The inter-state boundaries of Africa have changed remarkably little since the end of colonial rule, despite their lack of contiguity with the economic, ethnic, and political realities of African societies. In the few cases where attempts have been made to reject, in principle, the boundaries which were inherited at the time of independence, the demands for change have emerged in three major forms: as irredentist claims by established states based mainly on assertions of pre-colonial hegemony; as calls for the re-establishment of early colonial states which had been either partitioned or integrated into a larger state by the time of decolonisation; or as ethnic nationalist demands by partitioned communities.1

This essay argues that the Independence Day's military parade in Mali has become a strategic site to negotiate fragile military and civil relations, and a repository to promote social change through the military experience. Drawing on field observations of the parade of the 50th anniversary of Independence in Bamako and the literature on political transitions, this essay demonstrates that military parades constitute meaningful sites for alternative engagements with democratic transitions. It examines the tactics and mechanisms deployed by the Malian national army to negotiate past human rights violations and authoritarian practices, as well as to seek the army's rehabilitation following the collapse of the military regime. By analysing military parades as a form and practice consolidating the ‘social contract’ between the army and the public after the political transition, this article contributes to the scholarship on transition and the study of military parades within the African continent.

In common usage, African nationalism is descriptive shorthand for an assembly ofseparate and distinct phenomena, some of which have already taken on the protective colouring of popular understanding. Africans generally agree that they have experienced nationalism; they know the tree of nationalism when they see it and have tasted some, at least, of its fruits. For many of them, and for students of recent African events, its manifestations are obvious, although the quality of its spirit remains, like most spirits, capable only of inexact description. It is, in essence, pretty much what it is.

The development of African studies in our time has unearthed what is regarded as a storehouse of esoteric lore, a happy hunting ground for ethnologists, anthropologists, and linguists, a paradise for the mythopoeic and archetypal critic. But as literature? Indeed, some ‘civilised’ people still feel a strange unease that the black man should have a literature at all. Yet African oral and written materials, even a decade or two ago regarded primarily as of ethnological and anthropological interest, are today being investigated as authentic literature, part of the international mainstream. Black literature has arrived.

Soon after Algeria's independence in 1962, one of the so-called ‘Historic Leaders’ who had founded the Front de libération nationale (F.L.N.) in 1954, Mohamed Boudiaf, announced that the F.L.N. was dead and declared his opposition to Ahmed Bella's army-backed régime. Boudiaf explained why he disagreed with the policies and actions of the Government in a book entitled Ou va l' Algerie?, ‘Where is Algeria Going?’ (Paris, 1964), and remained in exile in Morocco until called back home in 1992 by the same army to preside over the Haut comité d' état (H.C.E.) that would suppress the electoral process and introduce another state of siege.

In March 1985 the Second National Women's Rights Conference was held on the Copperbelt. Although Betty Kaunda, wife of the President, addressed the 135 participants in her opening speech as if they were representing the Women's League of the United National Independence Party (U.N.I.P.), surprisingly only two of them, apart from the invited guests of honour, claimed to be associated with this organisation. Hardly any of the issues raised by the League entered the discussions during the three-day conference, and the recommendations were far form being a reflection of its stated aims.1

This article examines the Task Forces created by the African Union (AU) to address the security threats posed by Boko Haram and the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA). It argues that these Task Forces are well suited to address transnational armed groups whose ambiguous political goals and extreme violence make traditional conflict resolution ineffective. Although the Task Forces fall within the AU's collective security mandate and broadly within the African Peace and Security Architecture (APSA), their distinct characteristics make it more capable of addressing these new cross-border threats. Their reliance on nationally funded and directed militaries also allow the Task Forces to fulfil both the goals of the AU and the interests of the regimes that take leadership roles within these structures.

There is increasing evidence in Ghana, as well as in other African countries, to suggest that the relationship between rural production and nation-state politics is more complex than has been realised. In the late 1970s, it appeared to some analysts that global market fluctuations, continuous rural extraction and exploitation by the state, disdain for traditional institutions, and ‘urban bias’ had so ravaged Ghanaian rural producers that they were continuing to distance themselves from the state and its vaunted political economy. This peasant behaviour, although symptomatic of deep economic and other socio-cultural problems, was viewed as creating a basis for political instability within which riots, coups, and social disorder occurred with great frequency.1 Political scientists generally downplayed these complex socio-cultural factors, and argued that it was lack of political integration which failed to correct the fragmentation and incoherence within the newly independent states, and which made political stability and national development impossible. Here seemed to be another example of the ‘chicken and egg’ phenomenon, in which politics and economic stability were so inextricably interwoven that it was not feasible to have one without the other.

