In any society, and in any period, there are likely to be certain key concepts into which are condensed the prevailing assumptions and attitudes of dominant interest groups. Such collective representations vary both in their cultural specificity, and in the extent and duration of their appeal. They may derive from pre-existing terminologies, with or without contextual modification, or they may appear unheralded in the popular vocabulary of the age. They may appeal to sectional interests or they may, with variable degrees of success, reflect the values and aspirations of the society at large. Yet, whatever their various origins and associations, they tend to have in common two characteristic qualities: a strong normative content, and — perhaps more surprisingly — a formidable resistance to conceptual clarification. There is, then, a mythic element in such terms, in the way that they both harbour ambiguity and obscure its resolution.

The purpose of this article is largely methodological, in that it aims to sketch an analytical approach to the question of differentiation rather than to provide an empirical analysis. There are clear reasons for approaching the issue in this way. We need to know what the term ‘working class’ means, whether there are divisions within it which significantly influence the behaviour of those affected by them, and the forms which these divisions take. In other words we want to know whether it is stratified. To assume that it is so is to take as given the answers to questions which should be asked. We need to know whether social relationships in any situation are arranged into strata and, if they are, whether they have consistent relationships and are ranked in terms of superiority according to some pre-selected criterion. It is because these questions are not usually asked that studies of social stratification largely consist of fitting empirical data into a predetermined mould. To start by questioning the existence of differentiation is a very modest, cautious approach.

Direct military intervention, aimed at unseating civilian governments and replacing them with ruling councils drawn largely from the army, is a relatively recent phenomenon in Africa. With the exception of the Sudan, where officers led by General Ibrahim Abboud seized control in November 1958, no supplanting of civilian authority by a military junta occurred until 19 June 1965 (Algeria). Then, in rapid succession, the Governments of Congo-Kinshasa (25 November 1965), Dahomey (22 December 1965), Central African Republic (1 January 1966), Upper Volta (4 January 1966), Nigeria (15 July 1966), Ghana (24 February 1966), Nigeria once again (29 July, 1966), Burundi (28 November 1966), Togo (13 January 1967), and Sierra Leone (23 March 1967) fell victims to coups d'état.

THE question of how countries in Africa are dealing with the control and restructuring of their military forces and security agencies has aroused some scholarly and political interest but little systematic research. The story of the transition in Ghana may be said to have begun when the Supreme Military Council (SMC) was removed by a coup d'état on 4 June 1979 and replaced by the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (AFRC) headed by Flight-Lieutenant Jerry Rawlings. The young officers had intervened, as they soon explained, because of the growing corruption and deteriorating conditions of service, the severe economic crisis and reduced military budgets, and the mismanagement of both the Armed Forces and the national government. Although power was restored to civilians only four months later, Rawlings intervened again on 31 December 1981 after the régime headed by President Hilla Limann had failed in the view of supporters of the ‘June 4 Movement’ to respond effectively to the problems faced by Ghana. Ironically this coup by Rawlings, widely known as his ‘Second Coming’, and described with some truth as ‘a popular affair’, interrupted efforts that were being made to re-professionalise the Armed Forces and restore civilian control.

This article is a theoretical exploration of the problem of explaining political instability in new states, especially those of Africa. It begins with a critical evaluation of current tendencies of interpretation, and then goes on to suggest how we might construct a more adequate theory.

Explanations of political instability in the new states usually stress one or more of five related factors: cultural heterogeneity, low regime legitimacy, lack of coercive power, economic backwardness, and structural simplicity. Let us examine each of these factors.

This is an attempt to assess Eritrea's democratic prospects in light of its political experience since 1993 as a sovereign state. I readily concede that it is too early to make a definitive assessment; yet, just as a child's first few years are extraordinarily critical in helping to determine its subsequent intellectual, physical, and moral development, so can a new nation cumulate experiences that help set it firmly on its feet and give it the capacity for yet more positive growth. Further, there is no denying the force of genetic and environmental factors in the development of both children and states: what they inherit from the past, as well as the circumstances of their creation, and experiences of infancy, all contribute to what they will become. I have no wish to stretch the metaphor further; my point is that a detached analysis of Eritrea's political inheritance and the forces and key events since its formal independence can give, at least, a preliminary reading on its prospects. Thus, I intend to argue that these first five years have been marked by pragmatic policy-formation and decision-making which, taken as a whole, warrant a cautious optimism about the country's democratic future.

