On the anniversary of Steve Biko’s murder, ROAPE’s Remi Adekoya speaks to South African scholar and activist Mosa Phadi. Phadi reflects on the legacy of Biko’s radical and important thought, but also discusses how he did not consider cohesive alternatives that could now serve as a counter to neoliberal ideas. In a wide-ranging interview Phadi also looks at the political and economic crisis in South Africa, the Economic Freedom Fighters, the failures of the ANC and the possibilities of a solution in the militancy and consciousness of working-class struggle.
Remi Adekoya: Today is the anniversary of Stephen Biko’s murder by apartheid state security operatives. He has since become a hugely symbolic rallying figure for many black people, especially in Africa, but not only. What is your take on Biko’s legacy today and how he is being historically positioned?
Mosa Phadi: I have a problem with how Stephen Biko is positioned by the likes of Donald Woods, his friend and biographer, who ascribes the whole philosophy of Black Consciousness to Biko as if he emerged in a vacuum. His argument is basically that at the time Biko emerged, the Pan-African Congress (PAC) and the African National Congress (ANC) were both banned organizations, and so Biko’s arrival filled a void in the struggle for black freedom.
However, if you think about the historical context of that time, this was not the case. Biko along with other students started the South African Students’ Organization (SASO) movement in 1968. If you think about 1968, this was a year of global protests; you had the anti-Vietnam war protests, huge civil rights demonstrations, student protests. Also going back, there was the background of Ghana becoming the first African country to gain independence from colonial rule in 1957, an event which bolstered other pro-independence movements across the African continent. There was Julius Nyerere in Tanzania talking about an ‘African socialism’.
Prior to the 1960s even, there was the 1954 Women’s Charter in South Africa demanding equality between men and women, there was the Women’s March of 1956, the Sharpeville massacre in 1960, civil disobedience during that period and many other instances of struggle against oppression. So, portraying the South African struggle as essentially being fought by the PAC and the ANC, and thus once these organizations were banned, there was some sort of a lull in the fight against oppression and apartheid is a false analysis.
Another underreported issue about Biko and the era he came of age in is how caught up it was in the unravelling contradictions of Stalinism and the Soviet Union in general. Clearly, this was no longer an alternative as many had imagined after WWII and most black activists, including the Black Panthers were thinking about stretching Marxism, using its insights when it came to party organization, but viewing the lumpen-proletariat in primarily racial terms as Fanon did.
There are similarities between Biko and Stokely Carmichael in terms of organizing students initially using non-violent tactics but later becoming militant and asserting blackness or ‘reclaiming blackness’ as Stokely would call it. At the same time Malcolm X was also in the picture, claiming blackness as the oppressed but also as the revolutionary agent. Workers were also organizing.
Acting as if nothing existed before, during or after Biko is a failure in analysis. It is important to emphasize that he emerged in a period when a splintering of ideas and ideological eruptions were occurring elsewhere and these in turn informed his ideas.
Biko’s idea of Black Consciousness even though original in the context for South Africa, was very similar to Carmichael’s ideas. My point is that I am critical of those who try to sanitize that history by decontextualizing the progression of his political ideas.
Having said all that, Biko was a very important thinker whose ideas have been adopted by many movements. His ideas of black consciousness were important in focussing on what apartheid did to the psyche of black people. He talked about reclaiming blackness, but also put thought into how we as black people in South Africa should relate to coloureds and Indians as the oppressed. He emphasized that while there was a hierarchy of racial oppression, we all needed to approach the system as an oppressed collective.
Black consciousness is an idea that works best in a racist white-supremacy capitalist setting. However, its interpretation today is very neo-liberal. You hear talk of ‘black excellence’ for instance, there’s nothing wrong with that per se, but it is a concept tied to a neo-liberal framing that focuses on the individual. Such an approach will not help break with the system, but rather perpetuates inequalities, as capital by nature produces these inequalities. If you view yourself as an individual focused on achieving ‘black excellence’ forgetting about structures which produce inequalities, then you are not helping solve the problem. If such views prevail, then a few successful individual blacks will be put on a pedestal by black people as symbols of black excellence and black power while a system perpetuating inequalities continues to produce mass poverty.
Biko’s solutions to black problems were twofold: black consciousness and black economic empowerment. The second part is much emphasized recently, we see this even in the now popular ‘township economy’ in South Africa which is fundamentally neo-liberal in its philosophy. The Provincial government in the economic hub of South Africa seeks to encourage entrepreneurial culture in various townships. Hence, wants to support Black businesses. This idea of growing Black businesses was part of Biko’s emancipatory approach. Biko wanted to create Black markets and expand Black business ownership. Once a radical idea it is currently used to justify elite formation especially among politically connected individuals.
Biko’s ideas, while radical at that time don’t get me wrong, nevertheless played into this bourgeoise democracy we find ourselves in, his ideas were radical and important at that time, but he did not think much about cohesive alternatives that could now serve as counters to neoliberal ideas.
Which of Biko’s ideas are popular today among South African intellectuals?
His death in 1977 sparked militancy amongst people, for example when you think of the 1980s insurgence, I think part of the courage emerged from Black Consciousness ideas of reclaiming Blackness. His thoughts about what black freedom should look like, what type of mentality we need to achieve it and via which methods, still permeate today through various social movements. For instance, the Fees Must Fall student movement sparked in 2016 about statues which still perpetuate symbols of black inferiority quoted Biko extensively and his views were manifest in their demands. They demanded that first and foremost statues of people like Cecil Rhodes must go, the curriculum must change and there should be a higher representation of intellectuals who look like us teaching us, for example.
People still gravitate towards Biko today because when you read his work you can relate to it as a black person. Even though he wasn’t a traditionalist who believed in fixed cultures, he was very aware of the role cultural norms and values play for everyday Africans in their everyday lives. For instance, he knew religion was important to people and his spiritual outlook moved beyond Christianity and incorporated ideas of ancestors. He talked about how music can enlighten the wounded soul, he tapped into daily experiences realizing the potential of everyday culture to radicalize and galvanize people into action. When you read him, he sparks the radical spirit in you to say: ‘yes, we can fight the system, yes we have the right to fight the system.’ But then apart from this, you need to think what kind of world you want to replace the current system with. This is where his limitations were. But as a light to spark action, he was very important.
What are some of the most popular ideas among South African intellectuals today regarding the way forward for the country?
In academia, especially after the Fees Must Fall movement, the most popular issue is that of decolonization. Seminar after seminar, conference after conference and article after article have been written on this. The main inspiration comes from Latin American scholarship emphasizing the need to decolonize, for example, the knowledge system amongst other broader structural issues in South Africa which are inherently Western-oriented and steeped in racism. This is the most popular school of thought today.
Marxist ideas have been rejected, as indeed Biko rejected them in his day. The link between class and race has not been integral in our analysis, Marxism failed to incorporate race into the equation. Meanwhile, issues centred around our history and oppression are very important to people. People use terms like ‘triggers’ to refer to pain that has been inflicted upon us in the past and emphasize that we need to remedy that. However, Marxism in South Africa is unable to offer an analysis of how a history of racial oppression and being black frames how people relate to various struggles beyond the workerist approach.
Julius Malema’s Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) are quite popular today both among the Working Classes and some black intellectuals. This is due to the failure of ANC to radically change peoples lives in the townships where there is huge unemployment. I come from a town called Kagiso. When I go home, on a weekday, it seems like a weekend there, young men and women on the streets with no jobs. There are protests virtually non-stop, people demanding services. In the 1990s, people waited patiently for change, but by the 2000s, they started realizing it was not happening. This has sparked some xenophobic attacks like recent ones on Pakistani shop-owners which were looted by people complaining they were selling stale food. Taxes have increased, VAT was increased this April leading to steep hikes in food prices. There is tension everywhere.
This is the crisis we’ve been in since Ramaphosa became the president, squeezing not just the poor but the middle-class as well. This has created space for EFF, especially with Malema forcing the conversation about race into the public forum. Up till then, the left had been fixated with class while the conversation about race had been muted. The left focussed on economic structures, neglecting the everyday manifestation of being black. They missed the feelings young people had about being not just poor, but poor and black as well. Malema exploited this very well. He too uses Black Panther methodology, utilizing a Marxist-Leninist model of party structures combined with Fanonian elements incorporating race and treating the racially-oppressed individual as a revolutionary subject. Again, this goes back to 1960s ideas before and during Biko’s activist period. Although embroiled in some corruption scandals themselves, EFF has attracted young unemployed people, mainly men, but also some middle-class people who have experienced racism in the corporations they work in, which are still largely owned by white people. Some black intellectuals have also been drawn to EFF.
However, many of the protests on the streets demanding basic services like water and electricity are not organized by any political party or movement, they have no specific policies, they simply want services. The new student movements, meanwhile, are not only using Biko as a symbol, but also challenging gender dynamics, ideas of feminism have become key debate in struggles with power and patriarchy. Women are protesting against domestic violence and patriarchy, again taking us back to the ideas of the 1960s which are coming back in different ways. In general, revolutionary ideas about race and gender dating back to the 1950s and 60s are returning, the only difference is that they are emerging today in modern form and style, especially with the proliferation of social media which can be used to spread a message very rapidly.
Is there any party who, in your opinion, if they came to power, would best deploy that power towards the betterment of the people? You’ve mentioned EFF in a rather positive light but said yourself they have been implicated in corruption scandals too. On what basis do you do associate them with any hopes of true positive change for downtrodden South Africans? As you know, history is replete with examples, plenty in Africa unfortunately, of people riding to power on the back of all sorts of equalitarian slogans only to gorge themselves on the state’s resources once they get there.
Well, what are the options? There is the Democratic Alliance which is a very liberal party, so you are assured of a set of liberal economic policies if they get into power. Additionally, they seem to place no emphasis on our history and don’t recognize the psychological scars apartheid has left on black people. Ideologically, this is thus not a viable option for me. Then you have the ANC and the EFF. EFF wants state capitalism. They should be understood as a party that is left of the ANC, not that leftist you understand, but simply left of the ANC. I will vote for them. Not because I believe they, or any other party, can emancipate the working-class. No, the working-class have to find the agency in themselves to fight for themselves.
No politician or political party will save the working class or the poor, let’s not be delusional. For me, the hope is that the working-class will organize and fight for themselves. EFF wants state capitalism and this can go two ways as history shows. It can become very authoritarian or focus on building new forms of elites. EFF is important for debates linking race to class, but I don’t naively believe they will be our saviours. As always, the working-class will continue trying new parties, hoping for something better. But only their militancy can force change. EFF is a child of the ANC and they cannot break away from the corrupt links of the ANC.
What then would be the value added of the EFF for regular South Africans were they to one day win power?
If they come to power, of course there will be reforms, they wouldn’t be able to just rule in a business-as-usual fashion. They would have to make concessions to the poor. The land question would be addressed, land would become state-owned. With regards to key financial sectors like mining, they are currently trying to propagate a 3-way ownership system in which the state would own say, 50% of a mine, the community 10% and the rest would be privatized. They want to show capital they are ready to negotiate with it while at the same time trying to sustain their radical image.
But they have opened a space in the debate, emboldened people to believe they have a right to push. I know the militancy they came with can’t be sustained if they win power. If they win, there will be some big reforms, but there would be contradictions too, no doubt. And yes, there is the danger of dictatorial tendencies in them. That is the risk involved with them. Yet, I still think the working-class should vote for EFF demanding some specific reforms.
So, basically you accept they are a risk, but think they are a risk worth taking?
Yes, I do. Also, one major issue they deserve credit for pushing onto the agenda as well is that of land reform, the idea of the expropriation of land without compensation. Even though there were various landless people’s movements in the 2000s, EFF emboldened that demand and now parliament has passed a resolution to amend the constitution allowing for land expropriation without compensation. However, right now, public consultations are being held, expected to end with a report by end of September.
If President Ramaphosa eventually signs that amendment into law, is there any plan in place for how exactly this process would look?
No, right now there has not been any debate on who would get what and on what grounds. The politicians are simply caught up in the militancy of the people who are demanding reforms. This whole land issue also reflects ideas popularized by Biko years ago. Apart from the physical desire people have to get their lands back, it is also part of a psychological recognition that this is your land. The planning of our cities today is still the same as it was under apartheid with developers able to keep certain areas exclusively rich and white. Or even in the rural areas, you have a situation where all the best farmland is owned by whites, so they are the farmers while the blacks are simple village residents with a few black people who managed to carve their space in the agricultural sector. People are now imagining a different kind of space; a different kind of South Africa and politicians are rushing to respond because they want votes. But the discussion about who will get what and whether this process will really empower the poorest South Africans has yet to be started.
Mosa Phadi completed her PhD at the University of Johannesburg in 2017. She has worked for years on questions race and class, including two ground-breaking reports on the local municipalities of Mogalakwena and Lephalale. She has worked as a researcher for over six years, published peer-reviewed articles and producing a research documentary film focusing on the idea of a middle class in Soweto.
Free Access to ROAPE Connections Special Issue: Radical Political Economy and Industrialisation
ROAPE held the first of three workshops in Ghana, Accra on ‘Radical political economy and industrialisation in Africa’, 13–14 November 2017. Our publisher Taylor and Francis have made the special issue from the workshop accessible until the end of the year. This Debate Special Issue from Volume 46, Issue 56 discusses the initiative of holding the Africa-based ROAPE meetings, why they are important and how they relate to historic socio-economic transformations, the most significant of which remains the great Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, whose centenary month coincided with the Accra workshop.
This is the first of the workshops which ROAPE has sponsored across the continent in cooperation with local organisations. A similar version of the Accra meeting, held in Dar es Salaam in April of this year, will appear in a forthcoming issue. These workshops deliberately avoid an academic character and included a substantial proportion of activists from across the continent as well as academics and those who fit both descriptions. The feedback from participants has been very positive, as is evidenced by the response of speakers and other participants alike in respectively submitting their presentations and blogposts. The workshops have been filmed and we have made some of the footage available on roape.net (click here).
Most importantly for ROAPE these workshops reflect on the journal’s original political purpose: to provide a forum for progressive and socialist activists and academics on the African continent which provides an analysis of African realities that will assist, however modestly, progressive forces in their struggles against corporate imperialism. The workshops also reflect the other founding purpose of the journal: to find or stimulate answers to the question of what is to be done to effect radical change, a question more on the agenda today than ever before.
This Debate Special Issue features contributions from Yao Graham, Ray Bush, Leo Zeilig, Peter Lawrence, Giuliano Martiniello, Ben Fine, Max Ajl, Bettina Engels, Gordon Crawford and Gabriel Botchwey, discussing the revolution in Burkina Faso, artisanal mining in Ghana, financialisation and industrialisation across the continent and large-scale land and agricultural investments in Uganda and Tanzania.
To read the full Debate Special Issue from Accra, please click here.
Introducing her new book released this week, Gabrielle Lynch provides a radical analysis of the mechanisms of transitional justice. Looking at the case of Kenya, Lynch arguesthat truth commissions which hope to achieve truth, justice and reconciliation also require ongoing political struggles, and substantive socio-economic and political change. While reconciliation and justice may be goals which truth commission can recommend, and sometimes contribute to, they cannot be expected to achieve them.
