As Zambia's Second National Development Plan gradually comes to an end and the country prepares to embark on its Third National Development Plan (hereafter TNDP), in January 1979 both the regime members and policy planners will more than ever before be confronted with the ominous task of matching intentions with performance. A major impetus for this rethinking of development strategy has been the product of a single fact: the strikingly poor performance of the rural sector during the period of the First (1966-1971) and Second National Development Plans (1972-76) (hereafter FNDP and SNDP). Despite the impressive record of economic growth rate achieved since independence in 1964 and despite the ostensible concern of the national leadership for rural development, the rural masses continue to be socially and economically the most relatively deprived social group in Zambian society.

Aside from the issue of relative deprivation, other aspects of the poor performance of the rural sector are also discernible. For instance, not only did the anticipated integration or linkages between agricultural production and modern industry envisaged in the FNDP and SNDP (Republic of Zambia, 1966: 1971a) fail to materialize, but also the attraction of the high urban wage structure and mobility opportunities induced large-scale migration of relatively well educated and enterprising individuals to the urban centers. Thus, while 80 percent of the Zambian population lived in the rural areas in 1963, in 1969 it was 71 percent, and in 1974 it was further reduced to 65.5 percent. In direct proportion to the decline in rural population, the urban population has grown from 20 percent in 1963 to 29 percent in 1969 and 34.5 in 1974. Whereas the average annual population growth rate of Zambia's urban centers was 8.9 percent between 1963 and 1974, the average annual growth rate of the rural population was barely 0.5 percent. In 1977 the population of the urban centers stood at 38.5 percent (Central Statistical Office 1975; 1977). Aside from the issue of chronic under-utilization of migrant labor, massive unemployment has also been one of the most serious developmental problems posed to the Zambian regime.

African nations have struggled to secure lifesaving COVID-19 vaccines, while rich nations have purchased more than they needed, depleting the global supply. High vaccine prices and intellectual property regulations that block the production of cheaper generics have contributed to a condition of African waithood. Hagan examines this waithood, which characterizes the disjuncture between African countries’ existential and humanitarian need for COVID-19 vaccines and corporations’ quest for profits in the pandemic. African waithood, produced by pharmaceutical companies including Moderna and Pfizer, is a direct product of colonialism. Waithood echoes the ongoing colonial relations between African nations and the corporations that continue to exploit them.

The basic facts are well known: half the world’s refugees are in African, trying to eke out an existence in some of the world’s poorest countries. Since the numbers –five million is the usual total given for all Africa–change constantly, one cannot be precise about how many there are. African countries have opened their doors and, inevitably, their economies to the refugees; the international community is giving help, chiefly through the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. There are obvious reasons for countries of asylum to inflate the figures. Moreover, since more homeless people may arrive tomorrow–or may already have come without making their presence known–the’most honest of officials have incentive to err on the generous side.

The controversy surrounding African/Africanist feminist relations is neither a recent phenomenon nor one peculiar to this academic constituency. In the few odd years following the Second Wave, black feminists in the West have challenged the programs and direction of both the feminist movement and academia at every turn. In very succinct terms they rejected any alliance with a political project which, however well meaning, excludes them from the forums where women’s oppression(s) should be named and confronted. As hooks (1988) points out in the case of African American women, in so far as the “authorities” who study them constitute themselves and forge along in “the absence of the voices of the individuals whose experiences they seek to address, ...the subject-object dichotomy is maintained and domination is reinforced.”

From June 5 to October 15, 1997, three years after the first urban guerrilla battles, conflicts reignited in Brazzaville. The recurrence of confrontation is an appropriate time to examine the social background of the most virulent actors in these battles, the militia. The first guerrillas were principally youths born in Brazzaville, while those of 1997 came from secondary cities. This being the case, it is legitimate to wonder about the dissemination of political violence in the Congo. This paper will reconstitute a chronology of the confrontations, analyze the militia, and explain the entry of Congolese youths into political violence.

Events which took place in June 1967 constitute the focal point of this article. Biafra had proclaimed its existence as an entity separate and independent from Nigeria on May 30; another five weeks were to pass, however, before fighting between General Gowon's forces in Nigeria and Colonel Ojukwu's in Biafra broke out. On reflection, the civil war in Nigeria evokes the fated air of a Greek tragedy; but from the vantage of those June days the probable outcome was much cloudier. Perhaps some accommodation was still possible by which war could be avoided, or if a confrontation did take shape perhaps Biafra would win, or there would be a stalemate.

Since the establishment of party politics in colonial Mauritania, and especially since independence in 1960, the Mauritanian political arena has been marked by ethnic tensions. The best example is certainly the ethnic violence that occurred at the end of the 1980s between the Arab-Berbers (Bidhan) and the “Black Africans.” But in Mauritania, as in other countries marked by ethnic tensions and conflicts, it would be an analytical mistake to overlook other forms of group solidarity and other forms of conflict. Often, tensions based on ethnic differences unfold in conjunction with political struggles within ethnic communities, with accommodation across ethnic boundaries, and with debates about the type of political regime. These dynamics must be taken into account if we are to understand the significance of ethnicity as a political variable.

In a You Tube video, a young man performs a satirical poem about Senegalese President Abdoulaye Wade. The author brilliantly sums up Wade's tenure in one minute. He compares the president to “a rat's hole” and makes fun of his physical features while emphasizing many ways in which Wade has failed the nation. Some viewers thought the performance was disrespectful of the president, and others feared for the author's safety. This article argues that although the World Wide Web gives voice to African youth, it can be a dangerous space, especially for artists. The viewers' negative comments and their concern for the author's life is a modern response to his art and a consequence of its presentation on the Internet. If viewed through the lenses of traditional Wolof oral forms, however, the poem's harsh rhetoric takes on less controversial meanings that the viewers did not seem to understand.