The return of the generals to power following the coup d'état of November 1993 has posed fundamental challenges to the survival of the nation. On the one hand, it has brought out the worst in Nigerian politics: repression, intimidation, violence, corruption, betrayals, and the manipulation of primordial loyalties. On the other hand, it has exposed the nature and extent of the Nigerian political rot, and provided the still weak and fledgling civil society with added strength and legitimacy. Could the resurgence of military rule in Nigeria have been predicted? Could anyone have foreseen that General Sani Abacha would become such an all-powerful President? Was it possible to anticipate the popular protests and bloody confrontations which culminated in the hanging of nine environmental activists in November 1995? What is the way forward for the contending political communities?1

Measures of poverty based on consumption suggest that recent economic growth in many African countries has not been inclusive, particularly in rural areas. We argue that measures of poverty using assets may provide a different picture. We present data based on recent re-surveys of Tanzanian households first visited in the early 1990s. These demonstrate a marked increase in prosperity from high levels of poverty. It does not, however, follow that these improvements derive from GDP growth. We consider the implications of this research for further explorations of the relationship between economic growth and agricultural policy in rural areas.

The signing in Mauritius on 4 November 1995 of the amended fourth Lomé Convention, the aid and trade co-operation agreement between the European Union (EU) and the ACP Group of 70 African, Caribbean, and Pacific countries, brought the Mid-Term Review to its formal completion after protracted negotiations. Established in 1975, Lomé has long been the centre-piece of EU development assistance. In quantitative terms, the European Development Fund, the financial instrument of Lomé, has comprised the largest single portion of EU aid, averaging almost 45 per cent of all disbursements in recent years.1 Qualitatively, Lomé has been regarded as a model of North—South cooperation, mainly due to three special features: it was founded on the principles of equality, mutual respect, and interdependence; it is a legally binding contract negotiated between two sets of countries; and it involves ongoing dialogue through three joint institutions, the ACP—EU Council of Ministers, the Committee of Ambassadors, and the ‘parliamentary’ Joint Assembly.

At least since the beginning of this century, access to education has been the proximate determinant of class differentiation in Tanzania, and in much of Africa. Despite several initiatives to overcome this legacy of European rule, perhaps more sharply focused in Tanzania than in many other African countries, education and class situation continue to be firmly linked.

This analysis of the problem, coming as it does from an Ethiopian, may seem biased against Somalia. Although I shall not claim objectivity, for I am a conscious Ethiopian, I must, nevertheless, state that I have not deliberately omitted or distorted facts to suit Ethiopia's case. My conviction that Ethiopia is in the right is quite apparent. I am equally convinced that it is not in the interest of either country to ignore their vital interdependence.

Under what circumstances can non-state actors become successful local peacemakers? A growing body of research documents the involvement of non-state actors in local conflict resolution in Africa. However, there is large variation in such actors' power, legitimacy, and ultimately their ability to contribute to conflict resolution. The ways in which contextual and dynamic factors at local and national levels, and in particular the relationship between non-state and state actors and institutions, affect local conflict resolution are not sufficiently understood. To address this gap, this paper analyses the peace process addressing a long-standing conflict in Kerio Valley, Kenya. The analysis illustrates how the failure of the state to provide security and basic services led non-state actors to fill important roles in governance. Through this process, they were endowed with legitimacy and power which enabled them to play key roles in a peace process that led to a mutually acceptable peace agreement.

Franco–American rivalry is not a new phenomenon. Although France helped the United States to gain its independence over two centuries ago, since the early 1950s the Americans have often considered the French as having ‘anti-American feelings’. On the other side, though America fought on France's side in two world wars, many French politicians have, over the last fifty years, found it difficult to hide a deep resentment vis-à-vis the United States. After the collapse of the bipolar system, the list of disagreements between Washington and Paris grew, and, by early 1997, bilateral relations had probably reached an all-time low. With regard to NATO's controversial Southern Command, France clashed with the United States in Brussels; then, Paris strongly reacted to the American veto on Boutros Boutros-Ghali's re-election to the position of the secretary-general of the UN; and finally, French foreign policy initiatives in the Middle East provoked negative reactions from Washington.

The Great Lakes crisis occupies a very important position in the list of recent Franco–American disagreements. The main hypothesis of this article is that Franco–American antagonism with regard to the Great Lakes region was a perception far more of the French government than of the United States administration. However, French views of and tactics during the Central African crisis led to American reactions that reinforced French beliefs and contributed to Franco–American tensions, not only in relation to the Great Lakes region but also in relation to other geopolitical areas. Interestingly, some African governments regarded Franco–American rivalry positively, since it seemed to offer them an opportunity for regaining part of the international leverage and bargaining power that they had lost with the end of the Cold War.

