Marxist scholarship on South Africa's political economy was born as a meta-theoretical critique of liberalism in the 1960s and matured into a rich tradition of its own by the 1980s. As Marxists became more focused empirically and conceptually, they presented compelling evidence for their key analytical claims and generally bettered their liberal rivals—as they saw and portrayed them—in the debate over the complicity of capitalist development in the officially mandated racism of South Africa. Whereas liberals either ignored, minimised, or denied an association, Marxists argued that capitalism and its dominant classes systematically promoted and actively underwrote apartheid in particular, and white domination in general.

In 1977 the member-states of the European Community (E.C.) adopted a collective strategy designed to and apartheid and to encourage the economic independence of South Africa's less-developed neigh-bours. The respective foreign-policy instruments used to achieve these goals were the Code of Conduct and the Lomé Convention, through which assistance was provided for the Frontline states. The scope of the Community's Southern African actions was enlarged in 1985 to include a range of sanctions against Pretoria similar to those adopted by other governments.

From the ancient Greek city-states of Athens and Sparta to twentiethcentury Bolivia and Zaïre, from theories of development and underdevelopment to models of civil-military relations, one is struck by the enormous literature on armed intervention in the domestic political arena. In recent years, a veritable rash of material on the subject of military politics has appeared – as much from newspaper correspondents reporting pre-dawn coups from third-world capitals as from the more rarefied towers of academe. Yet looking at the subject from the perspective of how régimes mobilise resources and mechanisms to protect themselves from their own security forces, one is struck by the paucity of empirically-based evidence on the subject.1

The Sudan is the largest country in Africa and ranks as one of the poorest, with an estimated income per capita of U.S.$400 in 1983.1 It is predominantly rural and sparsely inhabited, with an estimated total population in 1985 of 21.6 million, of whom as many as almost half are younger than 15 while only three per cent are aged 65 and over.2 The crude birth rate approaches 50 per thousand and the annual growth rate of the population is likely to be about three per cent.3 Harsh environmental and poor sanitation conditions contribute to a relatively high incidence of morbidity and infant mortality, with severe diarrhoeal diseases as a major cause of ill-health and child death. Life expectancy at birth is currently estimated to be only 48 years, while the infant mortality rate is put at 118 per thousand live births.4

It is still frequently asserted that the economic sluggishness plaguing most Third-World countries stems from a general lack of resources. The scarcity of capital in both the public and private sectors, it is claimed, prevents the investment needed to achieve development. On the other hand, a fewdeveloping countries with highly profitable exports – notably those that export oil – reap large financial surpluses, including foreign exchange, but do not invest them locally in productive activities. The problem here is supposed to be insufficient ‘absorptive capacity’ due to the absence of skilled personnel and inadequate physical and social infrastructure, restricting the translation of financial resources into real investment. The situation in Botswana provides a test for both these hypotheses, making possible a deeper understanding of the potential rôle of financial resources in the development process.

The conflict in the Horn of Africa and its internationalisation since 1977 has stimulated many arguments in Amercian policy-making circles on whether the costs of expanded involvement in the region are coming to outweigh the strategic and other benefits. The most intense phase of this controversy has followed the post-1978 realignment of forces in the region, which transformed Somalia into an ally of the United States, and Ethiopia, long a close friend, into a Soviet ally.

We appreciate the opportunity to engage with Nyssen et al.'s (2004, this issue) response to our earlier JMAS paper (Keeley & Scoones 2000). While they make a number of important points – many of which we agree with – we feel, however, that they fundamentally misrepresent our paper, and miss the central argument. This may be due to lack of clarity on our part, so, to kick off our response, it is perhaps worth reiterating the key points of the original piece.

A constitution enjoys a special place in the life of any nation, for it regulates not only the exercise of political power, but also the relationship between political entities and between the state and persons. Being the supreme law, it helps to shape the organisation and development of society both for the present and for future generations, and sets objective standards upon which the people and the international community can judge government performance, thus providing a measure of accountability and transparency in national and local affairs. Further, a constitution sets out the rights and duties of the citizens, and provides mechanisms to enable them to protect their interests. Overall a constitution can contribute to the development of a politically active civil society as well as promoting good governance, accountability and the rule of law.

Prior to the 1990s the history of constitutions and constitutionalism in Commonwealth Africa, as elsewhere on the continent, was bleak. The newly independent states started life with the Westminster export model constitution bestowed upon them by the British. There was little or no opportunity for public debate on the document, and the nationalist leaders themselves had no genuine choice as to its structure and contents. The futility of forcing the model on the newly independent states, in the words of Karugire ‘a triumph of hope over experience’, inevitably led to constitutional instability and a round of constitution-making and amendment wholly designed to enhance executive power, remove checks and balances, and undermine the enjoyment of fundamental rights and freedoms.

This article grew out of a more detailed study of all tried cases of homicide in Western Nigeria from 1966 to 1972. While reading more than I00 court transcripts and trial opinions, I was struck by what seemed an inordinately large number of accused with symptoms which westerners associate with mental or emotional illness. I was also conscious of judges being forced to apply an awkward, and at best difficult, standard for the determination of criminal insanity with sparse direct evidence and, in many cases, without the help of expert testimony.