During the 1970s, African arms imports rose faster than in any other region of the world. Indeed, military spending doubled between 1970 and 1977, albeit falling since that peak by about one-quarter by 1982,1 as may be seen in Figure 1. The expansion by developing countries of their armed forces during the 1970s, which was certainly not confined to Africa, stimulated interest among economists regarding its impact on economic growth. Our article attempts a quantitative assessment of some of the moew important factors which influence levels of military expenditures in developing countries, first in general and then in Africa specifically, by means of cross-country multiple regression analysis for the average of the years 1978–80. Although military spending is often an end in itself, providing a living for the soldiers and their suppliers, it is also justified on the grounds that it deters armed conflict or domestic unrest, despite being responsible for so many coups d'état.

There are unwritten rules for the distribution of money in all societies, notably about from and to whom it is appropriate to give and receive money, and when. These rules differ from one society to another, and we err in assuming otherwise. This article examines some reported practices in the redistribution of earnings and other cash in Swaziland. It arises out of a reading of transcriptions of 118 recorded interviews, 49 with wage-earners conducted at their place of work, and 69 with earners or their dependents in the rural areas. These wide-ranging interviews covered many topics besides the giving and receiving of sums of money between kinsmen. From this evidence I attempt to spell out the detailed nature of these rules. To ignore or to be ignorant of their strength and complexity is to fail to recognise a powerful mechanism for redistribution, which goes some way to modify alleged inequalities between town and country, and between one homestead and another within Swaziland. Similar rules probably affect income distribution elsewhere in Africa.

The African National Congress (ANC) of South Africa extended the struggle against apartheid into the international arena when it was banned in 1960. This aspect of its policy became crucial and remained paramount until South Africa's first democratic elections were held in 1994. This paper focuses on the ANC's attempts to secure the support of the community of African states, and singles out three themes that were dominant in the period under review, namely acceptance by the African states; the modus operandi of their assistance; and their role in the negotiation process. The findings are based partly on new archival documentation, drawing two main conclusions. First, the ANC only won exclusive backing from African states after a lengthy struggle. Second, their diplomatic support proved to be a pivotal factor during the negotiations in South Africa after 1990, significantly contributing to the ANC's eventual victory in 1994.

This study contributes to the field of International Public Administration (IPA) and the emerging area of Informal International Relations (IIR) by examining the politics of staffing and recruitment of the African Union Commission (AUC). Although the AUC has become a major political player in international affairs, there is a dearth of knowledge about the civil servants who work for the AUC and who run this paramount pan-African executive body. To address the void, this paper draws on a survey of 137 AUC staff, archival studies and interviews to explore recruitment of AUC staff. Combining organisational theory and informality as analytical lenses, the study demonstrates that, first, many informal international practices (IIPs) are embedded in AUC recruitment processes. Second, the AUC is composed largely of short-term, contracted staff. Finally, it shows that the AUC is dependent on lower-ranked personnel or that it is bottom-heavy. Many of these lower-ranked officials are intimately involved in the making of AUC policies and decisions, putting into question the assumption in existing scholarship that decision-makers of IOs are primarily reliant on top-ranked A-level officials (senior management).

The literature on drugs in Africa includes policy statements by government officials which, by and large, follow the line set by international organisations created to design counter-measures to drug consumption and trafficking, such as the World Health Organisation (WHO) and the International Narcotics Control Board (INCB) of the United Nations. At this level the debate revolves largely around the effectiveness of different preventative strategies; control programmes and the performance of agencies are evaluated, and authors often bewail the perversion of moral values in the countries concerned, while appeals for financial assistance figure frequently in the media. Much less well known are the oral traditions and the popular culture in which the drug users, traffickers, and barons are ascribed certain roles. I would like to compare the material contained in these different bodies of work with my own field observations from the drug ‘scene’ in both high and low density areas of Lagos.

