arabs, and Belen Fernandez, Thomas Friedman: The Imperial Messenger.  To this day, I’m often checking their website to see if the next Op-ed by some of my favourite writers  Hamid Dabashi, Robert Grenier and Belen Fernandez has landed.

The point I am labouring to make is this: There’s a popular saying in African tradition, that before the lions learn to write their history, the story of the hunt will always favour the hunter. This also means, the animals have to learn to exploit and use their resources for their own benefit. AJE-Qatar have showed us, all is possible as long as you take control of your resources, and fulfil your dreams. If there are any lessons to take from the ways in which the world has finally reacted to the plight, dispossession, ethnic cleansing and Israel’s genocide against the Palestinians, it is that the Arab world has finally begun to tell its story.

David Lamb introduces his 1987 book, The Arabs: Journeys Beyond the Mirage, with the story: “Public relations, I was to learn, was a concept the Israelis understood, and the Arabs didn’t, and during my tour in the Middle East I was constantly struck by the Arabs’ inability to present to the world a favourable or accurate image of either themselves or their causes.”

If Lamb were to rewrite this introduction today, he would not miss the centrality of Aljazeera, and how this network has transformed the world’s view of not just the Middle East, but the entire subaltern world. No wonder, the empire continues to target Aljazeera. So, for example, former President Obama attacked the network in his post-presidential memoir, The Promised Land, (Dabashi gave us a fitting review) comparing AJE to the outlet, much-hated by liberals, Fox News.

And as I write, AJE no longer operates in Israel, having been shut down. We in Africa, with our innumerable conflicts, ignorance about each other, and our relations with the world rotating around competition and exploitation, need our own network with the focus, activism and commitment of Aljazeera.

Yusuf Serunkuma is a regular contributor to roape.net and a columnist in Uganda’s newspapers, as well as a scholar and a playwright. In 2014, Fountain Publishers published his first play, The Snake Farmers, which was received with critical acclaim in Uganda, Kenya and Rwanda.

Featured Photograph: During events in Libya in 2011 journalists watch Al Jazeera Arabic on television (25 February 2011).

The Beginning of the End of the ANC

For the first time in South Africa’s 30 years of democracy, the African National Congress (ANC) failed to obtain a majority of votes making a coalition with other parties imminent. Luke Sinwell considers the consequences, and discusses the emergence of a new party, MK, led by Jacob Zuma. Sinwell looks at what has happened to the left, and its repeated failure to make any serious inroads into South Africa’s political scene.

By Luke Sinwell

The newly minted Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK) party led by former President Jacob Zuma quickly established itself in the elections as the third largest party in the country obtaining about 15% of the votes, following the Democratic Alliance’s 22% and the ANC’s 40%.

Those on the right who support unfettered market freedom fear the ANC will partner with the left-leaning Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF – which obtained about 9.5% of the votes) and the MK (much more on this below). But, a coalition with the Democratic Alliance (DA – the historically white party) is perhaps the greatest threat to those who seek historical redress.

The latter would crush existing hopes for redistribution of wealth and cement the misguided sense that we live in a “post-racial” world – like the one that republicans in the US strive for where the past must be forgotten. The wounds that were inflicted by colonial-imperialist powers during colonialism and apartheid would likely be brushed aside.

We are consistently asked about the most “market-friendly” coalition, but one must ask: for whom? Those at the top or the bottom? South Africa is the most unequal country in the world. In 2023, Statistics South Africa found that 18.2 million people experience extreme poverty (living on less than US$1.9 per day) – it is highly unlikely that the trickle-down theory will work to their advantage.

Ramaphosa promised an end to corruption and a “new dawn”, but what we got was a new darkness. Our lights have literally been shut off often on a daily basis not only in poor communities who are disproportionately effected, but the middle class and big business has also been hit. Unemployment stands officially at a touch below 33%, but many have it at 50%. Even water runs dry in some suburbs and while South Africa used to have amongst the safest drinking water in the world, one now questions whether to quench one’s thirst from the tap, or to buy bottled water. Excessive inflation rates as well as high loan premiums for housing bonds means that the middle class too has been drowning.

The ANC’s vote dropped slightly in previous national elections from about 62% in 2014 to nearly 58% in 2019, but plummeted to just over 40% last week in what has been widely described as a humbling if not an utter humiliation for the former liberation movement.

On Sunday, the former trade unionist and anti-apartheid activist, President Cyril Ramaphosa, took centre stage as the Independent Electoral Commission (IEC) announced the results of South Africa’s elections. The IEC chairperson fumbled on his words when he introduced Ramaphosa on stage saying that the president was “extinguished” rather than “distinguished.”  All jokes aside this election cements the beginning of the end of the ANC.

Or does it?

The party which came to power on the back of the liberation movement against apartheid promised “a better life for all” in 1994. The Reconstruction and Development Programme (RDP) was intended as a state-driven policy to improve the lives of the black majority, but the 1996 “class project” adopted under the leadership of former President Thabo Mbeki rolled back the state.

Neoliberalism became ANC policy. White capital surged as South Africa was able to re-enter the global economy, as the working class experienced increased levels of poverty and unemployment.

There are a few black diamond billionaires who benefitted from Black Economic Empowerment including Ramaphosa, but this doesn’t sit well with the vast majority of poor people many of whom understandably feel as if they have been forgotten especially for the 9 million people still living in shacks.

South Africa’s Constitution is much touted, but it reinforces private property rights. Within this misguided framework, the land which was dispossessed from the black majority must be bought back for its market value. The white minority continues to own nearly 80% of productive land and about half of the country’s land overall, making the question of land expropriation without compensation a key item of contention.

The Making of a Martyr

Having spent a decade as a political prisoner on Robben Island from the age of 17, former President Jacob Zuma went into exile in 1975 before rising up through the ANC’s leadership ladder eventually becoming the Deputy President of the country between 1999 and 2005. The fact that he had been charged with corruption in an arms deal and was recently acquitted from a highly publicised charge of rape in 2006 did not prevent members of the party from electing him President of the ANC.

At Zuma’s rape trial he famously testified that he took a shower after having sex to avoid contracting HIV/AIDS.  Zuma supporters were seen outside of the courtroom burning pictures of Khwezi (who accused Zuma of rape) and in one instance his supporters were seen stoning a woman who they apparently mistook as his accuser.

Zuma’s ascent to ANC Presidency at the ANC National Conference in Limpopo in December 2007 happened with the backing of the left-wing coalition of COSATU and the SACP.

Disgruntled with what he viewed as the ANC’s flawed decision to oust Thabo Mbeki (whose term was set to expire in April 2009) in favour of Zuma, Terror Lekota and others formed the first breakaway party from the ANC called COPE in 2008 which earned about 7.5% in the national elections. So neither MK, nor the EFF is the first breakaway.

A product of the ANC, Zuma is seen by many as a “man of the people”, and yet his nine years of “state capture” (or predatory capitalism) from 2009 to 2018 when he was president cost the country up to R500 billion. A self-described socialist, at the end of 2017 he introduced a programme of “radical economic transformation” which was supposedly aimed at redistributing resources to the poor and working class.

Ramaphosa was elected the president of the ANC at their 54th annual conference in December 2017 thereby ending Zuma’s term as president of the ANC, thus leading him to be recalled as president of the country prior to the 2019 elections. This set the foundation from which Zuma’s ardent supporters viewed Ramaphosa as their arch enemy.

In their press conference on Monday this week, Julius Malema – the Commander in Chief of the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) – was asked about his own party’s decline of about 350,000 votes between 2019 and 2024.  For him, it had to do with Zuma who – as it happens – he had campaigned for in the 2009 elections even going so far as to famously state that he would “kill for Jacob Zuma.”

Malema reflected at the press conference:

The people who were supporting President Zuma… [t]hey had no other political home because they didn’t want Cyril so they ended up coming to us… when it came to voting they said… “the closer to what we want is the EFF.” … In 2019 … we get 350,000 votes… in Kwa-Zulu Natal… We don’t know where those numbers came from. Now there is an explanation. Those people were never ours. They were President Zuma’s people.  So it’s good they found their home.