By Gabrielle Lynch
In today’s world, it is almost expected that a truth commission will be introduced in the wake of conflict or a period of authoritarianism to try and consolidate a transition to democracy and peace. A truth commission generally understood – as per Priscilla Hayner – as a temporary state-sanctioned body that investigates a pattern of past abuse, engages ‘directly and broadly with the affected population, gathering information on their experiences’ and which aims to conclude with a public report.
The underlying idea is that societies need to confront and deal with unjust histories if they are to establish a qualitative break with that past. Proponents of modern truth commissions thus ‘look backwards’, not as interested historians, but as a way to ‘reach forwards.’ As Archbishop Desmond Tutu explained in his foreword to the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) report:
The other reason amnesia simply will not do is that the past refuses to lie down quietly. It has an uncanny habit of returning to haunt one … However painful the experience, the wounds of the past must not be allowed to fester. They must be opened. They must be cleansed. And balm must be poured on them, so they can heal. This is not to be obsessed with the past. It is to take care that the past is properly dealt with for the sake of the future.
This is a relatively recent development. Early truth commissions did not hold public hearings and were largely fact-finding bodies. However, ever since the South African TRC of the 1990s, truth commissions have held hearings as a stage for various actors – victims, perpetrators, political parties, state institutions and so forth – to present their account of past wrongs. The underlying idea is that people will have a chance to speak and be heard, and thus regain their humanity; that a wider (and engaged) audience will bear witness to a new human rights-conscious regime; and the overview provided will feed into, and help legitimise, a final report. The latter in turn intended to record and acknowledge past wrongs and provide recommendations that can help to promote truth, justice and reconciliation.
However, while much hope is often placed, and much time and money expended, on truth commissions and their hearings and final reports, it is evident that these processes generally fall far short of ambitious goals and high expectations. But what explains this gap between aspiration and reality?
This includes the establishment of the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission (TJRC). Significantly, the Commission’s mandate recognised that, while the 2007/8 post-election violence was triggered by a disputed election, it was fuelled by more deep-rooted problems. In turn, the Commission was tasked with investigating a wide array of injustices – from state repression and causes of political violence to perceptions of economic marginalisation and irregular land acquisition – between Kenya’s independence in 1963 and the end of the post-election violence in February 2008.
Established through an Act of Parliament in 2008, and operational from 2009 to 2013, the TJRC sought to meet its mandate, in large part, by collecting statements (with over 40,000 collected in total), holding public and women’s hearings in 35 locations across the country and adversely mentioned person (AMP) hearings in western and Nairobi, and publishing a substantial final report that runs to over 2,000 pages.
Despite such achievements, the Commission was soon mired in controversy with calls for the chairman – who was soon linked to three injustices that the Commission was meant to investigate – to resign, while the public hearings attracted little media attention, and the final report is yet to be discussed in parliament let alone implemented.
The Kenyan experience highlights a range of lessons and insights. This includes the fact – as recently outlined in a piece for The Conversation – that transitional justice mechanisms are not ‘tools’ that can be introduced in different contexts with the same effect. Instead, their success (or failure) rests on their design, approach and personnel – all of which are incredibly difficult to get right – but also on their evaluation and reception, and thus on their broader contexts, which commissions have little or no control over.
However, the lessons that can be drawn go beyond reception and context and extend to the inherent shortcomings of such an approach.
First, while victims appreciate a chance to speak and be heard, the majority clearly submitted statements or memoranda or provided testimony in the hope that they would be heard and that some action would be taken to redress the injustices described. As one woman explained after a women’s hearing in Nakuru, she was glad that she had spoken and how, having told her story, the Commission would ‘come in and help.’
To be fair, the TJRC’s founders were aware of the inadequacies of speaking, which is why they included ‘justice’ in the title and gave the Commission powers to recommend further investigations, prosecutions, lustration (or a ban from holding public office), reparations and institutional and constitutional reforms.
However, on the question of whether recommendations would be implemented, the Commission rather naively relied on the TJRC Act (2008), which stipulated that ‘recommendations shall be implemented.’ However, such legal provisions proved insufficient. Amidst general scepticism about the Commission’s work, parliament amended the TJRC Act in December 2013 to ensure that the report needed to be considered by the National Assembly – something that is yet to happen.
Moreover, to document and acknowledge the truth requires that one hears from both victims and perpetrators. However, the latter often have little motivation, and much to lose, from telling the truth. This was evident in Kenya where, during the AMP hearings I attended, where I heard little that was new and not a single admission of personal responsibility or guilt. Instead, testimonies were characterised by five discursive strands of responsibility denied: denial through a transfer of responsibility, denial through a questioning of sources, denial through amnesia, denial through a reinterpretation of events and an assertion of victimhood, and denial that events constituted a wrongdoing. However, while AMPs denied responsibility, none denied that injustices had occurred. As a result, while the hearings provided little clarity on how and why a series of reported events may have occurred, they simultaneously drew attention to, and recognised, past injustice. In this way, they provided a public enactment of impunity: Kenya’s history was replete with injustice, but AMPs were unwilling to shoulder any responsibility for it.
This ongoing culture of impunity points to another issue, which is that – for most victims – injustices clearly do not belong to the past but to the present and future. The loss of a person or income, for example, often constitutes a course that now seems beyond reach – from the hardship that accompanies the loss of a wage earner to the diminished opportunities that stem from a child’s extended absence from school. However, the past also persists in other ways, from the injustices that never ended, such as gross inequalities or corruption, to fears of repetition and experiences of new injustice.
Unfortunately, the idea that one can ‘look backwards to reach forwards’ downplays the complex ways in which the past actually persists, and possible futures infringe on the present. This is problematic since it can encourage a situation where small changes dampen demands for more substantive reform. At the same time, it can facilitate a politicised assertion of closure that excludes those who do not buy into the absence of the past, the newness of the present, or the desirability of imagined futures and provides a resource to those who seek to present such ‘difficult people’ as untrusting, unreasonable and unpatriotic.
This is not to say that truth commissions are useless and should never be considered. On the contrary, many view speaking as better than silence, while the commission’s report provides a historical overview of injustice in Kenya and a range of recommendations that activists and politicians are using to lobby for justice and reform.
However, when introduced, truth commissions should be more aware of the importance of persuasive performances and how their initial reception and longer-term impact is shaped by broader socio-economic, political and historic contexts. Truth commissions also need to adopt a more complex understanding of the ways in which the past persists, and possible futures infringe on the present and avoid easy assertions of closure.
Ultimately, such ambitious goals as truth, justice and reconciliation require not Freudian ‘talk therapy’, although catharsis and psycho-social support are often appreciated, but an ongoing political struggle, and substantive socio-economic and political change, which something like a truth commission can recommend, and sometimes contribute to, but cannot be expected to achieve.
In this blogpost Christiaan De Beukelaer and Martin Fredriksson contribute to roape.net’s ongoing discussion on fraud, economic trickery and crime in Africa today by initiating a critical discussion about the war on piracy. Ghana’s economy might look like a success story with a continuously growing GDP, but the statistics actually hide growing inequalities which also creates stronger breeding grounds for informal markets of various kinds.
By Christiaan De Beukelaer and Martin Fredriksson
Since the 1990s, representatives of the global media industry have been lobbying politicians and law enforcement, locally and globally, to strike down on rampant piracy of movies, music and videogames. Whether the target is kids browsing torrent sites in the basements of Europe and North America or CD vendors at street markets in in Asia and Africa, the war on piracy has been relentless. In March 2012, an Accra Metropolitan Police action by the name Operation Jail The Pirates led to the arrest of 19 people during a raid of alleged music pirates at Kwame Nkrumah Circle, a busy traffic intersection and market place in Accra. In court, five of them were sentenced under the Ghanaian 2005 Copyright act to hefty fines. Due to lack of funds, the court defaulted on the fines and transformed their sentence into 2-year prison sentences.
GHAMRO, the Ghanaian Collective Management Organisation that manages rights and collects royalties on behalf of copyright owners, were one of the driving forces behind this police and legal action. In their claim to ‘clean up’ illicit activity in music distribution, they have focused on suppressing piracy as opposed to integrating existing distribution mechanisms (such as street vendors illicitly selling MP3s) into the formal music economy. As early as 2013, they claimed to be working towards a digital platform for music distribution as well as licensing options for street vendors that would enable the vendors to clear the rights to the products and run a legitimate business. As yet, no such structure is in place as GHAMRO seems to prioritize chasing down pirates. Moreover, neither the general public, nor most pirates, do not necessarily understand the copyright laws that GHAMRO are trying to enforce
The Ghanaian musicologist John Collins discusses a similar example from 1987 where the Ghana Tape Recordists Association (GTRA) attempted to license their cassette tape copying businesses with the National Phonogram Producers Union (NPPA). However, the initiative backfired when the Musicians Union of Ghana (MUSIGA), financially supported by the global record industry through its lobby organisation the International Federation of Phonogram Industries (IFPI), opposed the agreement. This well-documented case shows that the search for alternative models of licensing and copyright enforcement – which are better adapted to the existing modes of music distribution and the needs and preferences of consumers in Ghana – were opposed by major international players (IFPI), based on their strict reading of existing International Property Rights (IPR) agreements.
Both the cases of 2012 and 1987 speak to the limits to contemporary copyright debates, not only in Ghana but also globally as international organizations have been taking active part in shaping the strategies of the national actors. Discussions about legislation and enforcement lack closer analysis as they uncritically rely on the assumption that piracy is inevitably destructive to cultural and economic development and needs to be met with stronger copyright laws and stricter enforcement.
The conflicts around piracy and copyright enforcement are not unique to Ghana and exclusively related to its institutions, legislation, and enforcement (though that certainly matters too). The roots of these tensions need to be contextualised as a matter of international political economy. Piracy is a globally contested issue, not the least in Africa and elsewhere in the Global South that are often portrayed as lawless and eroded by copyright infringement, particularly towards the music and entertainment industry.
Uneven distribution of resources is obviously a contributing factor to the growth of piracy in the Global South. As David Johnson argues, Ghana’s economy might look like a success story with a continuously growing GDP, but the statistics actually hide growing inequalities between rich and poor, which of course also creates stronger breeding grounds for informal markets of various kinds. Furthermore, Johnson argues that there are strong indications that fraud increases in liberalised emerging economies where a deregulated economy often becomes ‘the driver for a “parallel economy”’ primarily peddling counterfeits to poor people.
Copyright enforcement and the war on piracy is thus inscribed in a global political economy with roots in colonial and neo-colonial modes of exploitation as well as in a neoliberal shift in economic governance. However, the conflict around piracy and copyright also has significant implications for human rights, both in developed and developing countries. In this context, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948, exemplifies longstanding tensions in the global political economy of copyright, as it states in Article 24 that:
(1) Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.
(2) Everyone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from any scientific, literary or artistic production of which he is the author.
Article 27 thus has two components. On the one hand, it states that everyone has the right to take part in cultural life and freely enjoy arts and scientific knowledge. On the other hand, it also acknowledges every author has the right to protection of material or moral interests associated with her or his scientific or artistic production. While the illegal distribution of culture and information is most commonly an infringement of section two, it could be permissible under section one. This opens a discussion about how to address piracy on a more nuanced level that goes beyond the strict focus on combating piracy and uncritically enforcing existing legislation.
Piracy, much like poverty, sounds like something that is inherently problematic. It needs to be discouraged, regulated, and finally overcome for legitimate business to flourish. The attempts to crack down on piracy throughout much of Africa are based on this simplistic reasoning. In our paper (see details below) we challenge the dualistic approach of this reasoning from a political economy perspective. We highlight how attempts to eradicate pirate practices do not necessarily result in legal distribution of music and other digital ‘products’. Most importantly, we insist that the piracy versus copyright debate would benefit from greater engagement with the implications of the paradox in Article 27. This would require a recontextualization of copyright, from seeing the protection IPR as solely an economic trade issue, to acknowledging that intellectual property is also about cultural development and human rights.
Given the tension between copyright and human rights, GHAMRO’s intervention in ‘cleaning up’ piracy is not a neutral or merely technical exercise. It is rather a deeply political act that favours the rights owners over audiences, and remuneration over participation. We argue that a postcolonial engagement with the tension within Article 27 is needed to resolve this in an equitable manner. This necessity emanates from the colonial legacy of copyright agreements and legislation, the overlapping praxis of piracy and legitimate business, and the need to respect cultural rights as important parts of human rights instruments. Shifting from the informal to the formal, and from the illegal to the legal, is indeed important for the future development of creative economies in Ghana and beyond, but it will not be achieved through an escalated war on piracy and stricter copyright enforcement, which is likely to be detrimental to human rights and cultural development without contributing significantly to the local economy.
Christiaan De Beukelaer is a lecturer in cultural policy at the University of Melbourne School of Culture and Communication.
Martin Fredriksson is an associate professor and Marie Curie Fellow at the Department of Culture and Media at Linköping University. He has published extensively on the history and politics of Intellectual Property Rights, and the social meaning of piracy.
In a major critique of dependency theory, Esteban Mora continues the debate on the nature of imperialism on roape.net (and specifically the blogpost by Walter Daum). He argues that while inequalities and unevenness in the world market exists, with both strong nation-states and weaker ones, this is not a division based on countries or regions, nor geography or ethnicity, but on relations of production. We must unearth the mechanisms of mutual profiting across all regions to see a class divided world market, as part of an international system of states where every single state is an agent of financial capital. We urge our readers to follow the debate here.
By Esteban Mora
In the on-going debate on imperialism on roape.net, Walter Daum distorts arguments that I have made in a response to this debate. In this blogpost I am going to try to expand on the subject, and at the same time, answer Daum’s critique. First off, I did not deny in the original blogpost that there is a draining from South to North, nor that there is any draining at all between strong and weak countries. I said my view was complementary. Why complementary? Because in the possible inversion between East Asia and Triad countries, we should not expect the inversion of draining, but a mutual profiting with a relatively new positioning between strong and weak countries in the world market. So, if we understand the market only by such terms and processes of ‘draining’ where one is a strong ‘draining state’, and the other a weak dependent state, how are we going to understand this inversion of roles between countries who are both strong or becoming so, and who also drain others (and even each other, such as the automobile industry, where East Asia and the Triad both share production sites and markets with each other)? In addition, how do we avoid making the mistake of thinking the Triad is going to become a Third World dependent-republic, as a radical inversion of roles between North-South? Instead, could it be concluded that there are more universal and global mechanisms which permit a smoother transition from one position to the other, and which do not imply a simple reversal of the Triad’s hegemony, due to the fact that it now shares much of its characteristics with East Asia?
