The overthrow of Haile Selassie in Ethiopia in 1974, and the independence of Angola and Mozambique in 1975, as well as Zimbabwe in 1980, seem to have strengthened the case for classifying African régimes on the basis of their ideology.

In a collection of mainly country-studies of socialism in sub-Saharan Africa edited by Carl Rosberg and Thomas Callaghy in 1978, various explanations were advanced about why the so-called ‘first wave’ of radicals failed to transform African societies successfully, and a common theme was the major rô played by ideology in differentiating ‘African’ from ‘scientific’ socialist régimes.1 In 1981 David and Marina Ottaway contrasted the ‘African socialism’ of Guinea, Zambia, and Tanzania with the ‘Afrocommunism’ of Angola, Mozambique, and Ethiopia, and contended that ideology was the best indicator of the clear differences that existed in both their institutions and policy choices.2 In 1982 Crawford Young placed African régimes in three ideological categories: ‘Populist socialist’, and ‘African capitalist’.3

Contested territories and challenges to state sovereignty have become almost the norm in post-colonial Africa. The nexus of many of these conflicts resides in a status quo which gives primacy to territorial integrity over the right of peoples to self-determination. The comparative advantage thus accorded to sovereign states has resulted in a disequilibrium that legitimated the violation of both regionally and internationally sanctioned rules enshrined in the Organisation of African Unity (O.A.U.) and the United Nations (U.N.). Thus a normative bias in favour of the imperative of stability and order was justified by reference to the fragility of the newly independent régimes. In the process, the right of self-determination was narrowly interpreted to refer solely to those African peoples waging liberation struggles against European colonialism or white rule.

The guns have again gone silent in Zaïre. The second war — dubbed Shaba II — in the key mining town of Kolwezi during May 1978, seems to have faded away as rapidly as it started, and has stopped making headlines around the world. However, in its wake, it has left a bitter taste in many mouths. In less than 15 months since Shaba I in March 1977, western intervention – spearheaded this time by French légionnaires and Belgian paratroopers – again pulled the tottering régime of President Mobutu Sese Seko back from the brink. The net result of this military intervention in Zaïre has been to keep Mobutu more firmly entrenched in power than ever.

Three critical trends in the evolving practice of regional peacekeeping in sub-Saharan Africa have undermined the usefulness of the common conceptual dichotomy between regional peacekeeping and UN/global peacekeeping. First, sub-Saharan African states have distanced themselves from long-term autonomous regional peacekeeping, and currently favour explicitly interim missions that are a prelude rather than an alternative to UN peacekeeping. Second, the analytically clear line between regional peacekeeping and the separate sub-Saharan African tradition of solidarity deployments (i.e. military support of embattled governments) has in practice become blurred, and the regional vs global peacekeeping dichotomy not only fails to acknowledge this trend but helps to obscure it. Finally, sub-Saharan African states are increasingly addressing regional conflicts by participating in UN operations deployed in the region. UN peacekeeping has thus emerged as a preferred form of regional peacekeeping in sub-Saharan Africa.

In 1961, a Nigerian newspaper commented, with reference to the economic integration of East Africa, ‘these three States have stolen a march on the older African States. They have achieved one of the main objectives of pan-African nationalism, without tears.’1 Two years later the leaders of Tanganyika, Uganda, and Kenya announced their intention of going beyond economic integration by forming a federation. If this comes about, economic integration will have led to political integration, but at the same time Africa will be deprived of a chance of testing the viability of economic and administrative unions that stop short of federation. Whatever the outcome, the experience of East Africa will be of great importance, not only to African leaders concerned with the economic development of relatively small States, but also to economic and political theorists.

In October 1970, after the civil war had ended, General Yakubu Gowon reiterated his earlier pledge that military rule would be terminated on 1 October 1976, but two years before that date he postponed the return to civilian rule indefinitely on the grounds that Nigerians had not yet demonstrated ‘moderation and self-control in pursuing sectional ends’.1 In July 1975, nine years after his own elevation to Head of the Federal Military Government (F.M.G.), Gowon was removed by a coup d'état led by Brigadier Murtala Mohammed, who cited mismanagement as the immediate reason. However, after the coup, ‘well-placed spokesmen for the new administration…reaffirmed that the goals of the coup were to restore the good image of the military and to create conditions which will make reactive military intervention unnecessary in the future’.2

