Among the changes and currents in the politics of African nations today are some the West “approves of,” for example, the trend toward multi-party systems. Others threaten civil liberties and the establishment of democratic states, in particular, the freedom of artistic expression implied in liberal democracy. “Islamic Fundamentalism” is seen by many in the West as especially threatening.

Right from the period of colonialism the herd or cult of the national bourgeoisie has been consistent in its chicanery of reifying, alienating and approximating the social existence of the peasants, the working class and other oppressed social strata. They operate the political culture from various levels of fetishisms as politicians, businessmen, professionals, religious prelates, feudal oligarchies and cultic forces. Set against the masses is the conglomerate of the class referred to by Wole Soyinka as the “self-consolidating regurgitative lumpen Mafiadom of the military, the old politicians and business enterprises” (The Man Died, London, Andre Deutsche Ltd., 1972, p. 181). This class consists of those that Frantz Fanon refers to as the conduit pipes and errand boys of international monopoly capital.

African writers in English have done much to enlarge the image of Africa in the world. The novelists among them have contributed most to the understanding of the African points of view and perspectives on life, politics, culture and history. In their roles as chroniclers, custodians of the collective heritage, social critics, teachers and visionaries of their people, the novelists have illuminated the African situation and the forces that have kept the continent in an endemic state of crisis.

Over the past few years the Montreal World Film Festival has continued to increase its programming of films by African directors. The 1991 edition, which ran from August 22-September 2, was certainly no exception. I happened to turn on the television to the French station and caught Société Radio Canada’s “official” review of Laafi by Pierre Yameogo of Burkina Faso. The reviewers, Chantal Jolis and René Homier-Roy, dismissed Yameogo’s portrayal of a current African problem—braindrain—as weak in terms of artistic production. For example, they both agreed that Laafi had too many “monotonous moments.” Homier-Roy, in particular, seemed completely oblivious to the colonizing attitude he displayed when he spoke of how the film illustrated the “petit-nègre” (a phrase I have rarely heard spoken since I left France in 1987) side of Africans. He then proceeded to “legitimize” the comment by shrugging his shoulders and declaring, “It’s the Africans who are showing it this time, not us.” Finally, the reviewers decided that African films are really only useful for their “anthropological” information.

Prior to 1960, such countries as England and Belgium trained a number of Africans in the technical areas of “movie-making” through their colonial film units which produced health and educational documentaries as well as propagandist shorts praising the colonial order and/or disseminating the Christian faith. Nevertheless, little had been done to encourage native “movie-thinking.” The late Paulin Soumanou Vieyra (Benin/Senegal), one of the pioneers and early historians of African cinema, often pointed out how the French colonial authorities would refuse scholarships to aspiring African film students, arguing that priority was to be given to the training of African doctors and teachers. One could very well suspect that there also might have been some concern as to the kind of politically detrimental anti-colonialist images these film students would have later produced.

There are probably a billion videocassettes in the United States. Yet few, probably under a thousand, are African films. I want to ask why this is and describe a strategy to change it.

How can one of the least known and most under-funded cinemas in the world, African cinema, find a place in the most lavishly promoted and capitalized media marketplaces on earth, the U.S. feature film market?

The African student studying about Africa in the United States participates in two communities. The first community is the academic one in which studies of Africa are pursued; the second community is the existential one with which the individual identifies outside academe—most often the country of origin or the continent in general. (By existential community I mean the community to which the student has profound personal ties, such as family and friendships, and an enduring commitment.) Each community has its own values, commitments, and immediate agendas. As a member of the academic community, the African student must contribute to theoretical advancement; and, as a privileged member of an existential community, he or she must contribute to the development process.