Now, to the three strategies discussed by Daum:
1) There is no mention of a hegemon in any theory of imperialism by Lenin or Bukharin or anybody, nor of any ‘three worlds theory.’ Obviously, I do not reject inequalities and unevenness in the world market, nor that there are big, strong nation-states and weaker nation-states (metropolitan and peripheral, if you want), but this is not based on countries or regions, nor geography or ethnicity, but on relations of production. This implies ‘sharing’ not only mechanisms of draining, but also mechanisms of mutual profiting which forces us to go beyond chauvinism, nationalism, and regionalism, and see the world market as class divided, between an international bourgeoise and international proletariat; as an international system of states where every single state is an agent of financial capital. Or as Lenin wrote: ‘Relations of this kind have always existed between big and little states, but in the epoch of capitalist imperialism they become a general system, they form part of the sum total of “divide the world” relations and become links in the chain of operations of world finance capital’ (Lenin, Imperialism, Highest Stage, Chapter Six).
2) By ‘relative’ I do not mean the ‘rate’ only, I mean the fact that two absolute amounts of profit can be the same (as in China and the US, as I cited), or can even be bigger than the other (as in the examples Daum uses from the same report), and this does not imply the same purchasing power, the same exchange rate, nor the same control over the means of production; essentially the same amount of mass of profits in the US is not worth nor functions in the same way in East Asia, nor do the absolute amounts of profit equal the same purchasing power or relationship with constant capital, since raw materials can be cheaper, jobs low-priced, and capital goods as well, etc. So, Daum can find in East Asia a smaller mass of profit than the Triad, but this is not a measure of the rate of profit, nor a measure of the relationships between this mass and purchasing power, raw materials, capital goods, etc. It is not only a matter of the relationship with constant capital, but appropriation of value. In other words, there could be a bigger appropriation of value in Marxist terms, where there is a smaller mass of profit (the only way profit numbers between West and East can be equivalent with each other, is if any other factor of production involved – constant capital specially – is also equivalent according to the exchange rate between the two monetary systems, commonly dollars and any other currency. This is highly unlikely and forces us to be cautious on the use of absolute quantities as markers of profit or value, as Smith and Daum argue. This notion helps us to understand the working of value across different exchange rates, currencies and the world market, etc. (There is a short explanation of this process here).
Using two amounts of profits plain and simple, and looking for the biggest one as a mark of profit rates or purchasing power or the relationship with constant capital, etc, is not even Ricardian economics. All the defenders of the orthodox view on economics simply show data where profits are bigger, as if the whole discussion was the matter of a single amount or a single quantity or magnitude deciding everything, when it’s a matter of a relationship.
3) I do not mean South and North countries are equivalently profitable, nor that there are no differences between small and big countries. Rather I argue that besides these differences in ‘draining’ which permit large countries to exploit small countries, there is a mechanism (a ‘neo-colonial’ and also ‘dependency-like’ mechanism) which allows for the maintenance of the international imperialist system, not a radical break or absolute heterogeneity between ‘draining and drained countries’ that both Smith expects, and Harvey claims is already occurring.
I also said something else that Daum ignores: why do high-tech industries, industrial production, gross capital formation and capital goods exports all now come from East Asia and not the Triad? For this reason, we must move beyond a number or figure and ask about the relationships at the level of the world market. Are we going to reduce the whole imperialist debate to who has higher profits, and do this without understanding profits relatively but as an absolute mass?
Industrial production, gross capital formation and capital goods exports were characteristics of the Triad when they were called imperialists. All twentieth century Marxism is based on this assumption. What are we to say about franchises and all sorts of export of capitals which occur right now thanks to the internationalization of the division of labour and the multinationalization of capitals? Even countries like Costa Rica, in Central America, has started to ‘drain’ other countries through franchises, and Guatemala already has its own multinational.
Multinationals from the South have all been developing rapidly in the last 20 years, which ‘drain’ Triad countries. Is Costa Rica ‘imperialist’ because it drains flows of money from South America and the rest of Central America? What are we going to do with these phenomena? Do we instead need to understand every nation-state as part of imperialism, whether metropolitan or peripheral, or are we going have to keep dividing up regions (like Three Worlds Theory) and insist on outdated notions? Also what has happened to the ‘industrial countries’ and ‘agricultural countries’ divide that was so important for Bukharin and Lenin, yet which does not exist anymore? Are we going to cling to the past, or look into the rich and real phenomena occurring in the world market in front of our eyes?
This is where I once again insist that instead of looking for a radical inversion of the world market where superpowers become dependent countries and vice versa, like some spectacle in science fiction, we have to start to analyze more complex processes beyond dividing the world into imperialists and non-imperialists, or into region 1 and region 2, even when they are clearly bigger than the others – this is exactly what takes place in distorted universe of Three World Theory-dependency theory, and other theories which share this outlook.
Draining is more complex, to the point that it is not only the Triad which is responsible for it. Since, if ‘draining’ is the only characteristic that makes a country imperialist, then you have a methodological problem of enormous dimensions with every country from the Caribbean to the Pacific enjoying inflows of value (‘draining’, in a word). Rather there seems to be an uneven development in the market, but also a synchronicity – maybe like the one asserted by Wallerstein, which goes beyond nations and regions, while at the same time making some bigger than others. Plundering does not always involve an absolute deterioration for the smaller partner, rather a relative plundering and mutual profiting moving in multiple directions. Is this so hard to come to terms with in the actual workings of the modern world market? In this important debate on imperialism on roape.net, this is what I propose.
Esteban Mora is a researcher in Communications Science at the Universidad de Costa Rica, he has written three books on capitalism and Marxism, and writes a Marxist economics blog. He has recently reviewedThe History of Business in Africa by Grietjie Verhoef. Verhoef makes an important historical argument about the role and agency of African capitalists from the early colonial period. Mora argues that Verhoef forces us to rethink more orthodox accounts of the development of capitalism in Africa.
In a recent issue of the London Review of Books, Mahmood Mamdani wrote what I believe to be a highly controversial essay on ‘The African University’, in which he compared and contrasted the universities of Makerere in Kampala, Uganda and the University of Dar es Salaam in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, claiming that they represented two different paradigms for African universities, epitomised by Ali Mazrui and Walter Rodney, that he refers to as exemplifying ‘the mode of reasoning’ and the ‘ideological orientation’ respectively.
I do not intend to provide a critique of his piece here. Rather, I want to draw the attention of readers of roape.net to the magazine or journal called Transition, to which Mamdani refers in the course of his piece. I recently wrote on this website about the Journal of African Marxists, which had it hey-day in the 1980s.
Then…
Transition was founded in Kampala in the early 1960s, on the eve of independence by a young writer, Rajat Neogy, a Ugandan of Bengali origin. Neogy declared that ‘… the ultimate purpose of a literary magazine will always be to herald change, to forecast what new turn its culture and the society it represents is about to take. It will do this by sometimes allowing prejudice and temporary obsessions to be aired [and] by being permissive to radical innovations.’ From the very start, Transition commissioned and published work by political activists and major political figures as well as by intellectuals and writers.
In the second issue, for example, Julius Nyerere published a defence of the one-party system that would soon exasperate many of the magazine’s contributors and readers. The following year, Nyerere became president of Tanganyika, and went on to outlaw all but his own political party. Tom Mboya, the Kenyan trade unionist, published a piece on the press and governments in Africa, shortly before Jomo Kenyatta appointed him Minister of Justice. Another piece by Mboya, on ‘African socialism’, appeared a few issues later. Kenneth Kaunda, published on the future of democracy in Africa at roughly the time he became the first president of Zambia.
By the mid-1960s, Transition enjoyed considerable attention, and indeed prestige, both for the eminence of its contributors and for the quality of the contributions. Transition was never afraid to offend and frequently invited controversy with articles about literary and racial politics, sex, stereotypes, and the regimes in power, while at the same time always making space in its own pages for robust retaliation. As Mamdani remarks, ‘by the mid-1960s, Transition was the locus of an ever-widening regional conversation, from Achebe on “English and the African Writer”, through Terence Ranger on Roger Casement, to Paul Theroux on Tarzan, a send-up of expatriate attitudes and an early example of cultural studies in Africa.’ James Baldwin also contributed, as did Ali Mazrui.
Shortly after Kwame Nkrumah was deposed in Ghana in 1966, Mazrui published a critical piece on ‘Nkrumah: The Leninist Czar’, which he followed up with a piece entitled ‘Tanzaphilia’ – a withering critique of the regional and international left’s infatuation with one-party rule in Tanzania (as Tanganyika became in 1964). Both essays were ‘incendiary’, and, according to Mamdani, sharpened the differences between Mazrui and the left at the University of Dar es Salaam.
However, if he identifies Mazrui as ‘the most important liberal critic of the new African nationalism in power’, Mamdani also recognizes Issa Shivji as ‘its most important critic from the left’, and specifically mentions Shivji’s two books, The Silent Class Struggle (1970) and Class Struggles in Tanzania (1976) that identified Tanzania’s ‘African socialism’ as a disguised form of capital accumulation by a new state-based class.
In 1968, the Ugandan government jailed Neogy for sedition, despite international outcry; the magazine had criticized President Milton Obote’s proposed constitutional reforms. After Neogy’s release, Transition was revived in Ghana in 1971 and the Nigerian novelist Wole Soyinka took over in 1973. During Soyinka’s tenure, Transition became still more contentious: the cover of one issue sported a cartoon image of Ugandan dictator Idi Amin, with ‘Karasi!’ (Finish Him!) splayed across his face. Transition was unlike anything else, in Africa or abroad, and when it folded in 1976 for financial reasons it left a void.
… And Now
In 1991, Henry Louis Gates, Jr., a student of Soyinka’s at Cambridge University and a frequent contributor to the Ghanaian Transition, brought the magazine back to life. In the subsequent decade, Transition would refashion itself as an international magazine about race and culture, with an emphasis on the African diaspora. Today, Transition is sub-titled ‘the magazine of Africa and the diaspora’, is hosted by the Hutchins Center for African and African-American Research at Harvard University and is published three times annually by Indiana University Press. It is also on Twitter at @Transition_Mag.
Its home page states that: ‘since its founding in Uganda in 1961, the magazine has kept apace of the rapid transformation of the African Diaspora and has remained a leading forum of intellectual debate. Now, in an age that demands ceaseless improvisation, we aim to be both an anchor of deep reflection on black life and a map charting new routes through the globalized world.’ Its editorial ‘mission statement’ notes that ‘accelerating revolutions in telecommunication, digital conversion, economic speculation, and social dislocation are rapidly transforming the conditions and activities of Africans and African-Americans. The new forms and tempo of change compel deep reflection and novel approaches to the representation of black life’.
Accordingly, ‘to the magazine’s traditional focus on the condition of Africa, race, and cultural identification, we add an emphasis on creativity and innovation in social, economic, cultural, and political life. In full recognition of the porous membranes of black belonging, we will pay special attention to the ever-fluctuating social geography of the black world, surveying developments throughout the Americas, Europe, and Africa, while glancing at times across the Pacific and Indian Oceans. We will attempt, in other words, to make Transition a pivotal medium for discussion of the global predicament of the African Diaspora in an age that demands ceaseless improvisation.’
It states that it will ‘continue to feature fiction, creative non-fiction, narrative journalism, art and cultural criticism, political commentary, interviews with important figures and thinkers, book and film reviews, and poetry. As always, Transition aims to engage a broad swath of the educated public with clarity, insight, and dynamism …In our American incarnation, the magazine has won a wide array of awards for design, international reporting, and general excellence; our essays and interviews have been reprinted around the globe.’
Lessons?
The first important lesson to be taken from the history of Transition, to my mind, is that it started life as an African initiative, rooted in the immediate concerns – political, economic, cultural – of the African intelligentsia and of African political activists (even if it included contributions by non-Africans), what marked its early days was its vigour and drive, and above all its relevance in the 1960s and 1970s, which from this essential fact. Once transplanted elsewhere, and driven by very different concerns (despite the mission statement of its reincarnation), it inevitably lost that sense of rootedness.
That is not to accept that it was merely a child of the times, of the process of ‘de-colonisation’ and that a similar initiative could not flourish in modern times, in the era of ‘globalization’ (the distinction made by the editors of the new Transition). I believe that an African journal, whether in print or on-line (or both), rooted in African concerns and with an editorial board at least in large part based in Africa could be successful today, if able to resolve both the question of funding that led to the demise of the original Transition and also the problem of communication and logistics.
As regards the latter, in principle it should be easier today than it was in the 1960s and 1970s when there was no email or internet and no Skype, Whatsapp or FaceTime, and when the real cost of international travel and international postage is lower than it was then. As regards the former, more difficult issue, the Journal of African Marxists resolved that issue partly by having a sympathetic publisher in the UK.
The Review of African Political Economy – which also started out as an independent financial concern – now has a commercial publisher in the UK; and many other journals concerned with African Studies have commercial publishers in the UK, the USA or elsewhere. The strength of this (which is why ROAPE changed its business model) is that a commercial publisher generally ensures a more reliable financial base for such a journal. The main problem with this model, however, is that what makes for successful journalism and intellectual debate in the minds of the editors, the contributors and the readers may not always prove commercially viable, and vice versa.
Another important lesson, in my view, is that the original Transition was able to be wide-ranging in its coverage (even if limited by its English language medium) and draw in contributions from many different sections of the intelligentsia (i.e. not just academics) and from different cultural traditions, even if it was mainly based on contributions from English-speaking countries. This gave it a multi-disciplinary and to some extent a multi-cultural flavour. The risk here is that the ‘focus’ may get lost in favour of ‘scope’, and ‘edge’ or controversy in favour of ‘surface’ and acceptability.
The final lesson one might learn from the experience of Transition is that the journal was successful as a medium for debate and controversy, precisely because it was run by and written by ‘amateurs’ – people who loved and were passionate about what they thought, what they said and what they read, and linked this passion not only to a concern to understand the world but also to change it. Today, there is a tendency for journals to be edited, written for and read by ‘professionals’, often academics, whose may also be passionately involved but who, after all are ‘in it’ for their own careers and professional advancement perhaps as much as they are to change the world, if they are interested in that project at all.
David Seddon is a researcher and political activist who has written extensively on social movements, class struggles and political transitions across the developing world. He studied ‘food riots’ and protest in a ground-breaking study on North Africa and the Middle East Free Markets and Food Riots: the politics of global adjustment with his co-editor John Walton.
Featured Photograph: Founding editor of Tansition, Rajat Neogy, on the cover of the magazine after his death in December 1995.
Colonial legacies are very much alive and well across the African continent. Even the term ‘colonial legacies’ implies the influences and outcomes of colonialism are in fact over, yet contemporary economic, political and social structures across regions in Africa continue to be shaped by their distinctive experiences from the period of colonialism. Assessing the long-term effects of colonialism through public investment decisions illuminates the interplay between colonial interventions and domestic decision-making in contemporary policy-making. In this blogpost expenditure on railroad infrastructure and education will be explored to offer a contribution to understanding why these investments matter and their implications for urban path dependence.
