More than ten years after the turn from non-violence to organised violence by the African opposition in South African the white Nationalist régime remains firmlly entrenched in power. Its security forces have successfully suppressed sabotage campaigns initiated in the early 1960s, unco-ordinated terrorist attacks mounted during the same period, and incipient guerrilla action in South-West Africa in 1966. At the call of the authorities in Salisbury they joined their northern neighbours to defeat armed incursions in Rhodesia during 1967–8, and more recently they have contained sporadic attacks in the Caprivi Strip along the Zambian border. The South African Government appears confident that its forces can continue to thwart any future attempts at domestic insurgency.

Political culture may be defined as the attitudes, beliefs, and values held by a population and directed towards the political system of which it is a part,1 and includes what people know about that system and their evaluation of its work.

The concept is of importance for two main reasons. First, the attitudes that people have will help determine their behaviour. If the view is held that development must involve popular participation, then it is important to look at those factors which might affect whether or not people will participate. The second, and related, reason is that political culture tells us something about the degree to which people accept as legitimate and useful the political system under which they live. This is important to know when considering questions, for example, that have to do with the potential for political instability.

The attitudes of ordinary people in Africa towards the liberalisation of politics and economies are not well known. Are there popular constituencies for reform? Which specific reform measures do different social groups accept or reject? And does popular support for structural adjustment, if any, go together with support for democracy? In an effort to find answers, this article reports results of a national sample survey in Ghana conducted in July 1999 as part of the Afrobarometer. The survey finds that the constituency for democracy is broader than the constituency for market reform, which is concentrated among educated male elites. In addition, while most Ghanaians are patient with democracy and want to retain this political regime, most Ghanaians are fatigued with adjustment and want the government to ‘change its policies now’. Given this distribution of popular preferences, one can surmise that democracy will be easier to consolidate than a market-based economy.

Since 1967, the year of the Arusha Declaration, Tanzania's rural policy has provided a major focus for scholars interested in the problems of development in the Third World.1 Jonathan Barker has noted that many writers on Tanzania's rural policy fall into one of two camps: ‘production socialists’ who make the basic assumption that communal production per se is desirable, and concentrate much of their research activity on the various social and political constraints; and ‘production liberals’ who are generally sceptical of the effectiveness of communal production, and they would prefer to see greater emphasis placed on the ‘self-improvement motive of families and individuals’.2

The understanding of state formation in Africa depends on the analysis of attempts by Africans to build political institutions which suit their needs in an era when they have been faced with many constraints. These efforts take place in a setting of two dimensions: in time, as part of a history of indigenous culture and political traditions, colonial domination, nationalist independence movements, and the trials of new nationhood; and in space, as the activities of members of a world system of integrated economies and political relations, with a well-defined and sometimes brutally administered pecking-order of power and status. There have been a number of attempts to explain how state institutions in Africa have been created and built up, or perhaps how they have collapsed and been supplanted by alternative structures.

This paper explores how the concept of ‘community policing’ has been understood and implemented in Tanzania. Whilst community policing is locally considered to be a very effective means of preventing crime and improving neighbourhood safety, the extent to which it constitutes a more accountable, responsive or ‘democratic’ form of policing, as assumed by proponents, is questionable. Based on research conducted in the city of Mwanza, this paper explains these outcomes in terms of continuities between forms of popular mobilisation that developed during Tanzania's socialist one-party era, and particularly the co-optation by the ruling party of sungusungu vigilantism, and understandings of the role of citizen participation in local development today. However, this paper suggests that as multiparty political competition becomes increasingly competitive, the sustainability of this model of community policing may be undermined, as citizens challenge the notion that they are obliged to provide resources for development directed from above.

This article is an attempt to explore the frames of reference of two disciplines—political science and social anthropology—as they affect the study of relations between the national ‘centre’ and the local ‘periphery’ in African countries. It is exploratory, in that it reviews the assumptions and concepts characteristic of the disciplines, instead of trying to crystallise a new model. In the light of this comparison it then considers the status of what Clifford Geertz has called ‘the clichés of commonsense sociology’.1 It examines particularly one item in this collection of clichés, the notion of ‘tribalism’.