The 1994–7 developments in Rwanda and Zaïre were considered by many French politicians, diplomats and many journalists as evidence of an ‘anglosaxon conspiracy’, part of a plot to develop an arc of influence from Ethiopia and Eritrea via Uganda, Rwanda and Zaïre to Congo and Cameroon. For them, the ‘anglosaxons’ (a term directed not at Britain, la perfide Albion, but at the United States) had a hidden agenda ‘to oust France from Africa’. This article attempts to provide an analytical framework for the explanation of French perceptions of the United States's role in the Great Lakes crisis.

This article traces the evolution of the Nigérien–Nigerian boundary over the past 20 years. It focuses in particular on a single border crossing that separates two neighbouring Hausa villages of equivalent demographic size, administrative status, and economic importance. During the past two decades, border control, monitoring and surveillance have gradually intensified, resulting in the establishment of immigration and customs offices on the Nigerian side of the boundary and a douane (customs) post on the Nigérien side. However, local inhabitants do not view these changes in terms of ethnic partition or division. Rather, they see border control infrastructure positively, in terms both of development and national identity. For the border line Hausa, identity is not zero-sum: feeling more and more Nigérien/Nigerian does not result in diminution of their ‘Hausa-ness’. Post-9/11 international pressures to intensify border controls and monitoring in regions where Muslim extremists are thought to shelter highlight contradictions between indigenous and international conceptions of the African frontier.

Zaïre, by the early 1990s, by some accounts had all but vanished. One senior American diplomat described it as nothing more than the presidential vessel ‘Kamanyola’ anchored safely offshore in the Zaïre River, an élite praetorian guard compensated in hard currency, the remote marble city of Gbadolite, a shrivelled state superstructure nourished by diamond smuggling. Its perennial President, Mobutu Sese Seko, was characterised contemptuously by a French official as ‘a walking bank account in a leopard-skin cap’. More than a decade ago, a former publicist for the central régime had relegated the once-powerful state to a zone of non-existence: ‘The state does not exist or no longer exists in Za’. The 1992 National Conference resolved to expunge Zaire from history by restoring its earlier colonial and post-colonial nomenclature of ‘Congo’.

Governance reform practice has mostly focused on building up and transforming central state institutions. Furthermore, the politics of aid has often constructed a very ‘introverted’ politics based in large cities. This article explores the means through which governance ideas are implemented outside this ‘governance realm’, by looking at the ways in which the Lushoto District government in Tanzania has mediated a range of policy changes that have emanated from the state/donor centre. Identifying three distinct but inter-related repertoires of political practice, it argues that governance at the local level has been largely about financial management, and that this aspect of reform is in tension with local developmentalism and is more starkly opposed to local veranda politics.

During the era of President Abdoulaye Wade, a household waste crisis periodically held the streets of Dakar in its noxious grip. This paper analyses the crisis in light of waste management's role as a fundamental urban public service, key employment sector, and visceral symbol of the city's management. It examines how the institutional landscape of waste management took centre stage in a power struggle within the state that centred on reconfiguring the labour of ordering the city. At the same time, it reveals how the waste-workers' union emerged as one of the most visible and savvy labour movements in contemporary Senegal. Through the creative disorder unleashed by intentional acts of dirtying, workers and residents alike forged new claims to the city. Conclusions are drawn for the wider implications of the disorderly city for the urban question in Dakar and the landscape of citizenship in Senegal's contemporary period.

Why did the Ghanaian state go to such extraordinary lengths to facilitate the reliable broadcast of the World Cup in 2014? During a period of frequent power outages, Ghana swapped power with regional neighbours and directed major domestic industries to reduce production in order to allow Ghanaians to watch their national soccer team compete in the World Cup. This paper investigates the politics of the public service provision of electricity in Ghana. We focus on the short-term crisis during the 2014 World Cup to reveal the citizens' and politicians' expectations about electricity as a public good. Drawing on an analysis of archival documents, Ghanaian newspapers, and interviews with government, business, and NGO officials in the energy sector, we argue that the Ghanaian state historically has created the expectation of electricity as a right of national citizenship and explore how this intersects with competitive party politics today.

Few can doubt the proposition that there is an important difference between information and knowledge, and that more of the former does not necessarily lead to the latter. Whereas a great deal has been written from all manner of perspectives about the situation in Africa both before and since independence, the resulting corpus of literature has seldom yielded a mainstream understanding of basic aspects of state politics. Doubtless many feel that the more they read about the continent, the less they known about what is going on and why.