In 1959, following the recommendations of the Eiselen Commission, the South African government established separate university colleges for the country's three non-white communities. Heretofore, African, Asian, and Coloured students had attended non-white Fort Hare University or certain white institutions, but the Extension of University Education Act of 1959 specifically prohibited racially integrated education except in extraordinary cases approved by the government. There are now five institutions serving these groups: the University of Durban-Westville for Indians, the University of the Western Cape at Belleville for the Coloured community. Fort Hare University, now exclusively for the Xhosa people, the University of Zululand at Ngoye for Zulus and Swazis, and the University of the North at Turfloop in the Transvaal, serving the Sotho groups as well as the Tswana, Tsonga and Venda peoples.

On June 25, 1975, following ten years of armed struggle by the Mozambican people against Portuguese colonialism, the People’s Republic of Mozambique was born. Led by the Front for the Liberation of Mozambique (FRELIMO), which was formed out of the merger of three nationalist organizations in 1962, the Mozambican people had seen many social, political, and economic changes come to the liberated areas in northern Mozambique long before the formal declaration of national independence. FRELIMO, even during the struggle, had begun to confront the legacy of over 400 years of Portuguese colonialism and systematic exploitation and underdevelopment of Mozambique’s human and natural resources.

This essay attempts to summarize the Islamic aspect of political culture in Nigeria. It is not intended as an analysis of the recent elections in Nigeria whereby civilian governments were established to replace the military regime. Yet the emphasis on constitutional change, focuses on those aspects of Islamic culture in Nigeria which are likely to affect what ordinary citizens feel ought to be among the basic purposes of government. This essay is largely interpretative rather than empirical, and is based on a profound respect for many of the varieties of Islamic culture in Nigeria.

Cameroonians saw a positive correlation between the enactment of the Liberty Laws in the early 1990s, the increase in the number of tertiary institutions, and the contribution of its universities to worldwide intellectual endeavors. Nevertheless, as the history of the University of Buea shows, the university space, instead of becoming free, became instead a space of domination. Universities discourage critical scholarship and collaboration, harass politically suspect instructors, and put barriers in the way of professional advancement. For most faculty members, energy in the university space has become focused on survival, with many individuals more concerned with promoting their upward mobility than with the production of knowledge. One particularly unfortunate result is the continued marginalization or silencing of the African voice on the global stage.

In all Akan polities, ancestral Black Stools, which belong to the matriclan, are the source of political power and legitimize kingship. Due to the sacred and exclusive nature of stool rituals, Ampene argues that it is the performing arts which define and enhance the power of rulers in the public domain. This ethnographic narrative of the 2014 Grand Worship provides a rare opportunity for the performing arts to project the power and responsibility of the Asantehene when he participates in musical performances and dances.

The victory for democracy resulting from General Olusegun Obasanjo’s election in February 1999 is as hollow as it is contrived. For many analysts and political aspirants, Obasanjo’s victory is not a triumph for democracy but merely a eulogy to formal military rule. Obasanjo is viewed as the “ordained” military successor with more continuity to the tradition of authoritarian rule than to genuine democracy. His known autocratic leadership style and his less-than-progressive stance on the media and women make him difficult to accept as a champion of democracy. Furthermore, the legality of his victory is challenged by his alleged contravention of the qualification regulations of the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), a factor that has led his opponent to contest the election results.

Given this imperfect situation, this article considers how Nigeria can build on the gains of the transition and consolidate democracy. The evidence from the new wave of democracy sweeping through the developing world suggests that “democracy makes sense” when civil organizations are prepared to challenge the right of autocratic regimes to rule.

When Haile Selassie returned to Ethiopia he used the Italians to insure his own survival. During the war period the Ethiopians began to appreciate the Italians. They demonstrated this attitude by not taking revenge for the crimes committed during Rudolfo Graziani's 1936–1937 administration. Instead, they aided the Italians to escape to safety when pursued by the occupying British military authorities. The Ethiopians even went so far as to espouse the Italian underground movement against the British, in a strange form of Italo-Ethiopian collaboration (Wingate, 1973: 206). For Haile Selassie the battle of El Alamein was the turning point in the relations with both the British and the Italians. Until this time, he was concerned with securing his own position, something he could not do until he had a clear reading of who would ultimately win the war.

Italy's colonial efforts in Ethiopia from 1936–1941 failed for lack of organization, incompetent colonial personnel, and high costs. Yet, the most important hindrance to Italy's progress in East Africa derived from the Patriots and the hostility of the Ethiopian farmers. Italy was neither able to obtain adequate food supplies in Ethiopia, nor obtain enough land for demographic colonization. Nevertheless the success of new agricultural methods and modern forms of government could not be accomplished in Ethiopia in a short time. Therefore when Italy entered the Second World War, on 10 June 1940, the Italians in Ethiopia were in the midst of experimentation, and the Ethiopian people had barely begun a period of transformation in their lives.

The staggering dilemmas facing the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) today have their structural roots in both the near and distant past. The purpose of this brief reflection is to consider the nature of these disasters and to deflect discussion away from those hardy perennials that somehow, usually incorrectly, pass as explanations of the Congo's problems. Ethnic tensions, corruption, and the absence of democracy all contribute in harmful ways to the current situation, but they do not tap into the deeper structural roots of the disasters besetting the DRC More specifically, by “structural roots” I mean those features of the Congolese political landscape that seem to recur, albeit in slightly different form, across time and therefore across different political regimes as well.