The idea that Russia was the first underdeveloped country has begun to gain currency among political scientists. It implies that social processes in Russia may be profitably compared with more recent developments in the Third World. In this article I would like to test this hypothesis with respect to an important ideological controversy which took place in Russia during the nineteenth century by examining it alongside discussions among French-speaking West Africans in the period after World War II. More particularly, I would like to compare what might be called the neo-traditional themes and anti-western patriotism of the Slavophiles with the intellectual position taken by the early spokesmen of négritude.

This article first explores the manner in which the colonial and postcolonial state in Côte d'Ivoire has sought to develop and animate rural cooperatives as a means of effecting change in the countryside. It then examines the local realities that the state has encountered in its attempt to organise and control rural cooperatives. In particular, the article shows how ethnicity, age, and contrasting economic interests have undermined state efforts to create sustainable and effective rural cooperatives at the village level. Finally, the article looks at how structural adjustment has led to the retreat of the state and the emergence of a more pluralistic environment in which different rural associations are now competing to represent the interests of rural producers.

By 1980, Ethiopia was gripped in escalating civil wars. After a series of punitive expeditions had failed to suppress them, the government organised large-scale operations in the early 1980s against the insurgencies in the eastern and northern territories. The operations seemed to have been informed by what is called ‘total strategy’. Although the emphasis was on the coercive component, the state also used psychological and economic incentives. The results were mixed. The eastern rebels were defeated more easily because they were factious. The northern campaign failed because of the rebels' staunchness and the terrain's unsuitability. In a cold test of wills, the Eritrean fighters not only held the offensive to a stalemate, but also went on to win total military victory. Same strategy, different outcomes: this suggests that no single counter-insurgency strategy can always have the same results as it is influenced by numerous factors that may vary from one place to another.

King Hassan II of Morocco informed the French press in December 1988 that he was willing to talk to the Frente Popular para la Liberación de Saguia el-Hamra y Río de Oro, known as the Polisario Front, which had been waging a war of national independence during the previous 15 years. Although the Moroccan Sovereign insisted that the subsequent meetings which took place on 4–5 January 1989 in Marrakesh constituted ‘discussions’ rather than ‘negotiations’, they undoubtedly represented a breakthrough in what has been dubbed by many as the ‘forgotten war’, not least because the mere acknowledgement of the Front's existence was in itself a de facto recognition of the Sahrawi liberation movement.

An example of a long-standing arrangement for economic integration in Africa which operates in a very special environment is the case provided by Botswana, Lesotho, and Swaziland (BLS), the former High Commission Territories. Geographically and ethnically these three independent countries—Swaziland shortly to be so—are closely related to the Republic of South Africa. For many years they have had the closest of economic ties with that country. Indeed, for most of their history as separate territories, it was assumed both by Britain and by South Africa that they would ultimately be absorbed within the latter.

Only a few social scientists outside the field of Middle East studies are aware that in the sovereign state of Libya today there is no government. Indeed, it is not likely to have one so long as the country's strongman, Colonel Mu'ammar al-Qadhafi,1 continues to be the leader of the Libyan revolution. This has been the case ever since 2 March 1977, when the institution of government in its traditional legal-bureaucratic sense was dismantled, and the people's authority, exercised through people's congresses and committees, was proclaimed. By this action, Libya initiated in practice the so-called era of jamahiriya—the era of the masses and the practice of direct democracy – and has taken a number of steps in that direction. A recent example was the renaming of some of its embassies overseas as ‘people's bureaux’, with Libyan students and citizens taking charge of their functions and management.2 This action, instigated personally by Qadhafi, was intended to illustrate to the world that since Libya has no government, ordinary Libyan citizens overseas represent themselves directly to foreign peoples.

Anarchic tendencies in Chad serve as a cautionary example of what the on-going reconfiguration of Africa may entail. Interim institutions of government set up by a Sovereign National Conference, which was convened two years after the downfall of the despotic régime of Hissène Habré in December 1990, have generated deep disappointment. Democratisation has proceeded fitfully. The economy remains stagnant. Strikes in the public sector reflect the ‘social crisis’. Worst of all, the security situation has deteriorated substantially and the state is suffering from a severe lack of authority.