The Government of Socialist Ethiopia has decided to move all rural inhabitants into newly established villages as part of its strategy for promoting economic growth through agrarian socialism. Known as ‘villagisation’, this programme started in 1978 in parts of Bale Region and continued in Hararghe Region in 1984. Based on this experience, as well as on lessons learned while resettling those evicted to make way for state farms in the Wabe Shebelli valley, the Government began a nationwide campaign in late 1985 designed to move some 33 million rural people into consolidated settlements by 1995.1

This essay examines the ‘posthumous career’ of Chief Obafemi Awolowo, the late leader of the Yoruba of Nigeria. It focuses on why he has been unusually effective as a symbol in the politics of Yorubaland and Nigeria. Regarding Awolowo as a recent ancestor, the essay elaborates why death, burial and statue are useful in the analysis of the social history of, and elite politics in, Africa. The Awolowo case is used to contest secularist and modernist assumptions about ‘modernity’ and ‘rationality’ in a contemporary African society.

Employment in the modern sector in Africa is often employment by government. Control of the state apparatus brings the ability to reward and to coerce. Private wealth is scattered in most countries, and power and status frequently stem from a place in or access to the state apparatus. Élites in Africa derive their power from control of the state, not from private property or private large-scale organisations. Yet, while public servants and civil services have been studied in Africa, there have been relatively few analyses of the state, and the relationship of state power to social classes and groups.

South African sports officials recently agreed to retain the Springbok as the emblem and sobriquet of the national rugby team. The decision, which followed protracted debate, raises important questions about the construction of national identity in the post-apartheid era. Why has this traditional symbol of white racial superiority been reprieved? And can Springbok rugby help mould all South Africa's peoples into a nation…with common feelings of loyalty and belonging to each other?

This paper argues that livestock raids and pastoralists’ competition over water and pastures in north-western Kenya are manifestations of local ethnic political contests and rivalries. The culture of raiding among the Samburu, Turkana, Pokot, Borana, Gabra and Rendille communities has changed over the last 40 years. Whereas elders were once the gatekeepers of communal institutions, today new actors are at the forefront of new forms of violent raids. Among Samburu and Turkana communities, politicians and shrewd businessmen have emerged to exploit ethnic rivalry that exists between these groups and use it to mobilise raids. These political and business elites play influencing roles in raiding by paying and arming warriors to carry out raids. Competition for political influence is closely intertwined with competition over scarce water resources and grazing pastures among Turkana and Samburu. Given that pastoralists survive on decreasing pasture and water resources, our study shows that political elites arm their communities during the dry season to gain the upper hand in contests over access to limited resources. Livestock raids no longer occur in the traditional context of restocking, but rather as an expression and manifestation of local ethnic politics and political contests between ethnic kingpins. The study uses primary field data from a case study collected through in-depth interviews, oral history and group discussions with various actors.

A paradox of Italian colonial policy was the striking contrast between the main aims and the actual results of its overseas initiatives. The Mediterranean with its familiar towns, harbours, and cultures, and plenty of Italians transplanted from the poor overpopulated countryside of the Peninsula, was the main area of desirable expansion, but historical circumstances forced Italy to divert her attention towards the faraway and unknown Horn of Africa. The Foreign Minister, P. S. Mancini, in January 1885 adroitly formulated a bizarre aphorism in a bid to convince a disoriented public opinion and doubtful parliamentarians: ‘The Red Sea is the key to the Mediterranean’. So from the outset of Italian colonialism, dreams competed with interests almost making the authorities lose a sense of proportion.

The phenomenon of state breakdown in the post-cold war era has significantly increased the demand for peacekeeping operations around the world. The United Nations has stepped boldly into the breach, considerably expanding its interventions in hotspots on all continents. Yet the capacity of the UN to respond is often uncertain, and this has sparked interest in the concept of regional peacekeeping as an alternative, especially since the Economic Community of West African States (Ecowas) deployed the Cease-fire Monitoring Group (Ecomog) to stem the ravages of civil war in Liberia.