In 1972 Walter Rodney provided an economic analysis of the development of Europe and the subsequent ‘underdevelopment of the rest’ as a dialectical process in How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, this foregrounds the discussion on the roots of Africa’s underdevelopment and provides a foundation to understanding the extractive nature of colonisers’ behaviours. Influenced by Marxist ideas and the traditions of Andre Gunder Frank and other dependency theorists, the crux of Rodney’s analysis rests on a discussion of the intimate relationship between Europe’s growth and Africa’s developmental stagnation. He refers to ‘underdevelopment’ as centuries of exploitation and metropolitan imperialism, principally leading to stalled industrialisation and lack of technology. In his own words, Rodney argued ‘what was called the ‘development of Africa’ by the colonialists was a cynical shorthand expression for the “intensification of colonial exploitation in Africa to develop capitalist Europe.”’ This illustrates the contradictory nature of the capitalist project, generating wealth for the colonial exploiters while impoverishing the exploited. As Rodney discusses, the central role of trading and the selling and enslaving of Africans facilitated the economic benefits reaped by the European capitalists, particularly in England where this ‘human capital’ helped precipitate the take-off of the Industrial Revolution. Simultaneously, this form of capitalist expansion suppressed African development growth potential, predominantly through what Lee Wengraf has argued on roape.net as ‘the lost labour potential…’ and the narrowing of exports to ‘just a few commodities, undermining the development of productive capacity in Africa itself.’
Contributing to the discussion on the implications of colonialism, the construction of colonial railroads and broader investments in public finance helps us to understand contemporary patterns of economic activity on the continent. Indeed, Rodney’s emphasis on the colonisers’ extractive, capitalist approach was embedded in railroad infrastructural decisions, providing a means to create an agricultural export industry, further European mining interests and ensure military domination with lines built to establish effective control of the population. In Rémi Jedwab and Alexander Moradi’s recent study on economic development in Kenya and Ghana, between 1901 and 1962, the railroad in Kenya led to a concentration of European and African settlers in tandem with the development of coffee and tea production. Similarly in Ghana, railroad infrastructure cut transport costs, with the expansion of rural communities along the line key in providing human capital for cocoa production, contributing to the increased profitability of cocoa exports. Expanding these findings to 39 other sub-Saharan African countries, Jedwab and Moradi concluded that investment in railroads helped determine the location of the main cities in the post-colonial era, including Nairobi and Johannesburg. Cities that served the extraction of profitable agricultural and mineral export.
Developing some of these arguments Rémi Jedwab, Edward Kerby, Alexander Moradi argued in 2017 that railroads contributed to path dependence holds true in the context of the subsequent demise of colonial railroads in the post-independence era. Due to poor infrastructural management and the exodus of European and Asian settlers, colonial railroad infrastructure collapsed and yet despite this, locations along these railroads continue to be more urbanised, easing accessibility to public services for the region’s citizens and railroad cities retaining their wealth compared to cities located further afield from the lines. However, a broader examination of the continent’s railroads exhibits a sparser network and reveals variation of the colonial experience through disparities of economic geography between regions shaped by these infrastructural investments. It also demonstrates the interplay between historical, external interventions and domestic decision-making in the post-colonial era. Urban, infrastructural ‘hotspots’ offered an environment of greater financial viability and security for national economic planning. Indeed, Jedwab, Kerby and Moradi term this source of path dependence as ‘spatial coordination failures’, situating the persistence in contemporary urban patterns in Kenya in the context of railroad cities which ‘served as a mechanism to “coordinate” locational decisions and spatial investments in subsequent periods’, with similar conclusions drawn from Ghana. Crucially, these differences across regions have shaped the variations in contemporary economic geography, perpetuating inequality and weakening opportunities for redistribution within regions suffering from urban and rural inequalities.
Digging deeper into these regional variations, district-level disparities can also highlight the enduring role of colonial investments in contemporary infrastructure. Concentrated economic planning in particular areas formed an attractive and cost-efficient foundation that encouraged future development planners to similarly set-up production and harness pre-existing human capital and resources as a mechanism of maximising efficiency. Elise Huillery encapsulates these processes in 2009 as ‘virtuous cycles’, emphasising the relationship between early colonial investments in education and health and current levels of schooling and health outcomes. She convincingly illustrates that ‘teachers continued to go where teachers used to be affected’ and in districts, which had a larger presence of teachers, their school rates have continued to measure higher. It is important to recognise here the substantial variation of quality and distribution of education spending between colonisers across the continent. In the historian Jan Vansina’s book Being Colonized he retraces the colonial experience of the Kuba people in central Congo and highlights the central role of alternative actors to the colonial administrators in bringing education and other aspects of ‘modernity’:
While aspiring to confer “civilisation” on its subjects, the colonial administration still did not envision spending large amounts of money to achieve it. That task was best left to the private sector, especially to the Christian missions, which were expected to transform Africans into “modern” people by a combination of religious conversation, education, and their own example of gracious living.
Indeed, Ewout Frankema’s study of the origins of formal education in sub-Saharan Africa illustrates that differences between gross primary school enrolment rates between British and non-British African colonies were, on average, better within the British African colonies. While the British discouraged the development of higher education for fears of it harbouring anti-colonial feelings. Conversely, the French generally neglected primary education, favouring higher education to help build up an elite workforce of professional administrators. Explanations of the gap between British and non-British primarily rest on Britain’s emphasis on missionary involvement to support their system of indirect rule, while the French’s suspicions of missionaries sustained their separation between the church and the state.
In 2015 Leonard Wantchekon, Marko Klašnja, Natalija Novta’s analysis of the longer-term implications of colonial education within communities in Benin illustrates that where missionaries were located became important in terms of spatial inequalities and had considerable impacts on communities. Indeed, when examining the outcomes of descendants who had access to mission schools at the village level, parents’ education has had ‘a large positive effect on their children’s educational attainment, living standards and social networks.’. The strength of extended families also illustrates that nieces and nephews benefit directly from the education of their uncles, and are more educated than descendants without any educated family members. The 2015 study speaks of a ‘virtuous cycle’, with the accumulation of human capital important in explaining differences in long-term development –with deep unevenness in the distribution of these colonial investment patterns.
Historical explanations advanced by Walter Rodney on early patterns of dependency resonate with contemporary social and economic realities of globalisation. Colonial legacies are very much alive and well across the African continent. More optimistic assessments of the continent as one that is ‘rising’ from years of economic underdevelopment, citing increasing attractiveness to foreign investors and sustained GDP growth, obscure, as Ian Taylor argued in ROAPE in 2016, the ‘dynamics which are accompanying a notional ‘rise’ of Africa but which are actually contributing to the continent being pushed further and further into underdevelopment and dependency.’ Africa’s ‘rise’ has been in tandem with limited structural change in the continent’s economies and is in fact linked to de-industrialisation and a continued reliance on primary products – a continued, bleak fulfilment of Rodney’s 1972 book on development and underdevelopment.
Manufacturing underdevelopment across many sub-Saharan African countries is particularly potent, as Taylor has argued, it is within ‘low-technology manufacturing where labour-intensive job-creating opportunities are found.’ Furthermore, despite sizeable infrastructural investments from China across the continent contributing to GDP growth, it is proving to be a limited and finite source of financial support when situated within the country’s growing debt-dependency. This blogpost has argued that many of the old patterns of dependency prevail and illustrates the urgency to transform Africa’s structural position in the global economy, de-industrialisation and agricultural stagnation.
Katie Barker studied politics at Leeds University and is currently a post-graduate at the London School of Economics and Political Science. Her research interests focus on politics, public policy and ownership in the development sector.
Featured Photograph: The arrival of the first train at Pretoria Station, Pretoria, South Africa, in 1893. Railroad construction in South Africa followed the discovery of gold near present-day Johannesburg in 1886. Pretoria, at the time the capital of the South African Republic, was connected by rail to Cape Town in 1893, and to Durban and Lourenço Marques (in the then-Portuguese colony of Mozambique) in 1895.
Samir Amin was an exceptionally humble person. In spite of his huge influence on younger generations, he never treated them patronizingly or with condescension. Samir did not see himself as a leader, teacher or mentor. He treated younger scholars and comrades as his equals, engaging with them and critiquing them where necessary.
It was 1973. My sequel to the first essay ‘Tanzania: The Silent Class Struggle’, called ‘The class struggle continues’ (which later became Class Struggles in Tanzania) was making rounds of comrades ‘underground’ in a mimeograph form. I can’t remember if I sent it to him or somehow he got hold of it. He read it through and took time to send me his comment:
As a young person half his age I was thrilled. It etched on me an everlasting impression. I had known Samir barely for two years. If my memory serves me right, I first met him in a workshop of the African Institute for Economic Development and Planning (IDEP) he had organised in Dar es Salaam. The fascination of listening to Samir and his colleagues was enormous. I had tried to plough through his Accumulation on World Scale but can’t claim to have understood it. Since then Samir remained a friend and a comrade, never failing to invite me although many a time I had to decline. I was among the few on the Nile cruise to celebrate his eightieth birthday. The celebration was a seminar. Every morning we would meet on the deck having read in the cabin the previous night. He was first to come, holding his partner, Isabella’s hand to help her negotiate steps, and last to leave. Isabella then was in frail health.
Samir has been variously described as a scholar, intellectual, all of which he deserves but for me, more than anything else, he was a political person. Working class politics permeated his every pore. Even during the worst of times, he did not shy away from declaring himself a Marxist, openly and proudly. He stood firm, unshakeable when many of his contemporaries and younger scholars sought refuge in mainstream intellectual fashions to become celebrities.
Neither did he covet awards, nor did he seek endorsement of Western universities, (particularly US) and scholarly organizations. But he genuinely appreciated and welcomed invitations from Third World institutions. He was enormously happy when I invited him to the University of Dar es Salaam to deliver the second Nyerere Annual Lecture in 2010. In the citation, I said:
As a militant Marxist scholar, Samir Amin has two outstanding qualities. He has been consistent and passionate throughout his life in the advocacy and defence of human emancipation from the vicious capitalist and imperialist system, regardless of the changing intellectual fashions. On this, he is uncompromising. Second, he has consciously done everything possible and seized every opportunity available to provide space, forum, and a training ground for young African scholars.
I said he was pre-eminently a political person. And now I can add what I couldn’t say then in the citation read from a scholarly podium. Once he had invited two of us to an IDEP workshop in Dakar. We needed to meet a comrade who was in exile then. We hesitatingly asked Samir if he could invite him also so that we could meet him. Without further ado or questions he did it!
The final time I met Samir Amin was last year when he came to Dar es Salaam to give a lecture. With Bashiru Ally, then a young emerging scholar, now the Secretary General of the ruling party, we had tea at my place. Samir was smoking away his cigar, copying the PDFs of his books on a flash drive for us. Samir was not one to respect intellectual property rights!
His intellectual works, scholarly contributions and political interventions have been sufficiently covered in dozens of tributes that are pouring in every day. I will not go over them. I wanted specifically to capture Samir’s attitude and treatment of younger generations, done as a matter of course and without pretense. When I first learnt of Samir’s passing on from Samia Zennadi, our mutual friend from Algeria, I could not find words to express my grief in prose. Spontaneously, the following stanza rolled out to capture the sentiment I have expressed in prose here:
A baobab has fallen
Plants will miss your shade
Shoots will miss your protection
I’ll miss your love and warmth
Yes, comrade, plants will not shrivel, and shoots will not die. They will continue to derive sustenance and inspiration from the baobab for, as Natasha wrote, you live on ‘in our imagination of a more just world and in the fight against oppression.’
Issa Shivji, Dar es Salaam, 19 August 2018
Samir Amin on Centre, Periphery and the World Economy: an appreciation of his original insights
By Peter Lawrence
Samir Amin, already a major figure in the political economy of development, was the author of the first article in the first ever issue of ROAPE, in 1974. As the editorial noted, the article was ‘a summary of his basic model of the workings of the international system as a whole, presented at length in his two recent books’ (the two- volume Accumulation on a World Scale, Monthly Review Press, 1974). The editorial continued:
It provides us with an ideal starting point: a general view of international capitalism, identifying the crucial differences in the dynamic of accumulation at the centre and at the periphery: differences which promote development in the metropoles and inhibit it in Africa. It is our hope that his work, which represents the most significant African contribution to the debate on underdevelopment, will be studied widely and discussed critically.
And so it was. Some of the subsequent issues of ROAPE in the 1970s, as well as books and articles in other journals published in that period endorsed or took issue implicitly or explicitly with his model of accumulation. The idea that a home grown capitalism was developing in African countries contested any view of the world in which Amin’s centre was inhibiting any possibility of, in his phrase, a ‘self-centred system’ in which value is transferred from the periphery to the centre through a process of unequal exchange where returns to labour at the periphery are less than returns to labour at the centre. Cheap labour produces the exports of raw material, both agricultural and mineral, to a centre where the value of labour embodied in the final product is higher. In his overall model, the centre produces the capital goods that produce the consumer goods for their mass markets. The periphery produces export goods which pay for the imports of what are relatively luxury products for a small elite class within the peripheral economies. Even if some of those consumer goods are produced within the peripheral economies, their markets are small and the capital goods needed for that production have to be imported from the centre.
Re-reading the analysis in Amin’s article is a sobering experience: fast forwarding to the present, little has changed. Even if there were countries which tried in some way to break with the system – Nyerere’s Tanzania with its policy of Socialism and Self-reliance, for example – they never broke or were allowed to break with the system of capital accumulation in which profits found their way to the developed economies of what we now term the ‘Global North’. Of course there has been some development of capitalism in Africa but this has not resulted in significant structural changes to economies. They are still largely dependent on the vagaries of world commodity markets, exporting raw materials and importing capital and consumer goods directed to a domestic market of higher income consumers, whose income derives from the high end of commodity trading, financial activities and their servicing, and those with larger farms and estates. Meanwhile large proportions of the African populations languish on or below the poverty line. The self-centred economy described in Amin’s article and books, has as its ‘central determining relationship’ that of the production of capital goods for the production of consumer goods for the mass market. In the periphery on the other hand, that relationship is a ‘peripheral- dependent’ between earning export income in order to consume ‘luxury’ goods. In the capitalist developed countries this system had been achieved in Amin’s approach, by a ‘social contract’ between increasingly monopolised capital and organised labour which allowed for some degree of ‘planning’ to avoid the cyclical fluctuations associated with capitalism before the second world war and especially between the first and second world wars. Amin defines the underlying contradiction of capitalism which causes these fluctuations as one between what the system allows to be produced and what it prevents, in its search for profit, people to consume, but argues that ensuing cyclical fluctuations have been moderated by the ‘social contract’.