In a recent theoretical essay I tried to demonstrate, among other things, the crucial importance of politics in any effort to overcome the underdevelopment of our own historical period; and I hope I have also shown how different kinds of political systems may be assumed to interact with various kinds of development strategies.1 The most hopeful combination is where a dynamic political interaction is established between the developmental needs and aspirations of the masses, and a consciously applied strategy of challenge to the social, political, and economic status quo of underdevelopment. It is surely an important task of political science to attempt to define the conditions under which such a mobilising interaction may be established and sustained. They are probably minimal conditions of development for any Third-World nation in the predominantly capitalist international system.

Zambia inherited a system of government and administration in 1964 which was ill-suited to the tasks of political development to which her new leaders were dedicated. What little national unity and mobilisation had been achieved in the independence struggle declined with the removal of the common enemy. The Government rested on a fragile base, without the support of agreed rules and practices to limit and contain conflict, and without adequate instruments available for the implementation of its policies. So the search began for a more suitable political system, which could cope with the new needs of independence, and provide for the stability of the state and the survival of the Government.

This article examines the extent to which the foreign policy of South Africa has altered since the inauguration of the Government of National Unity (GNU), following the historic, non-racial multi-party elections in May 1994. Has the African National Congress (ANC)-led regime succeeded in its stated aims of ‘normalising’ relations with the outside world while simultaneously forsaking traditional assumptions and perspectives about the national interest, and how best to define, defend, and promote it? Or has the understandable preoccupation with, and demands of, internal reconstruction led to a situation where foreign policy is ‘on hold’, in the sense that little attention has so far been directed at substantive questions concerning the norms, values, and conventions implicit in the strategic culture and policy inclinations of the ‘ancien régime’? In other words, what are the elements of continuity and change?

The British Protectorate of Zanzibar, comprising the two islands of Zanzibar and Pemba and a number of small adjacent islands, is progressing from Protectorate status towards self-government. In strict constitutional terms, Zanzibar is a multi-racial state with an Arab Sultan under the protection of the Government of Great Britain. Though the concept of protectorate implies a limited domestic role on the part of the protecting power, Great Britain has—through usage, agreement, and concession—come to occupy a position of decisive ascendancy within Zanzibar. The present policy of the British administration is to devolve full political power into local hands through a process of constitutional development which will result in a fully representative system of government. This policy has expressed itself in Zanzibar, as elsewhere in the British African territories, in the expansion of the unofficial side of the Legislative Council, in the gradual replacement of nominated and ex-officio members of the Legislative Council by members chosen on the basis of nation-wide common roll elections, and in the introduction of a ministerial system, which is now to be followed by internal self-government.

Political systems of every description continuously confront a problem crucial to their survival: how to prepare the younger members of the system for the political responsibilities they must one day assume. This problem is quite general; it exists in all societies in every historical epoch, and it embodies a learning process that stretches back to a child's first perceptions of the larger social world. How children learn the values that will guide their future behaviour in politics, and what it is they learn, are questions with answers that vary from society to society.

The ownership, management, and supervision of South Africa's automobile industry has since its inception been overwhelmingly white. It was also highly oppressive in that the foremen, armed with powers of hiring, promotion, and dismissal, ruled the shopfloor with grim determination. Black workers, especially in the 1970s and 1980s, increasingly confronted these labour relations practices with collective industrial action that sometimes made enterprises ‘ungovernable’. Over the last few years, however, structures and agreements have risen that serve to eliminate confrontations and place profitability at the centre of everyone's concerns. This consensual approach to labour relations is informed by corporatism, and involves the participation of unions, employers, as well as other collective bodies, in state institutions.