Under Ramaphosa’s government, the Zondo State Capture Commission was established thus further pitting him against Zuma – who was pitched as the king-pin of state capture corruption.  When Zuma was sentenced to jail in 2021 after refusing to testify at the Zondo Commission to answer questions regarding charges of corruption and cronyism, protests and riots spread starting in KZN, Zuma’s stronghold, and then the rest of the country leaving more than 300 people dead and costing R20 billion in damages to 161 malls and nearly a dozen warehouses.

In the press conference on Monday, Malema referred to a conversation he had with Ramaphosa where he reportedly said, “you can’t do what you are doing. You are going to make him [Zuma] a hero…. Even after taking him out of jail they [ANC] still go on to harass him.”  From this perspective, the ANC solidified the sense among voters that Zuma is a kind of martyr.

However, he is false messiah and although there are certain benefits that the EFF brings to those who seek left-wing policies, Malema too is not a saviour of the working class.

Whither a Left Alternative?

Following the Marikana Massacre on 16 August 2012 which witnessed 34 mineworkers gunned down by automatic weapons under the auspices of the ANC, Julius Malema launched in 2013 the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF). In a symbolic gesture, this ‘launch’ happened below the exact mountain where the shootings took place. The left-leaning party appeared at face value to have a radical economic agenda.

They even brought one of the leading woman activists in Marikana, Primrose Sonti, to parliament so that she could take forward the struggle of the mineworkers and the community who lived across the road from Lonmin platinum in shacks often without running water or electricity. The EFF spoke the language of the people, wearing mineworkers’ hats and red overalls. Many of us used to love watching how the party disrupted parliament on the one hand while on the other spoke truth to white supremacy and capitalism.

If anything, the people of Marikana had a loud and consistent “voice” in Parliament, and yet few changes have been evident in the lives of ordinary people in Marikana. The women I spoke to in 2012 who were standing alongside their mineworker husbands and running from the police raids in Nkaneng informal settlement, still live in shacks without electricity.

The EFF though has arguably been most effective on university campuses where it leds most Student Representative Councils (SRCs) thus reaffirming that the party has a strong base from which to flourish.

One might suggest that the vast majority of voters still want the ANC in power, but a different ANC – and perhaps even one that nationalises mines and banks as is written in the manifestos of both MK and EFF.

But, the MK is not the way to go for those who seek a left alternative. It claims in its manifesto to be committed to radical redistribution and to be run by the will of the people, but the experience of Jacob Zuma (the main engine of the party) suggests that this is mainly rhetoric. Early this year, Zuma addressed 3000 MK supporters whereby he opposed same-sex marriage which he has previously referred to as a “disgrace to the nation and to God.”

In part, as a response to rising calls for nationalisation, capital attempted to promote a new party, Rise Mzansi, but it failed only capturing less than one half of a percent of the votes in the elections despite the funding it was given by one of the richest families in South Africa, the Oppenheimer’s.

The MK and EFF have been relatively effective at building grassroots electoral machinery, but the independent left (those who fall outside of mainstream political parties and outside the ANC’s alliance), have been utterly incapable of demonstrating organisational capacity in this regard. While the Workers and Socialist Party (WASP) stood proudly in the 2014 national elections using the platform to push forward pro-working-class politics, they obtained just over 8000 votes and could not obtain a seat in parliament.

Many placed hope in the National Union of Metal Workers of South Africa (“NUMSA Moment”) which broke from the alliance with the ANC in December 2013. The SRWP (Socialist Revolutionary Workers Party) which was formed to provide a socialist political home for workers and the unemployed also faired incredibly poorly in the 2019 elections obtaining about 20,000 votes despite it being NUMSA’s (which had an impressive trade union membership of 350,000 at the time) brainchild.

No credible alternative to build people’s power from below, uniting trade unions and social movements to make a wide set of demands within a socialist framework existed on the ballot in this election. This is a symptom of the independent left in South Africa which is in disarray. Ngoisation, whereby movements are watered down by organisations or academics with a bit of resources to throw for transport and pocket money, continues to be en vogue.

Following this year’s election outcome, the suggestion amongst some who I have spoken to informally is that we should stand candidates in the local government elections of 2026 to avoid a similar fate.

But, we don’t know what the people are thinking, for example, including those who did not vote at a moment when the percentage of voter turnout is the lowest it has ever been during our 30 years of democracy. We need to go back to the drawing board. We need to sit and listen to the people before propping up the next workers’ party or socialist electoral front which will, if history is anything to go by, in all likelihood have a very thin support base.

This week’s commentary by politicians, analysts and journalists mirrors this appraisal. But the assumption that because people voted, their voices have been heard is shortsighted and dangerous terrain for those who seek fundamental change.

We require a deeper, more robust democracy, not one where people vote every 5 years and then sit back in the hope that the new configuration of power within parliament will hand down some crumbs to make our lives slightly better.

What is clear is that the rules, norms and boundaries in which decisions are made at the ballot box, at public meetings and in the streets must be reimagined on the terms of the people themselves. Without this, elected officials will continue to break attractive promises. They will speak the language of the people as a means to pacify and control, thus denying present and future generations in South Africa our economic and political freedom.

Luke Sinwell teaches at the University of Johannesburg, and is an activist and socialist. Among his books is the co-authored The Spirit of Marikana (Pluto, 2016), Marikana: A View from the Mountain and a Case to Answer (Jacana, 2013), and his recent The Participation Paradox – Between BottomUp and TopDown Development in South Africa (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2023). Luke first visited Marikana the day after the massacre to provide solidarity to the striking mineworkers. 

Featured Photograph: Anti-Zuma protestors in Cape Town complaining of the junk status that South African debt became valued at during the Zuma presidency. The term “se poes” is a slang insult in Cape Town (7 April 2017).

A Struggle of 62 Days – Lessons of resistance from Kenya’s anti-colonial struggle

On 2 June 1937, members of the Labour Trade Union of Kenya returned to work after their masterfully strategic 62-day strike secured them an eight-hour work day, a nearly 25% wage increase, and recognition from colonial employers. Shiraz Durrani’s A Struggle of 62 Days dramatises the legacy of this mass strike. In this article, ROAPE contributor Zachary Patterson reviews Durrani’s play and writes on the history of the Kenyan labour movement in the struggle for independence and liberation.

By Zachary Patterson 

The genesis of labour activity, organizing, and law and regulation in Kenya can be traced back to the end of the 19th century and the building of the railways that brought into the colony the capitalist wage system. Loose affiliations of Kenyan workers struggled for their economic and political rights as soon as foreign capital came into the region for its resources and labour. The transition from the most exploitative forms of forced labour and other discriminatory practices to a wage system introduced to Kenyans and many recently arrived South Asian labourers the contradictions inherent to capital, which manifests labour unrest because of the alienation, coercion, and profit motives of employers. However, the unrest delivered and experienced at this conjuncture of the colonial state was unorganized and inadequate in forcing social change, due in large part to the colonial authorities’ successful manoeuvres to keep segregated European, Indian, and African workers – limiting mass organizing and the effectiveness of collective labour power in matters of labour injustice. As the economy continued to industrialize and develop, urban and rural workers became more aware of their systematic exploitation and began to make demands through informal associations and unions.

In 1914, Indian laborers who were recruited for railway construction formed the Indian Trade Union to represent workers in Mombasa and Nairobi. Around this time, European workers formed the Workers Federation of British East Africa and by 1919 another group of Indian laborers formed the Indian Employees Association. The British colonial government swiftly imposed regulations and passed legislation to ensure the adequate supply of cheap labour continued to serve capitalist interests in the emerging industries of agriculture, mining, and the service sector . The trade union movement and organizational representation continued to evolve through difficult contestations with the colonial powers, who persistently defended employers in order to prevent the rise of an organized labour movement.