However, in analysing the system in this way, Amin rejected the prevailing view in both the capitalist ‘West’ and the socialist ‘East’ the idea that development entailed catching up with the developed capitalist countries. His key insight was to argue that given the way the global system worked, countries such as those of Africa were not going to achieve the status of a developed country by imitating their development trajectory, or by concentrating on their raw material export base and slowly industrialise by importing capital goods. The history of the world was not about followers catching up with leaders but about dominant civilizations being ‘transcended’ by peripheral ones as the former decline and the peripheral overtake them with different social organizations. In this case a socialist self-centred development would eventually transcend moribund capitalism. This required an overall strategy of ‘self-reliance’ but one built up from popular bases ‘becoming aware of reality’ (Amin’s emphasis) and allowed for the increasing domination of a ‘self-centred’ system. Of course the political activity required to achieve this in the face of an active and global imperialism has and continues to be the key issue, and not just in the periphery. As Amin observed:
It is quite appropriate to describe the task of transition thus: transition from the capitalist world system, based on hierarchies of nations, to a world socialist system, which cannot be made up of relatively isolated and autarkic ‘socialist’ nations. Here the true solidarity of the peoples involved in the struggle for reshaping the world comes to the fore, due to the limited prospects for progress in the Third World where the conditions for transcending advanced capitalism express nothing more than the weakness of the forces of socialism at the centre of the system. (ROAPE, 1974:20)
He regarded the China of the Cultural Revolution as addressing this issue and indeed although China developed in a way that Amin may not have foreseen there is some basis for the view that it did first ensure an autocentric development path, only engaging with global capitalism when it was in a strong position to do so. Much has changed in China since 1974, as is the case across the world. We are now possibly in an even less favourable phase of world history. The contradictions of capitalism at the centre are being resolved in ways which inhibit the periphery even further from a socialist self-centred development. In the past four decades we have lived through the triumph and the crisis of neoliberalism, the global financial monopolisation of capital, the colonisation of the State by private capital principally by the privatisation of state assets, and the liberalisation of the labour market with stricter anti-union laws and transnational freedom of movement resulting in the suppression of wages with the consequent increased social inequality and deprivation. Africa economies and the rest of peripheral capitalism have been ruthlessly subject to neoliberal policies which have made them even less able, even if willing, to pursue a self-centred path.
These developments are fundamentally the reaction to the falling profit rates of the 1970s as wages, after pressure from organised labour, took an increasing share of the value of output. Capital’s recovery of value from labour points to the central contradiction of capital that Amin set out in his article: that the only way value can be realised in a mass consumption market is for the masses to have the power to consume. As consumers’ incomes were squeezed under neoliberalism, this contradiction was resolved by increasing credit to consumers which led to the financial crash of 2007/8 and can only lead to another financial crash, which some believe is imminent. Underlying these developments is increased automation, computerization and robotization which reduces the need for physical labour, creates ever cheaper durable consumption goods and leads to a contradiction between technology and the way society is organised, or as Marx would have put it, between the productive forces and the relations of production.
Samir Amin’s later writings (see for example, The Implosion of Capitalism. Samir Amin, 2013) clearly recognised the changes that the world had seen since 1974 outlined above, but his conception of the period since 1974 as a long crisis of capitalism and his advocacy of peripheral countries ‘de-linking’ from the global economy, more fully discussed in John Saul’s contribution and touched on by Ray Bush, do find their origin in his work four decades earlier. It is a mark of the power of his original insights that they are as relevant today as they were then.
Peter Lawrence, Manchester, 19 August 2018
On Samir Amin…and the Importance of “Delinking”
By John S. Saul
I was a friend of the late Samir Amin – we met a number of times in our long and peripatetic lives and never without personal warmth and delight at the shared opportunity to compare and contrast our opinions and to further discuss them. I won’t say we knew each other well, never living in the same town nor even, very often, on the same continent; instead we tended to meet more by chance and then much too briefly. But there were few people whose company I enjoyed more, being a long-time admirer of his wide-ranging insights on the global workings of capital and of their impact on local patterns (not least in Africa) of both cooptation and resistance. Most of all, I admired his sheer ‘stick-to-it-iveness’: open but unbending as to principle, fearless and untiring in his analysis, firm in his spirit of friendship – in sum, a true ‘comrade on the left.’ But I will leave it to others who knew him at first-hand rather better than I did to speak further to such matters. Instead, I have been asked by Leo Zeilig to discuss, in honour of Samir’s memory, the concept of ‘delinking.’ For this is a concept central to Amin’s work
It would be naïve to think that the increased globalization of the capitalist economy can somehow be ignored by advocates of a socialist alternative. Not only is the ‘free’ global market a major point of reference for efforts by global capital (including those of its enforcers like the World Bank and the IMF) to enforce its writ, by force and/or by the seduction of Southern elites. But the over-bearing weight and lure of the global market-place can also have its seductions, as a smorgasbord of sparkling goods on offer and as an apparent source of quick and relatively easy profits and of the inflow of ‘foreign capital’ – albeit capital most often pegged to the production and overseas sale of mineral and other resources and to such limited additional production as meets the consumer needs of resident elites. How, then, to weigh – on some kind of national developmental balance-sheet of left provenance – the attendant costs and benefits of such links? And how best to conceive the new and essential kinds of democratic controls over such linkages that must/should be established? For only with some such controls in place could countries of the Global South expect to be the beneficiaries rather than the victims of global embrace. Without this, there is no intrinsic ‘magic of the market,’ no equal exchange between rich and poor; there is only, with the market left unchecked, the upward redistribution of resources from poor to rich.
And it is precisely here that Samir Amin helped point a way forward, advocating an ever more radical decolonization from central capitalist control, this to be achieved (to cite his dramatic formulation) through an actual and active ‘delinking’ of the economies of the Global South from the Empire of Capital that otherwise holds the South in its sway. For Amin, delinking was best defined as ‘the submission of external relations [to internal requirements], the opposite of the internal adjustment of the peripheries to the demands of the polarizing worldwide expansion of capital’ and it is seen as being ‘the only realistic alternative [since] reform of the [present] world system is utopian.’ For ‘history shows us that it is impossible to “catch up” within the framework of world capitalism’; in fact, ‘only a very long transition’ (with a self-conscious choice for delinking from the world of capitalist globalization as an essential first step) beyond the present situation of global polarization will suffice.
Yet, as Amin readily admits, there is no realistic haven of ‘autarky’ that one can look to, no way of avoiding some involvement in the broader market (as opportunity, though not, he argues, as seduction). What must occur, however, is the substitution of the present political economy of recolonization with an alternative that tilts effectively towards ‘delinking’ as a notional goal – invoking an auto-centric socio-economic alternative that is at once effective, efficient and productive. What would the programme of a national strategy erected on the premise of a strong tilt towards radical delinking from the presently existent and profoundly cancerous global capitalist system look like? The answer to this question could only begin to be found in a new project of genuine socialist planning – established on a national or regional scale – that sought to smash, precisely, the crippling (il)logic of present ‘market limitations’ upon development.
This, in turn, suggests the need for a programme that (following the formulations of the Guyanese economist Clive Thomas) embodies ‘the progressive convergence of the demand structure of the community and the needs of the population’ – this being the very reverse of the market fundamentalist’s global orthodoxy. One could then ground a ‘socialism of expanded reproduction’ – one that refuses the dilemma that has heretofore undermined the promise of the many ‘socialisms’ that have proven prone to falling into the Stalinist trap of ‘violently repressing mass consumption’ in the name of the supposed requirements of accumulation. For, far from accumulation and mass consumption being warring opposites, the premise would now be that accumulation could be driven forward precisely by finding outlets for production in meeting the growing requirements, the needs, of the mass of the population!
An effective industrialization strategy would thus base its ‘expanded reproduction’ – this to be premised, precisely, on ‘delinking’ on the one hand and on the ever increasing in-country exchanges between city and country, between industry and agriculture, with food and raw materials moving to the cities and with consumer goods and producer goods (the latter defined to include centrally such modest items as scythes, iron ploughs, hoes, axes, fertilizers and the like) moving to the countryside on the other. Collective savings geared to investment could then be seen as being drawn essentially, if not exclusively, from an expanding economic pool. Note that such a socialism of expanded reproduction makes the betterment of the people’s lot a short-term rather than a long-term project and thus promises a much sounder basis for an effective (rather than merely rhetorical) alliance of workers, peasants and others and for a democratic road to revolutionary socialism.
It is important to note that this approach is not intended to understate the simultaneous importance of potential South-South relations. Thus linkages such as those foreshadowed in the World Social Forum seek, multi-nationally, to sponsor a redefinition of the workings of the global economy; small wonder, then, that Amin himself devoted much of his later years to political work within the World Social Forum network to help recraft from below a world-wide movement and sensibility designed, if not to ‘overthrow’ capitalism, at least to effectively ‘regulate’ it in the interest of socially responsible and democratic purposes. To make, in short, the ‘globally necessary’ the ‘globally possible’!
Of course, even at the level of the national economy Amin was not proposing the extirpation of any and all market relations. True, the latter were dangerous, especially in terms of the possible generation of class-differentiated societies that they so often encouraged. At the same time his realism –designed to avoid the risks of unduly over-burdening the fledgling progressive states involved (over-burdening, that is, both public enterprise and the mechanisms of planning unduly)-means that the creation and empowerment of national movements capable of countering the logic of capitalism’s embrace, global and national, will be tough work. For – think about it – so strong are the global pressures against it that crafting the political basis necessary to sustain a socio-economic push in a quite opposite direction will not itself (and however ‘nationally necessary’) easily become the ‘nationally possible.’ Small wonder that Amin himself saw the global and national struggles for socialist strategies of delinking from the logic of market-primacy and the taking of the economy beyond global capitalism as being two sides of the same coin.
In sum, if the predominant importance of the kind of planning (democratic and needs-focussed, both globally and locally) is ever to be achieved, it will be planning which ensures that the centre of gravity of the economy remains egalitarian, collectively-premised and popularly-centred and controlled. It could, in this way, be expected to counter-balance the possible costs of any judicious deployment of market mechanisms, for example. Thus, the bottom-line would remain, as Amin emphasized to be necessary, a self-consciousness about societal transition away from market power and entrepreneurial class interest. Put quite simply, this would help ensure that no bourgeoisie, either foreign or domestic, would play a role that could justify any claim it might seek to make to continue to snatch inordinate wealth or superordinate power for itself. In fact, only the exercise of genuine ‘popular power’ could guarantee a politics that might hope to underpin an economic strategy premised on the realization of Samir Amin’s fundamental goal, that of ‘delinking’ from precisely those global-capitalist ‘imperatives’ that cannot but promise the global poor ill. It is time, to repeat, to make, politically, the globally and nationally necessary the globally and nationally possible.
John S. Saul, Toronto, 14 August 2018
A Tribute to Samir by Natasha Shivji
Dear Samir Amin,
I write this as if you were still here amongst us, for an individual such as yourself who has lived for a continent, remains alive well after their death. You will not be lost in histories past, you will not be deemed irrelevant by futures to come, you will stay here in the material present as we struggle for the continent you committed your life to.
As a young lecturer in 2009 I recall desperately looking for books, articles, and ideas to use for teaching in my history classrooms. Ideas produced within the continent, ones that did not simply regurgitate the formulas of the West. My sweet encounter with Global History: A View from the South was all I needed. I read your work alongside Walter Benjamin, writing histories in spaces of contradiction, histories of the oppressed in worlds shaped by the demands and exploits of capital. How are we to struggle to produce ideas on our own terms? I used these methods in my classes; methods that belonged to our history, relevant to our struggles that revolutionaries such as yourself had the audacity to speak of. Producing a framework relevant to our context wasn’t simply a parallel project to the Eurocentric view of the world, but it was in direct opposition to it. A view from the Global South was a history of the oppressed as a weapon against oppression, it did not fashionably sit side-by-side Eurocentrism as an ‘alternative,’ but it was indeed a confrontation with the assumptions of an Africa without history. An affirmation of an Africa that was complex and an Africa that was coerced into capitalistic social relations but found hope in the oppressed.
This was important for the young lecturer making sense of our history to a group of undergraduate students. It was important not to romanticize our futures as alternatives to the West, but not to become so pessimistic as to loose hope in the struggles that lay before us. It was precisely because of our contradictions that we found pockets of resistance everywhere. Class was not merely an imported Marxian term, but a lived history which we saw everywhere on the edges of capital in our world, in our shared history. It made sense to us through your writings.
Soon after, I was elated when I met you at the University of Dar es Salaam campus in the Nkrumah hall in 2010, overflowing with students and a few lecturers who still believed in the importance of ideas. We eagerly listened to the exchanges from the high table adorned with bouquets and colored cloth. Samir Amin, you sat in the audience with your simple cloth bag, attentively listening with the rest of us. The talk was on Pan Africanism, a topic dear to us all as it held the dream of unity, for the continent. The question for all of us was clear: Whose unity? What was the basis of this unity? Our questions were not answered in the hall. In the naiveté of a young person but with the courage that comes with naiveté, I stood up and questioned the cultural unity that was being celebrated by one speaker, the oneness of Africa premised on its cultural heritage and riches. The assumptions of an ‘African’ way of being, an untouched history, stagnant and unresponsive to the exploits of the world, encapsulated by the fragile bubble of culture. I asked, what of the political unity Kwame Nkrumah spoke of? What of the anti-imperialist motive of a Pan African vision and what of a shared history of oppression? Were these not more urgent in constructing our Pan African vision? I sat down, and Samir Amin took the floor in agreement with the young woman who had just spoken before him. I vainly cling on to that memory to this day.
In very few words you reminded us that we did not have the luxury to speak of cultural unities in an unequal world, for we did not share one culture. Pan Africanism ought to be a project of the oppressed of Africa against imperialism and its compradors. Pan Africanism was not merely a celebration of who we were as a people but a forced assertion of our existence in the form of resistance. Pan Africanism must be thought of as a political project from below, as a class project in defense of the peasantry and working people and as an anti-imperialist project birthed from the nationalist movements. Asserting our intellect not merely as cultural artifacts but as political social beings strategizing a revolutionary future. Flowers did not adorn you nor did color cloth!
I started my PhD studies with a proposal of intellectual histories of Islam and Africa as political projects, writing of the tributary mode of production and the destruction of Islamic city-state formations. I was enthralled by the depth of these histories and the immensity of these worlds. However, these worlds brought us to a political present, one where superficial binaries concealed economic contradictions, where the world was polarized between the Orient Muslim and the modern non-Muslim. Who was the oppressed? What did Political Islam come to mean in our world? As I grappled with these questions I met you once again in 2015 at the CODESRIA General Assembly.
Once again, a brightly decorated panel accommodated speakers discussing Political Islam in Africa. Once again you were seated in the audience. This time not so patient with the discourse! You intervened in the discussion showing no sympathy for the advance of Islam on the continent as a political project or an alternative. Political Islam, at best was a cultural project that concealed the class character of our societies, that if given the chance would act as all purely cultural projects have acted historically, reactionary and against the oppressed masses. Political Islam, you emphasized was not a movement of the oppressed, it was an identity that sought a piece of the capitalist pie and at best it was a sigh of the oppressed, quickly coopted by the logic of the forces it sought to oppose.
You live on Samir Amin, your life and your ideas live on – not in dusty bookshelves nor in adorned panel discussions with colored cloth but in our imagination of a more just world and in the fight against oppression.