The fact that Sierra Leone is one of Africa's little-known states is an acknowledgement of its marginalisation and reversal of fortunes since independence from Britain in 1961. But this observation is also a reminder that under colonial rule, Sierra Leone had received considerable notoriety for several reasons: an important naval base, commercial centre, and seaport; a hot-bed of political agitation and perennial challenge to British authority; and a centre of education – the so-called ‘Athens of West Africa’.1 In more recent times, however, Sierra Leone jas not caught the attention of international commentators and the world press. It has not achieved the strategic or international political significance of such major African states as Algeria, Côte d'Ivoire, Egypt, Nigeria, Zambia, or Zimbabwe. And looking back to the 1950s and 1960s, it was not led to independence by the charismatic persona of a Kwame Nkrumah, who hoped to achieve the rapid transformation of Ghana to a modern industrial economy and society, ot by a romantic like Julius Nyerere, who hoped to turn Tanzanian peasants into citizens of modern communes.

Parliamentary youth quotas have been adopted by nine countries, mainly African autocracies. They have also attracted the attention of international organisations, which consider them indicators of democratic progress. Why were these quotas adopted? This article challenges the long-standing regime survival thesis by explaining quota adoption as the result of the convergent strategies of actors placed inside and outside the regime. It also provides new theoretical arguments that point to the transformation of representative linkages in hybrid regimes and shows how this is justified in the light of empirical evidence grounded on qualitative methodology and extensive fieldwork. By connecting the broader historical and socio-political context where youth quotas emerged – Africa – to the micro-level processes of quota adoption – based on the Moroccan case – this article provides a dynamic picture of how political representation is claimed and mobilised in contemporary Africa while shedding some light on the inclusive limits of quota policies.

Preachers of the prosperity gospel in Nigeria criticise politicians’ greed and government corruption, even as many church leaders amass great wealth themselves. Drawing on ethnographic research, this article explores the relationship between Pentecostalism's prosperity gospel and political culture in Nigeria, especially as it pertains to problems of inequality and corruption. The analysis builds on a case study of one particular prosperity church in the city of Umuahia. It addresses the paradox that this brand of Pentecostalism articulates widespread discontent with the venality plaguing national political culture, while at the same time offering divine justification for the pursuit and accumulation of wealth. Examining not only Pentecostals’ interpretations of corruption, but also people's responses to scandals within these churches, the paper attempts to understand why Nigerians who are so aggrieved about corruption and inequality are at the same time drawn to churches that appear to reproduce many of the same dynamics.

There are few objectives considered more compelling by developing countries than the need to attain their economic freedom. Throughout the Third World, from Bolivia and Botswana to Burma, few themes arouse such mass enthusiasm as the clarion call to economic independence. However, despite its potency in shaping many national goals and policies, very little intellectual effort has been expended in analysing the concept and exploring its ramifications in the realms of politics, economics, or sociology.

The rapidly deteriorating social and economic situation in sub-Saharan Africa, and the need for large-scale action to reverse that ominous trend, are captured well in the following paragraph:

It is becoming evident that Africa is in a state of breathtaking and grievous crisis whose… likes may not have been seen anywhere in the West since the 14th century Plague. Twenty-nine of the world's 36 poorest nations are to be found south of the Sahara desert… and 24 of them are now appealing for emergency aid to ward off famine… The percentage of Africans living in absolute poverty rose from 82 percent to 91 percent through the 1970s. In 1983 per capita food production was down by 14 percent from 1981. Five million Africans are currently refugees. Five million African children died this year; another five million were crippled by malnutrition and disease.

The modern, albeit fragmentary, elements of a social security structure exist in each independent nation of the tropical African sub-region, and largely constitute a legacy from a departed metropolitan power. The legacy has become expensive, expansive, complex, even controversial; it is an administratively burdensome method to alleviate human suffering arising out of the realisation of selected risks to economic security. Thus, social security, since its introduction in three stages in Bismarkian Germany between 1883 and 1889, has spread throughout the world, but its continued growth in tropical Africa – even before the pre-conditions of industrialisation have obtained – is meeting many obstacles: financial, political, philosophical, administrative, and otherwise.

Since the 1979 oil shock and in the course of the subsequent world recession, many African governments have dramatically altered the orientation of their economic policies. States previously committed to various brands of ‘African socialism’ have been ending subsidies, reducing de facto taxes on agricultural producers, ‘privatising’ previously state-run activities, adopting more liberal exchange-rate policies, and implementing numerous other ‘market-oriented’ reforms.