As Indian and European workers deepened their ideological awareness through affiliations with workers organizations and orchestrated collective actions, a young Kikuyu intellectual by the name of Harry Thuku began organizing central Kenyan African workers for political and economic justice through the East African Association. Prior to being exiled from 1922 to 1931, Thuku and the association reached beyond ethnic boundaries and colonialist-imposed divisions, organizing African workers in the urban and rural centres of Kenya. Contemporaneous accounts largely painted Thuku as an insignificant lone agitator with a brief activist career that was manipulated by East African Asian organisations, whilst other scholarship depicted him and his movement in strictly nationalist terms (Maxon 1993; Thuku 1970).

Many of these observations fall short of recognizing Thuku’s most significant contributions to the development of the Kenyan labour movement, namely his ambition and capacity to organize across domestic cultural and class boundaries, as well as transnational anti-colonial and pan-African networks. Thuku and activists of the East African Association collaborated and stood in solidarity with Indian and Kenyan South Asian organizers – who brought to this partnership a profound ideological awareness and organizing experience from fighting British colonialism in India – to challenge colonial power and raise collective class consciousness absent of racial, religious, or communal divides.

Harry Thuku (19 April 2019).

This powerfully effective organizing strategy was later taken up by Makhan Singh – the Punjab radical and Kenyan trade unionist that fought for economic justice and national independence. Singh’s unifying leadership and recognition of total solidarity among the working class and poor is reflected upon and explained in Durrani’s play A Struggle of 62 Days as his characters become conscious of their shared struggle and collective power through their conclusion that union goals can only be achieved once the politics of indifference and segregation are challenged and overcome.

Durrani, a historian and playwright, depicts the forging of Kenyan class consciousness as workers overcome the individualistic nature of colonial governance and capitalist exploitation and act out their dedication to organize all people with Singh and the union. What would result from Singh’s leadership – and his later partnership with prominent Mau Mau freedom fighter Fred Kubai – is the establishment of the East African Trade Union Congress, the first central organization of Kenyan trade unions that evolved from the Labour Trade Union of Kenya and was established in 1949.

Under the leadership of Singh and in solidarity with the independence movement, the organized African and migrant labour working class deepened ties to the rural enclaves and assumed a militant posture, in large part because of land dispossession and displacement. Singh and Kubai’s unified militancy challenged working class injustices and launched a collective national fight for freedom with a high level of agitation and combativeness.

The revolutionary legacy of Makhan Singh

Makhan Singh remains a paramount figure in Kenya’s history for laying the foundations of radical trade unionism and actively participating in the independence struggle. Born in 1913, Singh’s activism began at an early age after his family moved to Kenya in 1927. After abandoning his studies due to financial constraints, Singh worked in the printing press founded by his father – an experience that would prepare him for the creation and distribution of multilingual union handbills and pamphlets used to organize Indian and Kenyan laborers. Singh brought to Kenya a political consciousness and working-class ideology that was radicalized by his lived experience under British colonialism in India, including his familiarity with the deadly crowd control tactics of the occupational forces and the Amritsar massacre that in 1919 took the lives of hundreds of peaceful Indian demonstrators.

In Kenya, Singh experienced how the transition to the colonial capitalist economy not only presented a shift in the mechanics of oppression but also in the strategies of resistance. In 1933, Singh joined the Indian Trade Union and – while still in his early 20s – was soon appointed honourable secretary, at which time he began to deracialize the organization and renamed it the Labour Trade Union of Kenya. In his new role, Singh wasted no time and began to organize all workers for higher wages and the improvement of work conditions, as well as the demand to end all forced labour. Class consciousness throughout the colony spread and union membership increased during the early 1930s as organizers deployed tactics of mobilizing workers in canteens and local clubs. The resistance organized by Singh and fellow union activists to the violence of colonial capitalism included spontaneous strike actions, which later – as union support increased – evolved into calculated union strikes and boycotts.

The strategies deployed by Singh and the Labour Trade Union of Kenya in 1937 are passionately dramatized in Durrani’s play. Portraying rank-and-file union members, characters Balwant and Bholu debate and discuss the strategy of the courageous sixty-two-day strike as Mawji – a South Asian construction worker – proclaims that “the tactics we have decided to use are those of guerrilla warfare…facing an enemy who controls superior weapons and resources, we do not rush headlong into battle [but] instead fight on our own terms” (Durrani: 2023, 107). The tactics being discussed are the union’s rolling strikes that apply pressure to the capitalists’ position in a sweeping manner, delivering work stoppages at different workplaces at different times to remain unpredictable and avoid repression. In scene two of the third act, Mwaji explains that the gradual escalation of worker militancy is designed to achieve success over time while avoiding mass hunger, state violence, and other pitfalls of powerlessness.

As we learn from the play, the mass strike was orchestrated by a strike-committee that organized rolling work stoppages and pickets, as well as coordinating resources such as food for striking workers and broad community support through handbills, worker rallies, and public meetings in the main thoroughfares of Nairobi. The play also teaches us of the broad working-class solidarity that existed during this time, as labour activists in the railway union show their support for South Asian workers in their struggle against Asian employers.

The historical relevance of Singh’s community’s class consciousness during the sixty-two-day strike are clearly portrayed as the character Balwant explains the main goal  as the union winning the right to represent the interests of the working class, uniting all workers of all races to confront the illegitimate power and control of the capitalists. On the 2 June, 1937, Asian employers in Nairobi conceded to union demands and a settlement was reached that guaranteed workers a wage increase of 15-22%, an 8-hour work day, and the reinstatement of all suspended employees. The play’s illustration of Singh and the union members’ determination to lay the basis for a more just politics in Kenya is inspiring and encourages us today to imagine successful tactics for radical social change.

A sixty-two-day strike

Durrani’s theatrical text, A Struggle of Sixty-two Days, reminds us that history remains an important point of reference, providing readers and theatre-goers with a compass to show where society could go. The play joins a growing list of drama texts that draw on the rich and often hidden history of East Africa, but sets itself apart from the tradition of historical plays by eschewing the use of a singular heroic figure and delivering the textured lived realities of the workers who made the longest and most consequential strike in Kenya’s history a success. Through a cast of dynamic protagonists, the play demonstrates the essential collective consciousness and coordination of the workers, while also acknowledging the significance of the collaboration and support provided by the masses.

History comes alive in the play, by coupling memory and imagination on the stage, stimulating the creation of collective memory that is educational, inspiring, and ideological. Like Ngugi wa Thiong’o and Micere Mugo’s The Trial of Dedan Kimathi, Durrani’s play draws on, restores, and preserves a rich and hidden history of East Africa; however, rather than simply retelling history, Durrani presents the setting and dialogue of 1937 clashes between labour and exploitative capital that continue to ring true today, inviting readers to consider and chart alternative futures.

The inequitable and unjust conditions that Makhan Singh organized against continue to plague Kenya’s so-called independent condition today. The Kenya Medical Practitioners Pharmacists Dentists Union (KMPDU) is currently embroiled in an ongoing standoff with the national government over doctor intern salaries and clinical and laboratory worker agreements, leaving the nation’s health sector in crisis as union members continue to strike until their demands are met. While strikes and resistance to exploitative labour violations by tropical fruit corporation Del Monte have been ongoing in Kenya for the past four decades, but the international and Kenyan bosses keep workers in a constant state of abuse and precarity by repressing union activity.

Durrani has written a historical drama that will bring political organizing and collective action to life, and once on-stage, audience members will learn important lessons along with his characters. The play centres around themes of labour and capital, community organizing and resistance, and the agency of the working-class characters. In addition to exploring the critical issues of class consciousness and strategy, the play reminds readers of the political importance of decolonizing education and history. For the workers portrayed in this play, education is more than formal teaching that takes place in schools or  colleges– it is an ideological instrument of colonial hegemonic power that must be challenged and decolonized to ensure an organic, radical, and working-class education.