Cameroon's autocrat, Paul Biya, declared war on Boko Haram in 2014. Using a variety of ethnographic materials, this article examines the politics of rumours and conspiracy theories that have defined the popular response to this war in Cameroon. It underlines the mobilising force of these rumours on intra-elite struggles within the national context as well as on international relations, particularly on French–Cameroon relations. I argue that rumour-mongering is a central mode of production of suspicion in times of war and social crisis. Yet, the current rumours in the wake of the war against Boko Haram in Cameroon are inscribed within a historical framework of a state-directed politics of paranoia that seeks to define ‘enemies of destabilisation’. In the end, this politics of suspicion also works to bring otherwise disaffected Cameroonians to support the autocratic Paul Biya as a victim of foreign plots for regime change in Cameroon.

Niccolo Machiavelli and Frantz Fanon are in the tradition of political philosophy. Do they not address themselves to the notion of freedom, the concept of legitimacy, and the moral basis of political action? This article will further argue that there exists a notable correspondence of thought between them.

The political thought of Machiavelli enjoys ubiquitous fame. Its pristine vigour is attested to by the fact that, through the past four and a half centuries, dictators and democrats have embraced its values.1 Yet there is no patent contradiction in this if one realises that Machiavelli deals compellingly with what is while not rejecting what ultimately ought to be; his prince is a sort of political Everyman concerned with realising the kingdom of earth.

Seen as one of Africa's most visionary and enlightened autocrats, Paul Kagame's presidency is often contrasted with the violence and ethnocentrism of his discredited predecessors. Drawing on rarely analysed primary sources, this article disputes this simplified narrative by revealing striking continuities in the ruling elite's rhetorical repertoire in the late colonial period (1956–1959) and present-day Rwanda. Both then and now, rhetorical calls to remove ethnic labels from public discourse in the name of national unity are key resilience strategies designed to shape regime relations with domestic and international audiences in ways that reinforce power concentration by a small (largely Tutsi) elite. Changes in the distribution of power and the scale of anti-Tutsi violence (most notably in 1994) help explain why a similar rhetorical strategy failed to prevent the dismantling of the Tutsi oligarchy in 1961 while strengthening its contemporary counterpart.

WHAT are the economic conditions for attaining Uganda's ambitious development goal, the doubling of income per capita in 15 years? My purpose here is to discuss the logic of five major structural changes which may be regarded as necessary for a substantial acceleration of Uganda's rate of economic growth. Since each of these changes would require energetic government policies to bring it about within the time- span considered, they can also be thought of as key elements of development strategy. I hope that the logic of these structural changes may be suggestive also for other countries at a somewhat similar stage of development, particularly in Africa.

The frustrated aspirations of most Africans for a significantly better life following independence have evoked considerable attention. A growing number of scholars are accounting for the situation in terms of a set of loosely connected propositions contained in the ‘underdevelopment theory’,, at the core of which is the idea that colonialist/neocolonialist countries have created the conditions of underdevelopment by:

(i) encouraging the entry of foreign investment which extracted/extracts a significant proportion of the surplus produced;

(ii) fostering a commercial bourgeoisie which failed/fails to use its profits for productive investment purposes; and

(iii) promoting an indigenous class which acted/acts in the interest of the imperial power to perpetuate the condition of underdevelopment.

Israel shares the distinction, together with only a handful of other nations, of being a ‘newsworthy’ country. Even before the recent war, hardly a week passed without at least a reference to Israel in either the daily or periodical press. Various American, British, and European weeklies consistently carry articles on Israel. On a per capita basis, probably no other country receives as much world press attention as Israel. Yet, despite this profuseness of printed material, very few articles and fewer books present competent analyses of the Israeli polity and foreign policy.

Although the number of Africanists in Poland has never been large, a scholarly interest in Africa has long existed in this country. Among the scholars of the older generation, the most prominent were: L. Krzywicki, a sociologist with a wide interest in social change and development, who published several studies on the transition from traditional to modern societies, with special attention to Africa; J. Czekanowski, who was among the first explorers of Rwanda and other Interlacustrine kingdoms, publishing several extensive studies both in German and Polish; and B. Malinowski, who later established himself in Great Britain.

Integragation has been a topical issue in inter-state relations in post-independence Africa.1 The most radical of the three suggested strategies is to bid for immediate continental economic and political integration.2 A more popular view is to seek a gradualist approach to pan-African unity via regional economic co-operation;3 this could range from a free trade area, customs union, common market, and economic community, to ultimate political fusion.4 The third, less-studied strategy is for African states to lay the basis for regional economic integration, and even ultimate continental unity, through functional co-operation, for example, in transport, industrial development, trade, and monetary policy.5 This article examines the prospects and problems of co-operation on a regional basis, with particular reference to West Africa, in a specific economic field – namely, seaport development. See Map I, page 399, below.