Natasha Issa Shivji, Dar es Salaam, 13 August 2018
Samir Amin: An appreciation
By Ray Bush
I met Samir Amin only once. I was lucky though as our meeting was spread over three days at a conference and I later interviewed him by telephone for ROAPE. I described him to friends and colleagues, who heard that I had been fortunate enough to spend time with him, as indefatigable – he would stride out ahead of the group to locate the baladi (local) place to eat and places to visit. He was trenchant in his defence of the working class and peasantry, full of energy and ideas and he was engaged with not only theory and concepts but with people and those downtrodden by capitalism. Thus, his energy and appetite for life, which was contagious, led him to understand people’s conditions of existence wherever he was. That was very clear. He was a sympathetic and humorous comrade who clearly drew inspiration for his Marxism from the lessons he was always learning by his engagement with people.
Of course, there was also a steely side, that did not let bullshit pass without critical comment. He chastened a government minister of a city state where our meeting took place and corrected him on his idiocy regarding free trade as a vehicle for promoting development in the Global South. Samir Amin was clear. Since 1970 we have been living in a period of ‘generalised monopoly capitalism’ – where monopoly capital controls everything, all sectors of life which have now reduced to zero the relative autonomy of agriculture and industry to the gains of imperialist monopoly rent. This has intensified and since 1970 there has been a qualitative change in capitalism different from an earlier period of crisis between the 1880s and World War 2.
He was clear that the internal contradictions of capitalism and financialisation were ruinous for the Global South , falling rates of growth in the capitalist centre by more than a half in the period after the 70s drove an intensification of imperialist rent, that capitalism was now largely anonymous, abstract capital in contrast to being more easily identified with the monied families of the early 20th century, needed to be understood in terms of how it is created and its consequences and it also needs to be ruthlessly challenged by the left. But the imperialist triad of the US, EU and Japan manages the world system and dominates in the areas of technology, access to resources, the creation and reproduction of a monetary and financial system of exploitation, dominance of the media and of course the armaments industry.
He saw China as a vehicle for contesting the dominance of the triad, as he said, he was probably the most frequent visitor to most parts of China of anyone on the left and China was crucial in advancing a polycentric world. Amin’s insights from his memorable and persistently important Accumulation on a World Scale need to be set alongside his optimism for moving from global capitalism to global socialism and communism. A vehicle to do that was to advance autocentred development in the South – an initially inward-looking strategy to advance a form of delinking. But delinking did not mean a crude autarky. It was instead to help fashion a sovereign popular project: one that could emerge from new historical blocs to counter the comprador bourgeoisie in Africa that has always benefited from imperialism. The agenda for the left was always to analyse the contradictions of capitalism, to identify what different class interests demanded and to then be clear about developing counter strategies to quash the triad and their cronies in the global South. To do that required what he called independent initiatives that would vary depending on the different socio-historical circumstances and different local experiences. Sadly, we will miss Samir Amin’s insights as to how the exciting prospect of generating sovereign popular projects to challenge imperialism might be developed.
Ray Bush, Leeds, 18 August 2018
Tribute to the Great Master, Comrade and Brother Samir Amin
By Ndongo Samba Sylla
Samir Amin (1931-2018) was one of the thinkers of the Global South who contributed decisively to starting the epistemological break with the Eurocentric discourse that permeates the social sciences and humanities. His passing on August 12 is a huge loss for his family, friends, collaborators and many sympathisers around the world. As much as the Marxist intellectual / Communist militant was exceptional with an uncompromising ethical commitment, Samir was also humble, obliging and generous. It was a privilege to have been able to collaborate with this father figure and ardent fighter for the internationalism of the peoples who always signed his emails with the mention ‘fraternally.’
It seems appropriate to reproduce the substance of the introduction that I brought during his lifetime and in his presence on October 25, 2014 at the University Cheikh Anta Diop of Dakar. That day, Demba Moussa Dembélé, in collaboration with the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation, organised a ceremony in honour of Samir Amin that brought together African intellectuals, diplomats, politicians, students, etc. The words I spoke on this occasion which seem to me even more relevant today than ever:
‘Taking advantage of the opportunity given to me here, I will, with much modesty, try to articulate the intellectual scope of our dear Professor and what I have learned from his teachings. You will understand in a certain way that this is a talk of a student who wandered about with ‘Aminian intuitions’ before having been properly invigorated following the discovery and reading of the writings of Samir Amin.
What fascinates us with Samir Amin is to a certain extent his ‘indiscipline.’ Indiscipline in a double sense. First, his thinking goes beyond existing academic divisions. Samir Amin has mobilised in his research knowledge that is relevant to areas such as history, politics, philosophy, anthropology, sociology of culture, sociology of religions, etc. Since his scientific contributions transcend the field of economics, it is reductive, therefore, to call him an ‘economist.’ And all the more so because we know the definition he gives of the ‘economist’, namely a ‘sincere believer convinced of the virtues of liberalism.’
Second, it must be said that Samir Amin occupies a rebel position in the Marxist citadel, an aspect often ignored. His point of view has always been that being a Marxist means starting from Marx, not stopping at Marx. Amin’s problem with many Western Marxists is either that they did not try to go beyond Marx or, if so, they were not able to lucidly appreciate the analytical implications of the intrinsically imperialist nature of historical capitalism. On the intellectual level, writes Amin, ‘historical Marxism and the left in general are poorly equipped to face the challenge of globalisation.’
If Samir Amin is a prolific thinker, it is because he is at first an undisciplined thinker. The original syntheses he produced and the new breath he brought to the theory of development would not be possible without an attitude of epistemological vigilance which consists in refusing the inconsiderate worship of idols, even if they are comforting on a psychological and ideological levels.
What must also be said about Amin is that he is a systematic thinker. By this I mean that he is one of the few intellectuals capable of proposing great theoretical syntheses which start from a careful examination of historical facts, which are based on coherent reasoning from beginning to end, which makes it possible to understand from a new angle the world in which we live and which continues to keep their relevance with the unfolding of historical time. His scientific work is therefore quite the opposite of standard economics theorists who have the license not to discuss the theoretical assumptions of their models, to disregard reality in the construction of their models, to ignore new facts that may refute them and not to scrutinise their analytical implications. Indeed, for standard economics, normal science consists in the enhancement of the ‘epistemology of ignorance’ (to use a concept of the Jamaican-American philosopher Charles Wade Mills).
It is not my purpose to go into the details of Amin’s scientific contributions. I will confine myself to indicating some lessons which seem to me essential.
From his earliest publications, Amin defended the thesis that capitalism should be understood as a global system with specific historical properties. One of them concerns the new relationship it introduces between the economic on the one hand, the political and the ideological on the other. Amin rightly observes that the law of value, the fact that the economy dictates its law in all social spheres, operates only in the capitalist system. In earlier systems, as he emphasises, power commanded wealth. With capitalism, it is wealth that now commands power. This inversion, far from being a violation of the canons of historical materialism, is illustrative of the subtlety of a thought attentive to the qualitative changes that punctuate historical evolution. In insisting on the historical specificity of the law of value, Samir Amin allows us to see, following Marx, that capitalism is accompanied by a form of alienation (commodity fetishism) which differs from the preceding forms of alienation of a religious type. It also protects us from the temptation to apply the laws of capitalism to the historical systems that preceded it. A trap in which most neoclassical economists fall: for example, in the latest book by Thomas Piketty who claims to talk about capitalism, yet there are charts that show the evolution of the global rate of return on capital before and after tax, from Antiquity to the present day!
One of the most important characteristics of the capitalist system, as opposed to the type of historical system that preceded it, and to which Samir Amin gave the name of ‘tributary mode of production,’ is its polarising nature. In other words, capitalism is a system which, far from homogenising the world under the rule of the law of value, creates and magnifies by necessity the economic inequalities between the countries of the centers and those of the peripheries. Indeed, the capitalist system is intrinsically imperialist. Imperialism, says Samir Amin in contradistinction to Lenin, is not the supreme stage of capitalism. Imperialism is inscribed in the DNA of capitalism. Moreover, its processes have evolved historically: from imperialisms in plural – that is competing imperialist powers – we moved to a collective imperialism of the Triad (United States, Europe and Japan). By insisting on the specifics of contemporary imperialism, Samir Amin distanced himself very early from the rather vague and nebulous theories of Antonio Negri and Michael Hardt, authors who defend the idea of an ‘Empire’ without imperialists.
As part of his conceptualisation of historical capitalism, Samir Amin could not help tackling Eurocentrism. As an important aspect of the dominant ideology, Eurocentrism has the function of hiding the true nature of the capitalist system, including its imperialist foundations and the form of alienation it produces, to distort the history of its genesis via its insistence on European exceptionalism, and to mask its polarising character. Through his criticism of Eurocentrism and the culturalist reactions that it provoked, Amin was able to highlight its racist cultural foundations, its ideological nature as well as its scientific limitations.
If Samir Amin offered one of the most penetrating and original critiques of ‘scientific capitalism’ (a humorous phrase I borrow from James Ferguson) he also pointed out what alternative paths can lead the ‘wretched of the earth’ towards the authentic human civilisation that capitalism can only refuse them. At this point, we arrive to the Aminian reflections around ‘delinking’: a concept that does not mean an autarchic retreat but rather ‘a strategic inversion in the vision of internal/external relations, in response to the unavoidable requirements of a self-centered development.’
The ‘delinking’ program is based on the observation that there can be no economic ‘catch-up’ within the capitalist system. For one simple reason: what exacerbates the polarisation between centers and peripheries is the fact that globalisation operates only in two dimensions – capital flows on one side, goods and services flows on the other – and does not concern labour movements. If the peripheral countries, about 80 percent of the world’s population, want to ‘catch up by imitating’ the countries of the centers, they would have to find, according to Amin, five to six new Americas in order to reduce their structural surplus of manpower. To ‘delink’ for the countries of the peripheries thus supposes to break out of the illusion of ‘catching up.’ Indeed, as Samir Amin says, when one realises, by virtue of the law of worldwide value, that the reproduction of the Western ‘model’ is impossible to realise in the global South, then it will be necessary to turn towards alternatives.
Yet, on this point, Samir Amin teaches us that the delinking strategies that were successful yesterday are not necessarily valid today. These must take into account the transformations of the capitalist/imperialist system. In the past, industrialisation could be an acceptable indicator of economic development. Nowadays, this is not necessarily the case because countries have been able to industrialise while remaining peripheral. So, according to Samir Amin, the opposition industrialised countries/non-industrialised countries has now lost its empirical relevance.
The struggle today for the peoples of the peripheries is, according to Amin, to put an end to the ‘five monopolies’ exercised by the Triad, which are the basis of the polarising dynamics characteristic of contemporary capitalism. These include the monopoly of weapons of mass destruction, the monopoly of technologies, the control of financial flows, the monopoly of access to the planet’s natural resources and the monopoly of communications. Tackling these monopolies is obviously not an easy task. For Samir Amin, this requires ‘daring’, a daring that must be translated in the Global North by the emergence of an anti-monopolies front and in the Global South by that of an anti-comprador front. At a stage where, to use his own terms, capitalism has become ‘senile’, ‘abstract’ and even ‘barbaric’ the delinking program implies in particular for the countries of the South to defend family farming, via a more egalitarian distribution of land. Otherwise it is difficult to imagine how these countries could manage in a civilised way their structural excess of manpower. This would figure among the starting points for the long road towards socialism.
I will end by pointing out that Amin is also a man of great generosity. Thanks to his sense of initiative, he has helped to set up high quality research institutes (Enda Tiers Monde, CODESRIA, African Institute for Economic Development and Planning, World Forum for Alternatives, Third World Forum). Through his writings, his interventions and conferences, he has never ceased to give and to highlight the perspective of the Global South and the wretched of the earth. That he is at the moment one of the leading figures of the movement for a globalisation in the service of the peoples is not at all a surprise, considering his extraordinary intellectual itinerary.
Dear Professor, we will certainly never be able to pay tribute to you for the immensity and wealth of the contributions you have made over the last fifty years. But we will try to keep the Aminian tradition ‘hot’, especially with the younger generations. I also hope that the community of radical sympathisers, activists and researchers will soon be able to organise themselves in such a way as to be able to properly honour you. Thank you for your attention.’
Ndongo Samba Sylla, Dakar, August 16 2018
Featured Photograph: Samir Amin being interviewed by the Senegalese press after his presentation on Karl Marx’s Capital for the ‘Economic Saturday’, Dakar 4 February 2017
The series on capitalism in Africa on roape.net has so far provided some excellent reflections focused primarily in two areas: first, the utility of the concept of capitalism (seen as being both historically contingent and culturally loaded) for understanding African economic development processes; and second, the variable ways in which Africa is integrated – usually to its detriment – into the global capitalist system. My contribution takes a different angle by focusing on the inward rather than outward dimension of African capitalisms, and specifically the relationship between capitalism and urbanisation – or, more accurately, the development of urban areas, acknowledging that the ‘urban’ is now another increasingly contested concept both in global debates and in our understanding of changing African societies. Indeed, we are at a crossroads in terms of how urbanisation and urban development are understood both in their own right and in terms of their relationship to capitalism. I believe that understanding how these phenomena relate to each other in African contexts, where urbanisation and capitalism are co-evolving in distinctive and historically unprecedented ways, is particularly instructive for pushing forward this global debate.
In several earlier contributions to this series, a theme that recurs either implicitly or explicitly is the difference between analysing capitalism and analysing capital and its ‘operations’. Efforts over successive decades to analyse ‘African capitalism’ have focused, as one would expect, on the emergence and nature of capitalist systems as a whole, exploring relations of production and whether these resemble capitalism elsewhere. Yet, as Seth Schindler has recently argued, in much of Africa as in other developing regions there has been a ‘persistent disconnect’ between capital and labour. This echoes Chitonge’s observation in this series that ‘restricting the existence of capitalism to the dominance of wage labour relations has offered little insight into capitalist dynamics in Africa.’ In a sense, if we try too hard to look for industrial capitalism and associated wage relations, we miss much of what capital is actually doing and this is crucial because what capital is actually doing partly accounts for the very weaknesses of capitalist industrial development.
To push this further, one can observe that in analyses of African capitalism there has been a relative neglect of what Henri Lefebvre termed in 1970 the ‘secondary circuit’ of capital – in other words, land and real estate – when actually it is central to patterns of investment and growth. In fact, this ‘circuit’ is especially significant in much of Africa today due to low productivity, the limited scope for industrial profits and consequent pull of urban land rents.
This requires further unpacking. In her contribution to this series, Kate Meagher’s reference to the ‘welcome return to investment in industry and infrastructure’ rightly lauds the resurgence of approaches to investment resembling those from the mid-twentieth century, when industry and infrastructure were invested in simultaneously but also were understood as being intrinsically linked in the capitalist development process. However, this emphasis on the ‘return’ of such approaches obscures the extent to which today infrastructure is being massively prioritised over industry (in practice if not in policy) and is being conceived in ways that are often entirely de-linked from industry and industrial strategy.