German theatre practitioner, playwright and communist Bertolt Brecht is credited with once saying “art is not a mirror held up to reality but a hammer with which to shape it”. As an artistic document, Durrani’s play presents a drama that evokes from its readers a sense of pride and motivation to rethink trade union and liberation histories and consider previously proven tactics and strategies in general strikes and collective activism for radical social change today.

Shiraz Durrani, A Struggle of 62 Days (Nairobi, Kenya: Vita Books, 2024).

About Shiraz Durrani: 

Durrani resides in London as a Kenyan political exile. He is a library science professional noted for his writings on the social and political dimensions of information and librarianship. His writings on Kenya and the politics of information draw on his experiences in Kenyan underground politics and his work in public libraries. His history and liberation writings draw on his experiences in librarianship – from the struggle for independence in Kenya to modern-day Britain. Public intellectual and former Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Kenya, Willy Mutunga, states that “Durrani must be given due recognition as the organic intellectual who has given form to this history of our struggle, writing and archiving the history of these struggles.” The process of restoring a working-class perspective of Kenya’s history – liberating the minds of the people through access to relevant information – is the first step towards liberating the nation. More of Durrani’s books and articles can be found here.

Zachary J. Patterson is an independent researcher, activist, and ROAPE.net contributor. He writes on Kenya, NGOs, socialist politics and movements on the continent. He works in the space of art and revolutionary politics and is an organizer with the Indianapolis Liberation Center

Featured Photograph: Makhan Singh addressing workers after his release from prison, Nairobi 1961.

Sources

Durrani, Shiraz. 2023. “Prospects for Trade Unions in Kenya Under Capitalist Onslaught.” Counter Currents. 14 June 2023.

Durrani, Shiraz. 2015. “Reflections on the revolutionary legacy of Makhan Singh.” In Shiraz Durrani (Ed.), Makhan Singh: A Revolutionary Kenyan Trade Unionist. Nairobi: Vita Books.

Maxon, Robert. 1993. Struggle for Kenya: The Loss and Reassertion of Imperial Initiative, 1912-1923. London and Toronto: Associated University Presses.

Mohamed, Salum Rashid. 2021. “The History of the Labour Movement in East Africa: The Case of Kenya and Tanzania.” International Journal of Research and Innovation in Social Sciences (IJRISS). 5 (2): 521-528.

Thuku, Harry. 1970. Harry Thuku: An Autobiography. Nairobi, Lusaka, Dar Es Salaam, Addis Ababa: Oxford University Press.

Twaweza Communications. 2023. ‘Trade Unionism in Kenya – Zarina Patel Interview Part 1.Africa Speaking. [Podcast].

Palestine, too, shall be free – the liberation of all oppressed people in the whole of Africa and the world

Israel, as a settler colony, perceives Palestine as ‘empty land’, empty of people, culture, history and a future. Busani Ngcaweni argues that Palestinians are denied an identity and have become dis-membered, without a home, state or nation. There are striking similarities, Ngcaweni explains, between Israel’s ideology of racial subjugation by a ‘God-chosen people’ and apartheid South Africa’s belief in racial and religious superiority over an inferior black race.

By Busani Ngcaweni

Last week international media reported that Norway, Ireland and Spain have resolved to recognise Palestine as a state, making May 2024 a watershed moment in the pursuit for a two-state solution to end the protracted Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Another recent development is the decision by the Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court, Karim Khan KC, to apply for arrest warrants for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Hamas’s leader in Gaza for war crimes and crimes against humanity.

Even as bombs continue to rain in Gaza, it is important to note that the calls for the re-membering of Palestinians are gaining momentum. Their othering is a blot to the world that claims to be civilised. History reminds us that othering a people is just as insidious as labelling them; it fuels hatred and prejudice. It can easily justify massacres and genocide. If one considers others to be unlike themselves, subhuman or less deserving of even the most basic human rights, it makes it easier to justify their dispossession and mass murder.

Such is the situation occurs when one encounters the rhetoric saying, ‘there is no Palestine, at least in the Western sense of a nation state’. This is followed by phrases like ‘there was (and is) no such thing as Palestinians.’ In a recent Israeli Knesset session, Israeli’s Minister of Settlement and National Missions, Orit Strook, echoed the country’s fourth Prime Minister Golda Meir’s infamous phrase uttered in 1969 by saying: “There is no such thing as a Palestinian people… every cultured person in the world knows that this land is ours, for the Israeli people, and only for us.” It would not be the first time, or more likely, the last occasion. During a visit to France in 2023, Israel’s Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich said: “Who was the first Palestinian king? What language do the Palestinians have? Was there ever a Palestinian currency? Is there a Palestinian history or culture? Nothing. There is no such thing as a Palestinian people.”

What other evidence does the world need to save a people from acts of dis-membering?

In a prominent journal on post-colonial studies in 2011, leading decolonial scholar Ramón Grosfoguel wrote: “We went from the sixteenth century characterization of ‘people without writing’ to the eighteenth and nineteenth century characterization of ‘people without history,’ to the twentieth century characterization of ‘people without development’ and more recently, to the early twenty first century of ‘people without democracy’.” This is an apt description of the ongoing tragedy in Gaza.

The Palestinians, who have and continue to endure untold suffering and historical injustice, are referred to as ‘a non-people’ because they neither have a state nor history. How much easier has it been for Israel, the self-proclaimed only democracy in the Middle East, to ethnically cleanse, dispossess and bomb to smithereens the peoples of the besieged Gaza Strip since the events of 7 October 2023. This happens as the global champions of liberty continue to turn a blind eye, seemingly treating human rights as an a la carte menu. Norway, Ireland and Spain, along with scores of other nations have crossed the Rubicon, seeking to correct this situation and make Palestinians feel like they belong.

Seeing others as non-beings is the genealogy of hate and violence. Israel, with its race-based biases, does not view Palestinians as human beings deserving of a state and life. This is demonstrated by the astonishing quantum of ‘collateral damage’ since Israel’s assault on Gaza began.

The senseless onslaught has not spared children, pregnant women, non-combatants, journalists, health workers, the elderly and people with disabilities. Besides, how do you identify and isolate a terrorist in a crowded refugee camp? It is the dress code, facial hair, height or just looking Arab?

Civilian infrastructure, including hospitals and universities, has been bombed and demolished. Water supply has been cut off. Millions of Palestinians have been forcibly removed from most of Gaza’s territory and forced to live in inhumane makeshift camps in the middle of nowhere. However, they are, after all, by Meir’s dictum, ‘a non-people’, hence there is moral justification for Anglo-American sponsored atrocities.

During the Anglo-Boer War of colonial aggression in South Africa, the contending British imperialist forces did to the Afrikaners what Israel is doing in Gaza – scorched earth. Everything the Afrikaners possessed was crushed and burnt down, sending them into refugee camps and destitution.

What is happening to the Palestinians is a manifestation of coloniality, colonialism and imperialism; the three systems whose defining logic is dis-membering. Its roots can be traced back to early European colonialism, transformed into contemporary Anglo-American imperialism to maintain western hegemony. These forces dis-membered non-Euro-Americans from their humanity, relegating them to subhuman status and to alterity, statelessness, without nationhood, history, culture and feelings.

The author of the book, Romantic Imperialism: Universal Empire and the Culture of Modernity, Saree Makdisi, writes that between 1790 and 1830, the history of over 150 million people was obliterated by the British through the romanticism of “empty lands”. This physical and epistemic violence has continued unabated, fueled by what the Palestinian intellectual Edward Said called “the ideology of difference”.  It is being perpetuated by the modernising imperial forces in the supposedly ‘empty’ territory where mass graves are being discovered though ignored by the Anglo-American establishment. Because, as Makdisi writes, they “participate in the very same colonial processes whose power lies precisely in their ability to cover up, to hide away, to claim and reinvent and re-name spaces that are not theirs, and violently to ignore what was once there.”

At the centre of this active colonial dominance was a pursuit of a Eurocentric vision, which according to scholars such as Samir Amin, Walter Rodney and Sabelo Ndlovu-Gatsheni, entailed the triumph of European science and knowledge over others. Outside Europe lay ‘empty lands’ that had nothing to offer to humanity, whereas Europe (and now also North America) is the future of the world.