Virtually all analyses of Lesotho's political framework have agreed that strong elements of national identity have neither forestalled domestic conflict nor served to promote a unified assault on awesome economic problems. Hence many writers imply that a major asset, rarely found in independent Africa, has been wasted.1 Roger Leys has perceptively applied dependency theories of a ‘labour reserve’ economy to Lesotho,2 and spends considerable effort on historical analysis aimed at demonstrating the duration and pervasiveness of this process of systematic underdevelopment. In his conclusion he suggests that ‘the long and courageous battle of the Basotho to assert their dignity and worth is in fact a resource and political weapon of incomparable significance in the long-term battle for the liberation of southern Africa.’ Leys infers that national and class identities are interrelated, and possibly reinforcing, when he says that ‘the history of the struggle of the Basotho people and the very degree of their integration into the black working class of South Africa is a formidable weapon.’3

Eritrea is the site of Africa's longest war, the 29-year struggle for self-determination and liberation from Ethiopian occupation. Its people have the lowest income per capita in the world; but under conditions of great privation, they have built up a society that could prove to be a model for development. Almost all visitors to the areas under the control of the Eritrean People's Liberation Front (E.P.L.F.) – land freed from Ethiopian rule for varying periods since 1970 – have commented on the egalitarian, fraternal, and sometimes libertarian nature of Eritrean society.

In the 1958 referendum on the constitution of the Fifth Republic, General de Gaulle asked the French West African territories whether they wanted continued association with France in the Community; if they voted ‘No’, this meant immediate independence, which was chosen by Guinea alone.

There was widespread sentiment, in those territories which voted ‘Yes’, in favour of some type of federation for the former A.O.F. (L'Afrique occidentale française). Long an advocate of this idea, Leopold Senghor of Senegal presented a constitution for a West African federation to the other A.O.F. leaders in October 1958. Senegal, Dahomey, Upper Volta, and Soudan all empowered their governments to enter into the proposed federation; Niger, Mauretania, and Ivory Coast said nothing. The four territories which responded to the call for unity sent delegations to meetings of federalists, in Bamako in December 1958, and then in Dakar, at which time a constituent assembly met and drafted a constitution. The work was finished and approved without discussion in three days.

The people of Madagascar found themselves increasingly immersed in a veritable socio-economic and political quagmire from 1975 until 1993, with their highly unpopular President, Admiral Didier Ratsiraka, was removed from office. Many of those who had played such an important rôle in easing him into power in 1975 by being activists in Zatovo Western Andevo Madagasikara (Zwam), a coalition of angry students, intellectuals, peasants, as well as disaffected middle and upper class elements, were again on hand in 1993, but this time to jeer and curse him after the results of the presidential elections had been announced to a largely enthusiastic public. However, the apparently fickle temperament of Malagasy voters had been demonstrated before and, ironically, some members of the same disparate groups had cheered just as enthusiastically when President Philibert Tsiranana, the leader of the pro-French Parti social démocratique (PSD), had been forced to step down in 1972 in the face of their urban-led revolutionary movement centred in the capital, Tananarive (later renamed Antananarivo), only months after winning the presidential elections with over 99 per cent of the votes.

The study of elections and parliamentary behaviour in Africa has become a neglected topic. Whilst the emergence of political élites during and after the colonial period has been examined carefully, little attention has been paid to the structure and functioning of the modern one-party state. Emphasis has tended to shift towards the analysis of political economy and of the nature of class relations, partly as a consequence of the close linkages between economic and political relations within developing states. However, studies of post-1969 politics in Kenya are now scarce, and basic knowledge of the operation of the political system is often absent. In order to help redress the balance, this article presents and analyses data about the socio-economic background of the Members of Parliament.

Ever since the signing of the Camp David accords and the Egyptian–Israeli peace treaty of March 1979, rumours and predictions have abounded of a diplomatic rapprochement between Israel and Black Africa. Israel's unique relationship with those states, which commenced immediately following their independence and ended with a dramatic rupture during the last months of 1973, has continued on a discreet and unofficial basis since then. This article seeks to provide a greater understanding of the present relationships between Israel and Black Africa, and its future possibilities, through an examination of the forces and trends which have determined its course during the past two decades.

Complaints are frequently heard that the African farmer, the small trader, the everyday person has no means of getting the funds needed to improve his farm, to expand his trade, or to pay his child's school fees. It is often alleged that the low-literacy peasants and workers in a partially-monetised economy have no desire to save, even if there was any surplus money, and that in any case there are no institutions in which to accumulate or to redistribute their savings. It is argued that the banks fail to meet their needs because it is so difficult to obtain loans, while the private money-lenders, often operating illegally, almost always charge exorbitant rates of interest that discourage all but the most desperate of borrowers.