Uganda’s current ‘infrastructure scramble’, to use a term coined by J Miguel Kanai and Seth Schindler, is a case in point. The emphasis currently being placed by both donors and the Ugandan government on transport infrastructure, funded by foreign loans and constructed by a range of mostly foreign contractors, is framed primarily in terms of decongestion and logistics, and their potential to contribute to economic growth – not in terms of industrial linkages or enhancing industrial production. As Sandro Mezzadra and Brett Neilson highlighted, it is the nexus between extraction and logistics that often defines the operations of capital in the contemporary world. This sense that in many African countries infrastructure development is capitalist development also speaks to the concerns that others in this series have raised about the extraversion of African economies and the ongoing relevance of dependency theory.
However, a further and less-explored point is that the elevation of infrastructure as a development goal has a massive significance for real estate, in both intended and unintended ways, exponentially increasing its importance as a source of wealth and power, and a force that promotes the draining of capital away from industry and production itself, as I have argued elsewhere. This latter concern is especially pertinent in Africa’s many landlocked countries where the production of both infrastructure and real estate requires ‘heavy’ construction materials they are not well-equipped to produce domestically. Here there is an obvious tension when efforts to promote light manufacturing fixated on export markets are often starved of investment, while domestic capital is diverted to haul in expensive materials from outside in pursuit of infrastructure and real estate-led growth that does little for domestic production.
Indeed, the importation of construction materials often takes place on a scale that far exceeds value of leading exports from African countries lacking major natural resources. In Rwanda for example – a country associated with coffee that has worked hard to move up the coffee processing value chain and access high-end international coffee markets – the combined value of imported cement and large construction vehicles was more than a third higher that the total value of coffee exported in 2016. In Ethiopia, imports of various forms of iron alone – before you even consider other metals – were of around the same value of its entire agricultural and agri-processed exports, including its main sources of export revenue such as coffee, oily seeds, dried legumes and cut flowers.
This great dependence on imports does speak to the integration of Africa into global capitalist system that others in the series have highlighted but we also need consider what those imported materials do internally for African capitalisms. The flipside to Meagher’s analysis of the ongoing extraversion of African economies and its effects of labour precarity is the concentration of capital in construction, much of which is being ploughed into real estate – which, contrary to extraversion, is often a function of the parking of capital by domestic elites. To return to the case of Ethiopia, between 1994 and 2014, Ethiopian investors at home and abroad invested more in ‘real estate and related services’ than in any other sector. The Ethiopian diaspora was particularly active, channelling four times as much into real estate as manufacturing. Moreover, even the ‘extraverted’ infrastructure that has international connectivity as its primary aim can have the crucially important ‘introverted’ side effect of raising land values along its path and stimulating massive land speculation and investment in real estate, overwhelmingly by domestic elites. More often than not this occurs without robust mechanisms of tax and land value capture, which lessens the capacity of the state to invest in producing more redistributive forms of capitalist development.
All of this can be seen as further evidence of what Gavin Shatkin – writing about Asia in 2016 – has called ‘the real estate turn’, through which governments ‘seek to exploit urbanization processes in the interest of extending state power’. Indeed, ‘buying off’ important constituencies or potentially threatening opposition groups by enabling them to join the festival of increased land values is an important strategy in the contemporary governance of urban areas in Africa – a theme I return to below.
Before I do, however, we need to consider what it means to speak of the ‘urban’ in Africa today, since both the concept of the urban and the question of how we measure it are once again being vociferously contested. On the one hand, the ‘planetary urbanization’ discourse (see Brenner and Schmid, 2015) posits that societies across the world are increasingly characterised by modes of production and consumption inextricably linked to urban processes, thus making ‘the urban’ difficult to delimit spatially. On the other, research based on more conventional approaches which define urban areas primarily in relation to density claim that far from being around 40% urban (which is the conventional wisdom), Africa is actually 80% urban. Others argue that Africa’s urbanisation is overstated and even that parts of Africa are actually de-urbanising.
The fact that our definitions of the urban are so unsettled, and that there is no consensus on what constitutes urban socio-economic and demographic patterns, is not unrelated to how capitalism is changing. This dispute over the urban is linked to the fact that urban economies and land use don’t look like they used to, and that in most of the world they don’t look like they did in the places where both capitalist and urban theory was conceived. Under contemporary forms of capitalism, does it make more sense to define the urban in terms of the number of people in non-agricultural jobs, the density of human settlement, or the ways in which urban land is developed and infrastructurally-connected? In the past and in the experience of the global North, these things often overlapped quite closely. In much of Africa today, they do not. This is why Africa is a flashpoint for disputed definitions of the urban and an interesting place in which to pursue a better understanding of the role of cities in contemporary capitalism.
What seems clear is that in much of Africa, as elsewhere, the role played by urban land in relation to capital investment is increasingly characterised by property-led development, mega-projects and infrastructure. The growing literature on urban dispossession in African contexts (see for examples Gillespie 2016; Mbiba 2017) reflects the extent to which urban enclosures, ‘land grabs’, public-private conversions and informal sector crackdowns are pervasive occurrences, invariably in support of real estate or infrastructure developments. There are reasons to believe, however, that these are distinct from both Marxian ‘primitive accumulation’ – in which workers are forcibly separated from their means of production in order to create a reserve of cheap wage labour – and from Harvey’s concept of ‘accumulation by dispossession’, which fixates on over-accumulated capital in search of a ‘spatial fix’. In fact, it is often not corporate capital seeking new returns that results in expulsions from urban space in Africa, but the capital of individuals seeking to park resources and stake their claim to the city in an age where cities are increasingly seen as Africa’s future.
These real estate investments are a form of accumulation, certainly but whether they are truly capitalist accumulation is more of a moot point. Importantly, sometimes these investments yield little or no return, and it isn’t always clear that the property in question is fully commodified. Drawing on Daniel Bin’s conceptualisation earlier in this series, we can suggest that whether urban real estate development in Africa amounts to ‘capitalist accumulation’ is an empirical question, as is the relationship between any given property’s use value and exchange value. Much urban property in any African city I am familiar with sits idle, much is not even completed. The ostensible conversion of money capital into real estate does not necessarily result in either proletarianization or commodification, the two processes through which Bin argues that capital expands.
Moreover, partly because of the uncertainty around African real estate markets, these markets are often not (yet) of much interest to major global corporate investors. Few African countries yet host Real Estate Investment Trusts – those increasingly notorious agents of financialization of the built environment – and most completely drop off corporate calculative tools such as Jones Lang LaSalle’s Global Real Estate Transparency Index. For this reason, I argue that aspects of urban real estate development in African contexts may be partly obscured by the current focus on financialization. It may be true, as Manuel Aalbers has recently argued, that the world is converging towards the ever-greater financialization of housing – but some places are still very much on the periphery of this process. Thus, while we may debate the old dependencia ideas of core/periphery and their link to colonial geographies, we can speak of a ‘finance periphery’ that has no obvious global North/South geography, because the South has places in which real estate is now highly penetrated by global financial institutions but also places (including much of Africa) in which it is not.
But – and this is a big but – the fact that global corporate finance is not much interested in investing in African property markets does not mean that nobody is. In fact, the steering of finance capital away from these places by global calculative regimes that make Africa look far too risky creates opportunities for domestic and diaspora capital. Consequently, we need to seek answers to the ‘real estatization’ of African economies not so much in international political economy as domestic political settlements.
This brings us back to the questions of power and politics. We cannot understand forms of capitalist development in Africa without understanding which groups of people exercise power over the economy, and – crucially – that these forms and sources of power are often not those conventionally associated with capitalist economic relations. This is not to say that African societies are somehow ‘pre-capitalist’, but rather to highlight that the productive interests classically associated with capitalism, and corporate shareholder interests associated with contemporary capitalism in the North, are not necessarily the most important interests in Africa. Indeed, conceptions of capitalism in which corporate power and shareholding are central must be of limited relevance on a continent where many countries – including the continent’s second and third most populous countries, Ethiopia and DR Congo, do not even have a stock exchange.
This is why, in his influential work on political settlements, Mushtaq Khan argued that political settlements in most developing countries are ‘clientelist’ rather than ‘capitalist’: power is often structured in accordance to patron-client ties and non-capitalist forms of authority rather than capitalist class relations. Strategically important groups, whether these are elites with capacity to destabilise the regime or organised social groups with substantial voting power and/or potential to mobilise major violence, need to be accommodated by governing regimes in ways that cannot be realised through capitalist institutions alone. This is why African governance is replete with informal institutions that enable key groups to garner predictable benefits, in order that a political settlement can be maintained.
One of the ways in which benefits can be distributed in any society is through access to land and opportunities to reap the increasing value of land (often linked to infrastructure), and this becomes particularly important in African cities where land values and real estate assume disproportionate importance due to the relative weakness of the productive economy. But the ways in which land, property and infrastructure are used to allocate benefits will happen differently depending on who the powerful groups in society are, and whether the formal institutions in place can be effectively used to allocate the benefits in question. If they can’t, then those benefits must be distributed informally.
I therefore argue in my own 2018 article on cities and political settlements that urban land and property, being of particular significance for domestic elites and other constituents, is a crucial tool for building and maintaining a political settlement – but also that the way in which this is done has important ‘side effects’ on the cities where it plays out. Thus in Kigali, where the appearance of law-like, ‘uncorrupt’ behaviour by governing elites is considered crucial for regime survival, you are more likely to see formal rules constantly changing to accommodate the necessary interests (which impacts investor confidence and creates substantial delays in realising investments), unlike in Kampala where the politics makes parcelling out land informally more expedient (hastening environmental degradation in the meantime). These cities reflect different varieties of clientelism and different modalities of distributing land rents to maintain a stable order.
The fact that most countries in Africa might be characterised as having clientelist rather than capitalist political settlements does not mean there is no capitalism. But it helps to join the dots between the weak foundations of industrial capitalism, the key role of land, infrastructure and real estate in the ‘operations’ of capital, the limits of commodification and the political relations that lie behind all this. Throughout this blogpost I have referred to African ‘capitalisms’ in plural, cognisant of Stefan Ouma’s exhortation to take a less holistic, universalizing frame to the topic. In cities across the continent, we see different and localized manifestations of capitalist penetration, as M. Anne Pitcher has likewise noted in her work on ‘varieties of residential capitalism’ in Africa. Continued exploration of how capital intersects with contemporary urban forms can help to bring Africa to its rightful position at the forefront of global debates on capitalist transformation.
Tom Goodfellow is a Senior Lecturer in the department of Urban Studies and Planning at the University of Sheffield. He is also a Research Associate of the Sheffield Institute for International Development and Sheffield Political Economy Research Institute.
Featured Photograph: Walking the tracks at Jinja, Uganda, 14 September, 2010
Popular Protest and Social Movements in Africa – Part 13
By David Seddon
In many African countries, the presidents and prime ministers who were originally elected for constitutionally-limited periods (usually two terms of office) are still in place; in other countries, presidents have recently been trying to extend their periods of office (and their powers) – more or less successfully. The latest attempts have been in Burkina Faso, Burundi, the DRC and Congo-Brazzaville, as previously discussed in earlier pieces in this series. The reasons for this seem all too clear – to consolidate and to extend their powers.
In 2016, the Republic of Congo and Uganda swore-in long serving leaders Denis Sassou Nguesso and Yoweri Museveni for fresh terms after polls that were contested by a section of the opposition. Equatorial Guineans also went to the polls and confirmed the mandate of Africa’s longest serving president – Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo. Chad’s Idris Déby Itno likewise got a mandate extension in 2016 after 25 years in charge. The following year, Paul Kagame extended his period in office successfully, against both domestic and foreign opposition. As at late 2017, three African heads of state had been in power for more than three decades: Mbasogo in Equatorial Guinea, Paul Biya in Cameroon, and Museveni in Uganda. More than a dozen other heads of state had been in power for at least ten years.
This systematic trend towards ‘elected dictatorships’ is widely opposed within these countries and on the continent in general. Yet little has been done to counteract it by regional organizations. In fact, in May 2015, a plan to restrict West African presidents to two terms in office was dropped ‘for the time being’ by heads of state at an ECOWAS summit. The Gambia and Togo – both of which had presidents in their third term of office – opposed the proposal. Domestically, there has been more resistance to this erosion of democracy, both from official parliamentary opposition parties where existent, and from citizens involved in protests. In some countries, this opposition has been effective.
In Burkina Faso in 2014, it was mass protests and revolution that brought about an effective resistance to efforts by Blaise Compaoré to extend his presidency; in Angola, José Eduardo dos Santos stepped down in 2017 after 38 years in office, and in Zimbabwe that same year Robert Mugabe was forced into retirement after 37 years in power in what was, in effect, an army-supported coup. The dynamics of the struggles to resist the erosion of constitutions limiting presidential terms of office differ considerably from case to case, and the effectiveness of those opposing such anti-democratic moves has also varied considerably. In this – the 13th of our series – we re-examine one of the cases discussed in our first and second issues– that of Burundi.
Burundi: The first presidency of Pierre Nkurunziza
Presidential and parliamentary elections took place in 2005 and Pierre Nkurunziza, once a leader of a rebel group, was elected president. A 2005 report on the reasons for Burundi’s poor economic performance since the 1960s suggested ‘poor governance’ was largely responsible, although Burundi had certain inherent disadvantages being small, heavily rural, land-locked and ‘over-populated’. The report argued that:
Most of post-colonial Burundi’s history has been dominated by military dictatorships. Three military Tutsi presidents (all) from Rutovu, a commune of the Southern province of Bururi, have been at the helm of the country for 34 years out of 41 since the country’s independence in 1962. Increasingly, the leadership’s greed and poor governance have generated grievances which, in turn, have led to a cycle of civil wars. From independence, the country has recorded five episodes of civil war that have claimed more than 500,000 lives and have produced about a million refugees. The latest civil war has been raging for ten years, so it is hardly surprising that the country’s economy is currently in tatters.
As of 2006, the Burundian government started negotiating with the Hutu-led Parti pour la libération du peuple Hutu (PALIPEHUTU) and rebels from their armed wing, Forces nationales de libération, (FROLINA) to bring peace to the country. The UN shut down its peacekeeping mission and re-focused on helping with reconstruction. Rwanda, the DRC and Burundi relaunched the regional Economic Community of the Great Lakes Countries. In addition, in 2007, Burundi, along with Rwanda, joined the East African Community. However, the terms of the September 2006 Ceasefire between the government and the last remaining armed opposition group, the FROLINA, were still not totally in place, and senior FROLINA members subsequently left the truce monitoring team, claiming that their security was threatened.
In September 2007, rival FROLINA factions clashed in the capital, killing 20 fighters and causing residents to begin fleeing. Rebel raids were reported in other parts of the country. The rebel factions disagreed with the government over disarmament and the release of political prisoners. In late 2007 and early 2008, FROLINA fighters attacked government-protected camps where former combatants were living. The homes of rural residents were also pillaged. In late March 2008, the FROLINA called on parliament to adopt a law guaranteeing them ‘provisional immunity’ from arrest. This would cover ordinary crimes, but not grave violations of international humanitarian law like war crimes or crimes against humanity. Even though the government had granted this in the past, the FROLINA was unable to obtain the provisional immunity requested and, on 17 April 2008, the FROLINA bombarded Bujumbura. The Burundian army fought back and the FROLINA suffered heavy losses.