Like British romanticism, Israel, as a settler coloniser, perceives Palestine as ‘empty land’, empty of people, culture, history and a future. In Joseph Conrad’s words, it is the Heart of Darkness. There are in fact striking similarities between Israel’s ideology of racial subjugation by a ‘God-chosen people’ and apartheid South Africa’s belief in racial and religious superiority over an inferior black race. Just as there were signs in South Africa saying: “blacks only”, there are road signs near Israeli checkpoints saying: “This road leads to area ‘A’ under the Palestinian Authority. The entrance for Israeli citizens is forbidden, dangerous to your lives and is against the Israeli law.” Or ‘swart gevaar’; ‘black danger’, as the apartheid government used to say.

The defining locus of war, concomitant with the strategic imperative of imperialism is to see the other as non-human. Once their humanity is stripped, the moral license to annihilate them is granted. Academic Rachel Busbridge writes that since the establishment of Israel in 1948, Palestinians have always regarded “Zionism as a colonial settler ideology that has sought to expel them from their land, with the expansionist aim to claim all of historic Palestine as a Jewish state”. According to Busbridge, the difference between colonialism and settler colonialism is that the settler coloniser is motivated by the intention to subjugate the native, whereas the coloniser is mostly driven by, and concerned with, exploitation of natural resources.

Among these reasons, South Africa submitted a lawsuit before the International Court of Justice (ICJ) alleging possible acts of genocide by Israel against the Palestinian people. Drawing from its own experience at the altar of dis-memberment of the majority of the population, South Africa, is correctly challenging the global community to re-member Palestine into humanity and the global community of nations.

We can assert therefore that South Africa’s case at the ICJ is an act of re-membering the people of Palestine, as much as the latest actions of Norway, Ireland and Spain. It is the correct course of action as many countries have joined South Africa in rejecting colonialism and all forms of oppression around the world, and more are expected to emulate the re-membering by Norway, Ireland and Spain. For South Africa, this is a historical mission that dates back to the formation of the African National Congress (ANC). The ANC promised that democratic South Africa would stand in solidarity with all people whose struggle continues.

For his part, then ANC president, Chief Albert Luthuli, remarked in 1953 that, “our interest in freedom is not confined to ourselves only. We are interested in the liberation of all oppressed people in the whole of Africa and in the world as a whole… Our active interest in the extension of freedom to all people denied it makes us ally ourselves with freedom forces in the world.” Democratic South Africa’s founding father, Nelson Mandela, famously said: “We know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians.”

What has been happening at The Hague since South Africa launched its humanist act replayed the scenes at the United Nations during the anti-apartheid struggle days, when the liberation movement and its supporters pleaded with the global community to intervene and put an end to a crime against humanity. It was a long walk to freedom, resulting in the isolation of the apartheid regime, which eventually crumbled through the sweat, blood and wisdom of peace-loving people in South Africa and around the world. In its dying days, as we see in Israel today, it became more deadly and desperate. In the end the paradigm of peace prevailed over the paradigm of war.

Palestine, too, shall be free. We do note that many other countries have joined the South African case at the ICJ, where the plausibility of the genocide has been established. Prominent legal academic and South Africa’s former Public Protector, Advocate Thuli Madonsela recently said: “The ‘fog of war’ narrative Israel is trying to hide behind does not apply. The ‘fog of war’ applies when opposing armies exchange fire and accidentally hit civilians as collateral damage. In this case there are no two armies firing at each other. Only Israel is deliberately firing at residential areas where it sent civilians for safety. History will judge global leaders of our time harshly for this inhumanity.”

In this regard, what is happening at university campuses around the world between months of April and May 2024 is yet another indication that, while the Anglo-American empire may choose indifference and the convenience of geo-strategic considerations over human life, solidarity with the people of Gaza is growing. Even China, which prides itself on not interfering in the internal affairs of other sovereign nations, has issued a strong statement affirming the Palestinians’ “right to resist”, as well as calling for a permanent ceasefire and for the creation of two states coexisting peacefully side by side.

The quest for justice for the Palestinian people will endure until their liberation is achieved, as was the case with apartheid South Africa. Acts of re-membering are not single events but rather a continual process until all vestiges of coloniality, colonialism and imperialism are dismantled and buried. The struggle is not against the Jewish people, but a government that uses lethal force that violates any rules of war. The Jewish people deserve to be safe, just as the Palestinians have the right to life and statehood.

Busani Ngcaweni is visiting professor at Fudan University in China from South Africa where he is a public servant. Views expressed here are private.

Featured Photograph: Graffiti in Wale Street, Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa (2024).

The great soul of a freedom fighter – Alpheus Manghezi (1934-2024)

ROAPE celebrates the life and work of Alpheus Manghezi, researcher, scholar and activist. Manghezi was a citizen of the world and a fighter for the freedom and liberation of all peoples. He worked in Johannesburg, Glasgow, London, Zambia, Mozambique and Tanzania. We post two celebrations of his life, one by the Centre of African Studies in Maputo, and the other by Gottfried Wellmer. As Gottfried writes, “If the soul of a human is the capacity to communicate with other humans, then Alpheus was a great soul.”

The Centre of African Studies at Eduardo Mondlane University (CEA-UEM) reports with great sadness the passing of Professor Alpheus Manghezi on 16 May 2024.

Alpheus Manghezi was born on 8 June 1934 in Northern Transvaal, today the province of Limpopo in South Africa. From an early age, he dedicated himself to the social cause of the masses, studying social work in Johannesburg (1960), psychiatric social work at the London School of Economics (1963) and community development in The Hague (1969).

Alpheus Manghezi at the Timbila Writers’ Village, Limpopo, South Africa.

He subsequently earned a degree in sociology at the University of Ibadan in Nigeria (1968) and a PhD in sociology at Uppsala University, Sweden (1976). Naturally, this trajectory turned him into a citizen of the world and a fighter for the freedom and well-being of the people, which materialised in his work in Johannesburg, Glasgow, London, Zambia, Mozambique and Tanzania – among other places.

In Mozambique he stood out as a researcher at CEA-UEM between 1976 and 1987. During this period, Alpheus Manghezi participated in and led several research projects, producing most notably works on cooperatives and the cooperative movement, peasant political economy, and the impact of labour migration to the mines of South Africa.

Alpheus Manghezi (November 2012).

Manghezi’s professional talent in working with oral sources made him one of the great specialists in oral history, both in Africa and globally. His love for his Shangaan mother tongue and his culture helped him to immerse himself in communities in southern Mozambique, where he collected multiple interviews and songs that constituted the main sources for his book Trabalho forçado e cultura obrigatória do algodão: o colonato de Limpopo e o reassentamento pós-independência c.1895-1981 [Forced labour and compulsory cotton cultivation: the Limpopo settlement and the post-independence resettlement, ca.1895-1981], as well as his article “Ku Thekela: estratégia de sobrevivência contra a fome no Sul de Moçambique” [Ku Thekela: survival strategy against hunger in Southern Mozambique]. Among other publications authored by him or with his participation, the following stand out: O mineiro Moçambicano: um estudo sobre a exportação de mão de obra em Inhambane [The Mozambican miner: a study on the export of labour in Inhambane], a work coordinated by Ruth First and which includes interviews and songs recorded by Alpheus Manghezi, as well as Macassane: uma cooperativa de mulheres velhas no sul de Moçambique [Macassane: a cooperative of old women in southern Mozambique], published in 2003 and also containing interviews and songs that he had collected.

The funeral of Alpheus Manghezi took place on 22 May in Mariebjerg Kirkegärd, Copenhagen. CEA-UEM extends its deepest condolences to his widow, Nadja Manghezi, to his family, and to his friends.

*

Gottfried Wellmer, who was a colleague of Alpheus’s at the Centro de Estudos Africanos in the 1980s, recalls some adventures while carrying out fieldwork in rural Mozambique with him. Manghezi worked extensively with Ruth First in Mozambique, and his refections on her and his time can be read here

Alpheus always impressed me… I was allowed to travel with him to a cooperative in the south of Mozambique, to listen to a song about Ngungunhane: how the Portuguese not only captured him, but also forced him to violate the eating tabus of a king.

I had recorded the song on my tape recorder, and I played it for Alpheus. He was interested because there were some verses that he hadn’t heard before. However, unfortunately, I ran out of tape for interviews, and I over-recorded the song with another interview. Alpheus then got Ruth First’s permission to go with me to the cooperative and record the song again. In general, it seems that Alpheus preferred direct conversations with local people in Shangaan to academic theories passed around among the other researchers!

First of all, we went to talk to the women working in the fields. While I was recording their songs about colonial ill-treatment and the forced cultivation of cotton, Alpheus killed a big python that had threatened a woman who was working alone in another area. That python was at least two metres long. However, the women were not impressed. They asked Alpheus: why didn’t you kill its mate as well? Don’t you know that they hunt in pairs? Now the widow of the python will follow you until it can kill you.

Alpheus Manghezi with his comrade Colin Darch (November 2012).

We took a coffee break. The women retired to a shady and grassy spot to eat their lunch, while Alpheus kept up some humorous banter with them. Suddenly all the chatter stopped, and there was complete silence. I saw Alpheus move towards a woman who was standing frozen to the spot – she had lifted a cooking pot, only to discover that a small green mamba was resting underneath it. Alpheus got hold of a catana – a machete –  and in a couple of paces reached her and killed the snake, an extremely venomous species. He turned to me and remarked ironically, “It’s a good day to die!”

Suddenly he was the hero of the day. The women marched us back to the village, singing and ululating. There we met the old man who had given me the original version of the song about Ngungunhane.

The understanding and sympathy between Alpheus and the members of the cooperative was extremely impressive. If the soul of a human is the capacity to communicate with other humans, then Alpheus was a great soul, and I will always admire him for that ability.

An interview with Alpheus Manghezi was conducted by Vanessa Rockel in 2012 as part of the Ruth First Papers project at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies. Listen to the interview here

The Revolution Born in Africa: the anniversary celebrations of the Carnation Revolution

Colin Darch writes about attending the anniversary last month of the Portuguese revolution on 25 April 1974. This was the  “fourth revolution” alongside the anti-colonial transformations in Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique and Angola. Darch argues that it remains vital to remember that between 1974-1975 radical socialist transformation in a small country on the south-western edge of Europe was on the cards – and that it was African leaders such as Amílcar Cabral, Samora Machel and Agostinho Neto who were showing the way.

By Colin Darch

A few weeks ago, on the afternoon of the 25 April, I joined a massive broad left demonstration in Lisbon to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the Revolução dos Cravos – the Carnation Revolution – the military revolt that had overthrown Portugal’s dictatorial Novo Estado regime in 1974. That revolt was a direct consequence of liberation struggles in Portugal’s African colonies – struggles that the increasingly demoralised Portuguese army was unable to suppress over more than ten years.

As it happens, I remember the original date vividly. In April 1974, I was working part-time at night as an announcer in the (secular) newsroom at a private radio station in Addis Ababa, financed for missionary purposes by the World Lutheran Federation. By chance, I was working on the evening of 25 April, when our lead story was, of course, the overthrow of the Fascist dictatorship in Portugal by the army, and the assumption of power by General António Spínola, whose name nobody in the studio had the faintest idea how to pronounce correctly.

Now, half a century later, I linked up with perhaps half a million people marching the one and a half kilometres from the Praça Marquês de Pombal down the gently sloping Avenida da Liberdade (the aptly named Avenue of Freedom) to Rossio, in what was reportedly the largest public demonstration since the one on the 1 May 1974, a week after the coup. This time there were so many people in the crowd – peaceful and generally good-humoured – that the march took around four or five hours to complete the short route, and one local newspaper commented the next morning that this was the day when the Avenida da Liberdade – which is 90 metres wide – was just too small.

The front page of the Lisbon daily Público showing the massive crowd at the demo on Avenida da Liberdade. The headline reads “The people take to the streets”. Another daily paper reported that the political parties were taken by surprise by the huge turnout (Colin Darch).

The first part of the “desfile” – march – consisted mainly of individual citizens, a few carrying cardboard placards with handwritten slogans on them. After some time, they were followed by two “blindados” or armoured troop carriers, and then by multiple blocks organised by political parties, trade unions, women’s groups, LGBTQ+ rights movements, anti-racist organisations, and various other activist NGO’s. Prominent and highly visible among them, with red flags and red balloons flying high, was the Bloco de Esquerda (Left Bloc), a loosely structured party made up of various left tendencies which continue to exist as associations. Another group that was proudly flying red flags was Vida Justa, a militant organisation based in the poor neighbourhoods around the outskirts of Lisbon, focusing especially on the rights of African immigrant workers. They campaign for better wages, less taxation, and a better public transport system – and against racism, police abuses and price inflation. Vida Justa was among several groups that were flying Palestinian flags alongside their red banners.

Several of the activist groups marched flying Palestinian flags in solidarity with the people of Gaza.

The march took place in the shadow of an ultra-right resurgence in Portugal – the racist, populist and xenophobic Chega Party received 18% of the vote in the March 2024 election, winning 50 seats and becoming the third largest party in the Assembly of the Republic.[1] Chega is also deeply Eurosceptic.

Early on the morning of the 25th, I saw a small group of young demonstrators, with flags decorated with the Cross of the Order of Christ, chanting fascist slogans in the Praça do Comércio. I also spoke briefly to a young Brazilian man, who self-identified as a supporter of “fascism”. Understandably these developments are seen – for example – by Djass, a leading anti-racist organisation that defends the interests of people of African descent in Portugal, as truly alarming: we didn’t know that there are a million racists in Portugal, commented one militant.

In this context, what was almost completely missing – at least from what I was able to see for myself, or from what I read later in such newspapers as Público, Diário de Notícias, Sol, or the venerable weekly Expresso – was any explicit recognition of the critically important role played by the liberation struggles in Africa in creating the necessary conditions for what nearly became a fourth revolution in Portugal itself.

By 1973 the wars for independence had effectively been lost in both Guinea-Bissau and Mozambique.[2] “25 de Abril” in 1974 quickly led to a victorious conclusion for the liberation movements with the independence of Angola and Mozambique – Guinea-Bissau’s PAIGC had already declared independence on 24 September 1973. But the idea that “o 25 de Abril começou em África” (the 25  April started in Africa) was far from being a dominant theme in either the afternoon demo or the earlier government-sponsored celebrations – despite the presence in Lisbon of the presidents of all five former African colonies, the PALOPs.[3]

The afternoon demonstration was not the only recognition of the significance for Portugal of 25 de Abril. Earlier in the morning there had been a show of military force, with participation from all three branches – army, navy, and air force – in the Terreiro do Paço, a large open space on the banks of the river Tagus. The parade attracted a large crowd, and was presided over by President Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, an elderly former Social Democrat whose father Baltasar had been one of the last governors of Mozambique in the late 1960s. The event was undoubtedly aimed at helping to maintain the military’s dubious reputation as a progressive force in Portuguese politics, the glorious liberators of the people. It included historical re-enactments with well-preserved military vehicles from the 1970s, some of which remained parked nearby so that the public could poke around inside them.

Some demonstrators seem to have understood the distinction between the MFA (Armed Forces Movement), made up principally of radical junior officers (“the captains”), with their links to the “povo”, and the armed forces in general, a division that became clearer and clearer in the period of PREC between 1974 and 1975 (Colin Darch).

The presidents of all Portuguese-speaking countries except Brazil were present in Lisbon and were hosted by President Rebelo de Sousa at a “commemorative session” held in Belem, about six km. away from downtown Lisbon. In diplomatic but barbed remarks the Angolan president, João Lourenço, pointed out that 25 de Abril was an historic event for Portugal’s former colonies as well as for the metropole:

While the Portuguese people fought against the fascist dictatorship since 1932, we were fighting against Portuguese colonisation ever since the 15th century.