A new ceasefire was signed on 26 May 2008. In August 2008, President Nkurunziza met with the FROLINA leader, Agathon Rwasa, with the mediation of Charles Nqakula, South Africa’s Minister for Safety and Security. They agreed to establish a commission to resolve any disputes that might arise during the peace negotiations. Gradually, over the next five years, peace returned to Burundi; refugee camps were progressively closed down and hundreds of thousands of refugees returned to their homes. But, after decades of conflict and political instability, the economy was in a parlous state, and it was not clear that all of the ethnic and related tensions had finally been reduced to a manageable level. The return of refugees, for example, prompted numerous conflicts over property (mainly land) rights.
The state of the economy
After so much conflict and disruption, and the absence of hundreds of thousands of rural people from their villages and their farms, the economy was in a poor state and was slow to recover. When it did, it was on the basis for the most part of subsistence agriculture.
At the beginning of the second decade of the 21st century, agriculture remained the mainstay of the Burundian economy, contributing some 35 per cent of GDP and 90 per cent of exports, and occupying more than 70 per cent of the Burundian labor force. The lives and livelihoods of the vast majority of the population (some 83 per cent) depended on agriculture; and 87 per cent of the population (50 per cent of which was under the age of 15) lived in the countryside. Rapid population growth was increasing population density and pressure on the land.
Little industry existed except the processing of agricultural exports. Although there was potential wealth in petroleum, nickel, copper, and other natural resources, the uncertain security situation prevented meaningful investor interest. Industrial development was hampered by Burundi’s distance from the sea and high transport costs, as well as the lack of domestic resources other than in agriculture. Burundi was one of the poorest countries in the world with an estimated per capita income of US$130. It was heavily dependent on bilateral and multilateral aid.
In a 2014 article titled The Blood Cries Out, Foreign Policy reported that the population growth rate was 2.5 percent per year, more than double the global average, and that a Burundian woman has on average 6.3 children, nearly triple the international fertility rate. Futhermore, ‘the vast majority of Burundians rely on subsistence farming, but under the weight of a booming population and in the long-standing absence of coherent policies governing land ownership, many people barely have enough earth to sustain themselves’. In 2014, the average size for a farm was about one acre. Not surprisingly, ‘the consequence is remarkable scarcity: according to the 2013 Global Hunger Index, Burundi had the severest hunger and malnourishment rates of all 120 countries ranked’. . Burundi is now a net food importer, with foodstuffs accounting for nearly 20 per cent of all imports.
Burundi in crisis
Burundi’s latest crisis began in June 2015 when President Nkurunziza announced his decision to run for a third term. His party, the Conseil national pour la défense de la démocratie (CNDD), descended from the Hutu rebel group he led during the civil war, argued that under the Constitution his first term did not count. He had been appointed by Parliament, not elected.
Mass protests in April 2015 led to a confrontation between the regime and the people, unleashing a cycle of violence that became ever more vicious. The first outbreak of demonstrations continued until 13 May 2015 when a coup attempt took place while Nkurunziza was out of the country. However, forces loyal to the president rapidly crushed the attempt; and on his return, Nkurunziza purged his government and arrested the coup leaders.
On 18 May, however, protesters took to the streets again despite a ban on demonstrations. These protests were swiftly quelled; but the situation remained tense and uncertain. By the third week of May, some 120,000 people had fled abroad. On 2 June, the killing of the leader of a small opposition party led to fresh protests, again the regime responded with force. On 11 June, a security chief claimed: ‘there are no more demonstrations in Bujumbura or inside the country’. In response, one civil society leader queried: ‘If there are no more demonstrations, why is it the police shoot every morning and night in Bujumbura’s neighborhoods? Why do we bury people every day killed by the police?’ (for further information on the 2015-16 crisis in Burundi, please see part two of this series here).
The situation continued to escalate, on 30 December 2015 Nkurunziza stated that African Union peacekeepers were not welcome and that the army would fight back if they tried to deploy in Burundi. Furthermore, there are now fears of a severe social and economic crisis, as major cuts in the health, education and agriculture sectors, envisaged in the 29 December 2015 austerity budget could further heighten the vulnerability of many Burundians and limit their access to basic services. A shortage of essential drugs is already reported in the country; and besides health, major concerns remain in the protection, foods security and nutrition sectors.
In early January 2016, Nkurunziza repeated his threat to counter any deployment of external peacekeepers after the African Union announced plans to send in 5,000 troops to protect civilians from escalating violence between government and rebel forces. On 9 January, the government refused to join peace talks with the opposition. On 14 January the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) reported that over 230,000 Burundians had now fled the country, while at least 15,000 others were internally displaced in two provinces. At least 400 people, mostly civilians, had been killed since 26 April 2015, with the numbers rising in the last few months and the largest number killed in one month (162) being in December 2015. Not all of the killings, however, were recorded.
Government forces had responded by raiding areas considered to be centres of opposition to the regime. It seems that, during searches undertaken in the Musaga, Nyakabiga, Ngagara, Cibitoke and Mutanga neighbourhoods of Bujumbura on 11 and 12 December 2015, police, army and Imbonerakure militia forces arrested many young men who were later tortured, killed or taken to unknown destinations. Residents reported summary killings and the discovery of dozens of bodies. The UN rights office had documented more than 3,000 arrests and noted that while many had been released, an unknown number had ‘disappeared’. Investigators were planning to deploy on January 25th but were still waiting for a government response. On 22 January 2016, it was reported that a total of 728 people had died in demonstrations (41), armed clashes (333) and as a result of state violence against civilians (354).
Also, said the UN Human Rights Commissioner, at least 13 cases of sexual violence, in which security forces allegedly entered the houses of victims, separated the women and then raped or gang raped them, had been documented. One of the sexually abused women testified that her abuser told her she was paying the price for being a Tutsi. Another witness said Tutsis were being systematically killed, while Hutus were being spared. Tension between majority Hutus and minority Tutsis led to a civil war in Burundi in which 300,000 people died. It ended in 2005. The UN human rights chief warned of renewed violence between the two ethnic groups. ‘All the alarm signals, including the increasing ethnic dimension of the crisis, are flashing red’, he said. The future for Burundi in 2016, as we remarked in 2015 (in the second part of this series), looked bleak.
And indeed, in 2016, Burundi was again torn apart by conflict. Opposition supporters or those suspected of being supporters were arrested or went missing; and normal life was disrupted across the country as political unrest had its impact on lives and livelihoods. Almost half a million people were thought to have fled abroad in 2016. Figures provided by aid agencies working in the region suggested that on average, more than a hundred people a day had staggered across the Tanzanian border over the course of the year. They joined the 250,000 or so who were still spread across Tanzania, Rwanda, Uganda and the DRC in camps that were desperately overcrowded and short of food.
Most refugees had travelled at night, through scrub and forest, to avoid militias hunting down would-be defectors, who they brand traitors. Some of those intercepted were sent back with a warning, but many were assaulted and murdered. A report in The Guardian on 10 April 2016, suggested that
The government apparently hopes that, if it can stem the refugee crisis, an already distracted international community will find it easier to ignore problems within Burundi’s tight borders. The controls are so tight that tens of thousands of vulnerable people have gone into hiding inside the country, sheltering in forests or the homes of friends, rather than risk a crossing.
For those who did make it across the border, there was only the most basic protection in the ‘host’ countries. The shortage of funds and flood of new arrivals meant that refugee camps were packed, that food rations rarely stretched to more than one meal a day, and that women and children were subject to high levels of physical and sexual assault. Aid agencies reported that they expected to be supporting Burundian refugees for many years to come, even if the violence is halted within months.
Most of the refugees were wary of a military escalation inside the country and believed that foreign peacekeepers might be the country’s best hope of avoiding war. But among the camps of refugees and scattered exiles, a growing number of angry grieving survivors expressed a wish to return with a gun in their hands.
The perpetrators of many atrocities were said to be masked, anonymous men. But a group repeatedly named in stories of detention and harassment was the feared youth wing of the ruling party, the Imbonerakure. Their name means ‘those who see far’ in Kirundi, and they grew out of the same disbanded militia as the ruling party. Critics say they have never fully shaken off the mentality of war, although the government insists they are just a political group. They also appeared to be involved in reported efforts to turn the conflict into an ethnic one. With the government preaching hatred, there is a risk that Burundi could fracture further along ethnic lines, and an army at war with itself could drag the country back into full-blown civil war.
Meanwhile, President Nkurunziza declared that he intended to remain in office and, in December 2017, threatened people not to campaign against the changes to the constitution that his government was proposing to implement after a referendum in May 2018.
Towards a Referendum
Prior to the referendum, the BBC and Voice of America were banned from the country for six months; and Radio France Internationale (RFI) received a ‘warning’ about its coverage. Despite a presidential decree that threatened three years’ imprisonment for anyone convicted of encouraging people not to vote, the Burundian opposition coalition, the Conseil National pour le Respect de l’Accord d’Arusha pour la paix et la Réconciliation au Burundi et la Restauration de l’Etat de Droit (CNARED) called on the people to boycott the referendum, which it accused of being the ‘death warrant’ of the Arusha Accords of 2000 which ended the Burundian Civil War.
Violence broke out ahead of the referendum planned for 17 May 2018. It took various different forms. On 8 May 2018, residents of Kinama, a neighbourhood in northeast Bujumbura, the capital of Burundi, found the body of a man floating in a field of rice. His head was missing and he heart had been torn out. Stuck to his chest was a message written in Kirundi, the language spoken by most Burundians, saying: ‘traitors are punished’. Three days later, on 11 May, 26 people were killed in Cibitoke Province the north-west of the country in an attack by rebels who crossed into Burundi from neighbouring DRC. Three days after that, and only two days before the referendum, an opposition activist who had been campaigning against the proposed change to the constitution was murdered in the street by a pro-government group of young militiamen.
These incidents are reflections of the political instability and climate of fear that characterizes Burundi today. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have repeatedly documented widespread abuses by security forces and government-sponsored organizations. The EU and the US denounced intimidation, repression and harassment of opposition supporters in the run up to the referendum. Burundi’s government suggested that these charges were based on malicious propaganda spread by exiles. The independent media, both domestic and foreign, was, however, severely constrained. The BBC and Voice of America transmitters were shut down, Radio France was warned and most foreign publications were denied accreditation.
Inside Burundi, the church is one of the few institutions that have spoken out against the proposed constitutional change: ‘most citizens today live in fear, even if they do not say so aloud’, said Monseigneur Joachim Ntahondereye, president of the Burundian Council of Churches. But Aimé Magera, a spokesman for the National Liberation Forces (FNL), an opposition party, has also said, of the situation during the two-week electoral campaign: ‘we have been beaten, threatened, harassed and attacked. So many have been arrested it is impossible to count’. Many Burundians expected the proposed constitutional amendment to pass comfortably, no matter how they actually voted. Already, before the vote, the president had named himself the ‘Supreme Eternal Guide’ with the clear intention of staying on as president for the foreseeable future.
Towards an elected dictatorship
A referendum on the constitution was held in Burundi on 17 May 2018. The proposed amendments to the constitution, enabling Nkurunziza to extend his period of office, were approved by over 70 per cent of the voters after a high (96 per cent) turnout. Reports from polling stations said that some people were forced to vote to avoid being beaten or arrested. Suspected opponents were ‘killed, raped, abducted, beaten, and intimidated’, according to Human Rights Watch, which documented at least 15 killings, six rapes and eight abductions during voting day.
The changes approved by the electorate will reintroduce the post of Prime Minister and reduce the number of Vice-Presidents from two to one. They also involve increasing the presidential term from five to seven years, albeit restricting a president to two consecutive terms. However, the amendments would also allow the incumbent, President Pierre Nkurunziza, now in office since 2005, to stand for re-election, and could prolong his regime until 2034, despite his having already served three terms, on the questionable basis that he was not elected the first time, but appointed. The amendments also reduce the parliamentary majority required to pass legislation. It may be argued that this gives the executive greater flexibility to meet the challenges to come; but it surely represents a further erosion of democracy in Burundi.
Also, a matter of concern is the gradual ethnic polarization of the army. It had been re-built under the Arusha accords with quotas for Tutsis and Hutus at all level of the officer corps, to win the trust of both groups. Yet many of the senior officers before 2005, most of whom were Tutsi, have been forced to retire or post abroad on peacekeeping missions in Somalia and the Central Africa Republic, some have been murdered. Meanwhile, rebels who served in Nkurunziza’s force – mostly Hutus – have risen up the ranks. The constitutional amendment opens up the possibility of doing away with ethnic quotas, allowing President Nkurunziza to make the army and police largely Hutu institutions. The implications of this are frightening.
The rise of elected dictators across Africa
On 24 May, the main opposition coalition, which rejected the results of the referendum, called on the Constitutional Court to invalidate the outcome of the referendum, and the next day filed a petition to this effect. It seems highly unlikely that the referendum will be invalidated. A possible response from the opposition parties is the mobilization of their cadres and the population at large to protest against the consolidation of Nkurunziza’s regime. In which case, there is always a possibility of another outbreak of conflict.
There is also little chance of intervention from outside to mitigate what appears like a deepening political and economic crisis in Burundi, with the potential to turn into another ethnic conflict – and even genocide. On the same day that the opposition filed a petition to the Constitutional Court to reverse the outcome of the referendum or to declare it null and void, the UN Special Envoy for Burundi urged the government to re-start discussions with the opposition. But the influence of the international community is limited.
Pressure at the regional level is also likely to be limited. The Tanzanian government played midwife to the Arusha accords yet, today, Tanzania itself is sliding into authoritarianism. Its president, John Magufuli, an ally of President Nkurunziza, has tried to force Burundian refugees back to their country of origin. Elsewhere, elected dictators, like Kabila in the DRC, Kagame in Rwanda and Museveni in Uganda, have all managed to ‘persuade’ their electorates to extend their terms of office – and Museveni has even abolished the presidential age limit of 75, which will allow him to run for a sixth presidential term in 2021.
Pre-existing constitutional two-term limits on the presidency have now been modified or eliminated in Cameroon, Congo-Brazzaville, Chad, the DRC, Gabon, Rwanda, Togo and Uganda. In Eritrea, Ethiopia, Lesotho, Morocco, Somalia, South Sudan and Swaziland there is no constitutional two-term limit. Only in a few African states – Burkina Faso, Niger, Nigeria and Zambia – has the two-term limit been retained despite attempts to modify or eliminate them. In much of the West African Sahel and Central Africa, and in the Horn of Africa, elected dictators have managed to sweep aside the constitutional constraints on the duration of their regime, and many of these look set to retain power. It looks as though Nkurunziza, confirmed yet again as president of Burundi, will be another of these – unless there is a new wave of internal dissent and unrest.
David Seddon (criticalfaculty1@hotmail.co.uk) is a researcher and political activist who has written extensively on social movements, class struggles and political transitions across the developing world.
Featured Photograph: The aftermath of a grenade attack outside a bank in downtown Bujumbura, Burundi on 29 May 2015.
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