He added that the slave trade and the pillaging of resources were central to the experience of Portuguese colonialism and went on to emphasise the importance of such turning points as Guinea-Bissau’s declaration of independence in September 1973, and what he called the “fiasco” of Operation Gordian Knot, the failed military offensive against FRELIMO in 1970.[4]

A few days before the celebrations, on 23 April, President Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa had stirred up controversy in some comments to foreign journalists, admitting that Portugal was responsible for the crimes it had committed through its involvement in the slave trade,[5] as well as during the lengthy colonial period:

Portugal takes full responsibility [and] we have to pay the costs. Are there actions that were not punished and those responsible were not arrested? Are there goods that were looted and not returned? Let’s see how we can repair this.[6]

The right – and especially Chega – subsequently took the opportunity to attack the president fiercely during the “solemn session” of commemoration at the Assembleia da República on the 25 April. The leader of Chega, André Ventura, accused him of “betraying the Portuguese people” by opening up the question of reparations. “I am proud of our history” said Ventura, adding that Marcelo had not been elected by either Guineans or Brazilians. Ventura complained later that there was no mechanism in the Portuguese constitution for impeaching a president. Another party leader, a centrist, called attention to Portuguese settler families who had been abandoned to their own devices during what he called “the disastrous process of decolonisation”.

In early May, several of the directors of major Portuguese museums denied that their collections contained items that had been pillaged from territories colonised by the Portuguese, arguing rather that such objects had been acquired through the normal channels of international trade.[7] Several letters were published in the dailies and weeklies from individuals, who, ignoring the collective character of the advantages of Portuguese colonialism for the metropole, asserted that since they had not themselves personally benefitted from colonial exploitation, it would be unjust to use their taxes to compensate the exploited ex-colonies.

The 19 months between the military seizure of power and the 25 November 1975 – the heady period of the Processo Revolucionário em Curso (PREC), the “ongoing revolutionary process” – were marked by failed coup attempts as well as left policies supported by organised labour. The so-called “hot summer” of 1975 was a period of intense political turmoil, even violence, with extensive nationalisations and land seizures. But the possibility of deep revolutionary change in Portugal ended in November 1975, when the countercoup by elements in the armed forces led by the “moderate” António Ramalho Eanes, put an end to PREC. Indeed, Eanes, now nearly 90, commented recently in an interview that it would be a mistake not to celebrate the 25 November as well as the 25 April:

There was, as everyone knows, especially the older ones, that terrible disturbance that they called PREC and there were, obviously, significant threats to the original objective of the 25 April, which was democratic in its intentions. The 25 November reestablished the original promise…

After fifty years of liberal democracy, current Portuguese politics are overshadowed by the alarming resurgence of the ultra-right in the March elections, as well as a generalised failure to acknowledge the character of Portugal’s relationship to its former colonies either in the past or in the present. From a left perspective, although the chances of a metropolitan “fourth revolution” alongside the transformations attempted in Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique and Angola, were always exceedingly slim, it remains important to remember that for at least a few months in 1974-1975 social transformation in a small country on the south-western edge of Europe was on the cards – and that it was African leaders such as Amílcar Cabral, Samora Machel and Agostinho Neto who were showing the way. That possibility was permanently closed off on the 25 November 1975, despite Ramalho Eanes’ nostalgic claims. In any event, at least one of the demonstrators on Avenida da Liberdade bitterly recalled the moment when he scrawled on a piece of cardboard the angry slogan, “Eu quero que o 25 de Novembro se foda”, in English, “I wish 25 November would fuck itself”.[8]

Olga Iglesias, 25 April 2024.

Writer and socialist Colin Darch worked in Mozambique from 1979 to 1987, and is the founder of the website Mozambique History Net. With the late Amélia Neves de Souto he’s the author of A Dictionary of Mozambican History and Society (HSRC Press, 2022). 

Notes  

[1] The word Chega can be translated as “Enough!”

[2] See the assessment by Norrie McQueen, “O balanço militar em 1974 nos três teatros de operações” in O adeus ao império: quarenta anos de descolonização, ed. Fernando Rosas, Mário Machaqueiro and Pedro Aires Oliveira (Lisbon: Veja, 2015), p.44-59.

[3] One of the few books that explicitly attempts to analyse the connection between the African liberation struggles and the military intervention in Portugal in April 1974 is O 25 de Abril começou in África, ed. António Simões do Paço and others (Vila Nova de Famalição: Ed. Húmus, 2019), which includes the first publication in Portugal of Perry Anderson’s seminal 1962 essay “Portugal and the end of ultracolonialism”.

[4] This event was not widely reported; the Lisbon daily newspaper Diário de Notícias, for example, tucked its account of the session away at the end of a report on the controversy about reparations, on page 5 of the edition of 26 April.

[5] It’s estimated that a total of around six million African people were enslaved by the Portuguese and transported to Brazil, more than any of the other European countries involved in the trade.

[6] In an article published in the online daily O Observador (25 September 2023), the historian João Pedro Marques estimated that Portugal owed Brazil alone US$20 billion in reparations for slavery, without taking any African countries into account.

[7] José Cabrita Saraiva, “Diretores de museus dizem que não há nada para devolver às ex-colónias,” Sol (3 May 2024), p.12-13.

[8] My thanks to Carmeliza Rosário for comments on a previous draft of this text.

Institutional failure, police brutality, and the quest for climate justice in Kenya

On the evening of 24 April, a deluge of rain led to flooding that decimated many homes along the Mathare and Getathuru rivers in Nairobi, Kenya. The floods have left nearly 200 people dead and 200,000 more displaced across the country. Zachary Patterson reports on the climate disaster that is claiming lives, and uprooting communities in Kenya and the activists providing support to the displaced while campaigning against state brutality.

By Zachary Patterson  

Receding waters around Nairobi have revealed destroyed properties, damaged infrastructure, and shattered livelihoods, exacerbating socioeconomic vulnerabilities – particularly in the informal settlements of Mathare, Mukuru, Kibera, and Dandora where flooding was the most ravaging. Flooding along the Mathare River resulted in the deaths of 40 community members and hundreds remain reliant on local volunteers for food, water, and temporary housing. As these types of extreme weather events have become more common, Kenyan leaders have fallen short of their obligation to prevent the foreseeable harm of climate disasters and protect the most marginalized and at-risk populations, including those with disabilities, the elderly, and the poor.

This statement is published in solidarity with the organizers and activists of the Mathare Social Justice Centre (MSJC) and Ecological Justice Network who are leading the struggle for justice for those impacted by the government’s mishandling of climate disaster preparedness, relief, and aid. Since the flooding began MSJC and other community groups have provided rapid and effective responses to peoples’ needs – providing food and medical aid, helping victims find shelter, recovering missing individuals, and supporting much needed cash transfers. MSJC has also led the community in condemning the national government – the United Democratic Alliance (UDA) – for the inhumanity and indignity it has bestowed onto the Kenyan people over the past two months.

The government’s recent announcement to forgo aid and relief and instead demolish the homes and livelihoods of those affected by flooding in the informal settlements is a clear attack on the poor and a mismanagement of crisis. The decision to displace flood victims without plans for relocation or land allocations is a direct violation of Article 43 of the Kenyan Constitution, which protects citizens’ rights to decent housing, food, the highest attainable standards of healthcare, and the right to clean and accessible water. It is the Kenyan government’s duty to ensure support to affected communities and protect populations facing continued risks.

Epicenter of resistance

The history of Mathare is a history of anti-colonial struggle. Made up of the agglomeration of 13 slum villages, Mathare – the second largest slum in Nairobi – has grown to a population of nearly 500,000 as a result of rural-to-urban migration sparked by colonial landgrabs, capitalist displacements, and the persistent exploitative nature of the relations of production in Kenya. When Kenya was made a British Protectorate in 1920, Mathare emerged as the urban vanguard against the oppression of colonialism. The people of Mathare understood the connections between rural and urban struggles for land and freedom and – away from the surveillance of colonial authorities – the area became the epicenter of the Kenya Land and Freedom Army (KLFA) fighters and the nationalist movement for independence. The area would become the nexus between fighters in the forest, the KLFA, and the various trade unionists and other groups organizing for the end of colonialism – a place where political consciousness and strategy were developed for the fight for independence.

After the fall of British colonial rule in 1963, Mathare continued to play a critical role in the anti-oppression struggle against post-colonial regimes. Today, the community remains an epicenter of resistance against imperialism and a beacon of hope for liberation and justice in Kenya.

Since 2015, MSJC has worked with the community to promote social justice. For decades Mathare has endured the various forms of structural violence inherent to the market-driven development policies of Kenya. These forms of violence include land grabbing and forced evictions, police abuse and extrajudicial killings, political impunity, and other socioeconomic and psychological cruelties. Previous research suggests that the political economy of civil society actors – as well as their disconnect from grassroots concerns and injustices – depoliticizes and leaves unresolved these forms of structural harm. This suggestion is again evidenced by the most recent civil society failures to forestall the death and destruction caused by predictable flood risks and respond to the communal needs of decent housing and climate resiliency. Grassroots organizers are doing vital work to respond to the organic needs and demands of the community that routinely fall on deaf ears. In the face of reduced government spending on core services and the marketization of civil society, grassroots actors in Mathare work closely with community members and a nationwide network of social justice advocates to resist the structural violence of capitalist interventions, collectively design solutions to social struggles, and galvanize social change.

Since their founding, the organizers and community volunteers at MSJC have been involved in a number of initiatives with the mission to promote social justice and a society free of human rights violations through engaged community and social movement platforms. Ongoing campaigns, all anchored in participatory action research, include art for social change, reproductive justice, political accountability and education, and ecological justice.

Emphasizing an urgent need to address sustainable livelihoods, in January MSJC established an initiative focused on environmental conservation for ecological justice. The ‘Let the Rivers Flow’ campaign was aimed at engaging the community through education to create awareness, strengthen advocacy, and influence policy around issues of clean and safe drinking water and transforming, restoring and preserving the Mathare river valley. To celebrate this effort and commemorate the gains of the Ecological Justice Campaign’s conservation and establishment of community parks along the river, MSJC and partnering groups organized The River Festival earlier this year. During the event, campaign organizers expressed their goal of moving informal settlements from slums to environmentally conscious, resilient, and sustainable communities; yet, structural violence and global climate injustices continue to undermine their demands and actions for a brighter future.

The structural violence of capitalism that MSJC struggles against is not an inadvertent byproduct of Kenyan economic development; it is an inseparable internal mechanism which helps capital satisfy its insatiable reproductive needs in its quest for consolidated power and dominance. The experience of living in the informal settlements of Nairobi has led to social conflicts rooted in colonialism and class politics – and the MSJC is at the center of organizing against these oppressive forces and structures, leading a movement for radical change towards a just and equitable Kenyan future.

Organizing and state repression

On the morning of 8 May, members of the Mathare community united to defend their right to decent housing and a dignified life. This community response occurred the day after Kenyan authorities began bulldozing homes affected by the floods, ripping through iron-sheet walls as people watched in despair. Despite public promises made by President William Ruto, the government had not – and still has not – dispersed the 10,000 Kenyan shillings ($75USD) to those ordered to relocate from their residences near rivers and dams. The failure of the government to provide residents with relief and aid prompted MSJC and the Ecological Justice Network to organize direct action. In a statement released prior to the demonstration, MSJC organizers stated that it is under the guise of ‘saving the poor from nature’ that the government has destroyed the livelihoods of countless Kenyans through the illegal demolition of informal settlements without proper remittance or relocation assistance.

The demonstration on 8 May began at Juja road and proceeded along Mau Mau road where Kenyan police unleashed tyrannical force onto those protesting – teargassing and violently dispersing activists and community members. Following the demonstration and a press statement given at Mathare Community Park, the General Service Unit (GSU) – a paramilitary wing of the Kenyan police service – raided the offices of the MSJC and Ghetto Foundation, arresting 26 organizers and staff members for alleged incitement. Details around the alleged incitement remain undisclosed. Members of the Kenyan Social Justice Centres Working Group and the Social Justice Travelling Theatre were among those unjustly arrested and held at Pangani police station. Of those arrested was the National Treasurer of the Communist Party of Kenya, Wahome Waringa. After 24 hours, all those arrested were released and the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions refused to accept the cruel charges.

This systematic use of brute force has been witnessed and experienced around the globe time and time again – most recently wielded against peaceful Gaza ceasefire student protesters in the US, garment-worker labor organizers in Bangladesh, pro-Palestinian demonstrators in the streets of Germany, and pro-democracy and anti-imperialist activists in Senegal.

The recent floods in Mathare and around Kenya call for a renewed understanding of the capitalist response to the climate crisis. The role of the police force is to protect capital and serve the interests of the ruling class. The trampling of the democratic liberties of innocent Kenyan community members must be stopped through increased resistance. It is not a crime to organize a demonstration against illegitimate and depraved government decisions and actions – it is an undeniable right enshrined in the Kenyan constitution.

Solidarity with the struggle for justice and liberation

The struggle for adequate relief, aid, and climate justice continues in Mathare and other informal settlements of Nairobi. Much of the water supply has been contaminated and international humanitarian organizations have warned that water and mosquito-borne disease such as cholera and malaria are significant concerns. Streets within the settlements are lined with people’s belongings, muddy and battered by the continued rains. Meanwhile, the government’s response remains slow and insufficient, and – despite warnings from meteorological agencies who predict further unstable and extreme weather conditions – preparations to prevent future disasters remain underdeveloped.

What will it take to be victorious against an unjust system and secure dignity and justice for the people of Mathare, Mukuru, Kibera, and other informal settlements in Kenya? An organized struggle that forces truth and transparency into the open and makes it impossible for the state to continue avoiding accountability. This struggle – which is only possible with leadership from the grassroots – is one that needs our support. The words, works, and actions of MSJC offer invaluable lessons from which organizers can better understand how to organically defend human rights and collectively promote social justice.

We stand in solidarity with the people of Mathare and all community members of informal settlements who have been affected by the Kenyan government’s inhumane and undignified handling of the climate crisis, flooding, and planned displacement of thousands of residents.

We stand with organizers of the MSJC and the Environmental Justice Network in their efforts to organize demands for accountability and resistance to the cruel manner in which the Kenyan government has responded to recent flooding, devastation, and loss of life. We stand in solidarity with those who were wrongfully harassed and arrested while exercising their democratic rights to organize and demonstrate in opposition to the attempt of the ruling class to impose the costs of the ecological crisis onto the urban poor and most marginalized people of Kenya.

For updates, more information, and to learn how to support the struggle for ecological justice in Kenya, please visit the Mathare Social Justice Centre webpage.

Further reading

Jones, Peris Sean and Gacheke Gachihi. (2023). ‘Decolonising Human Rights: The Rise of Nairobi’s Social Justice Centres’ in Urban Politics of Human Rights, J. E. Nijman, et al. (eds). New York and London: Routledge.

Jones, Peris Sean, et al. (2017). “Only the People Can Defend this Struggle’: The Politics of the Everyday, Extrajudicial Executions and Civil Society in Mathare, Kenya.” Review of African Political Economy, 44 (154): 559-576.

Ndung’u, Samuel Gathanga. (2022). Mathare: An Urban Bastion of Anti-oppression Struggle. Québec and Nairobi: Daraja Press.

Zachary J. Patterson is an independent researcher, activist, and roape.net contributor. He writes on Kenya, NGOs, socialist politics and movements on the continent. He works in the space of art and revolutionary politics and is an organizer with the Indianapolis Liberation Center

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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