For decades in many African countries, pragmatism and politics have dictated that the choice of language for literacy and primary education should be the colonial languages—French, English or Portuguese. In some settings, certain African languages of wider communication have been selected, including Swahili in Kenya and Tanzania, and Hausa in Nigeria. However, for the vast majority of African languages, educational materials have never been developed. Millions of African children find their first days at school bewildering as they adjust to not only the strange environment of school but also to a teacher who cannot speak their language.

In August 1989, a UNESCO seminar was convened in Lagos, Nigeria, focusing on the role of languages of minority groups as languages of instruction. This was followed by a consultation on the related challenge to provide grassroots teacher training for mothertongue education. Representatives came from approximately fifteen countries and five continents, with the majority being from within Africa. The stated purpose of the seminar, according to the prospectus, was:

Few would dispute that the Africanization of the civil service was one of the more emotional and divisive issues in the Gold Coast during the inter-war years. While it is true that the attainment of equal status with the Europeans might not have been a subject of mass concern and popular regret, nevertheless it did animate the vocal and articulate elite who resented the unfair distinctions perpetuated by the colonial authorities. Thus repeatedly in debates of the Legislative Council, in sessions of the Provincial Councils, in newspaper editorials, and in petitions carried to Whitehall, protests were lodged against the pattern of discrimination in high-level government appointments. The extent to which this matter influenced the political dialogue of the colony and in time became an “important nationalist grievance,” has been noted by a number of scholars (Kimble, 1963; Crowder, 1968; Wight, 1947). My intention therefore is not to detail every disagreement nor to summarize every report but rather to view individual cases which shed light on the debate and to focus upon the prejudices and perspectives of the participants in the dialogue.

Following a period of time during which Africans had largely been excluded from the senior, or European, appointments in the civil service, Governor Frederick Gordon Guggisberg (1921-1927) charted a new course in February 22, 1926. He remarked that the policy of employing Africans in responsible positions commended itself to the Government for two reasons:

In his novels and essays and most recently in the pages of The New York Times, Nigerian author Chinua Achebe has repeatedly claimed that the “trouble with Nigeria” lies with its leaders (1982, 1993)—and few of those who followed the pronouncements of General Babangida would say that the actions of the Nigerian head of state were without import for the political future of the country. Achebe finds an intellectual ally in social scientist Giuseppe de Palma (1992), who argues that the actions of decision makers at critical junctures in the process of political opening shape the range of choices and the kinds of risks they and their successors face subsequently. Although the conditions that make democratic consolidation more or less difficult may be a function of levels of socioeconomic development, the presence or absence of a civic culture, or the existence of a middle class, the decisions of leaders matter. Democracies are crafted, not born whole.

This essay tries to identify the sources of difference in leadership style during a period of political reform. It proceeds from two observations. First, tactical and strategic choices of leaders are partly a function of the incentive structures political and economic institutions offer. Electoral rules, the amount of central control over important electoral resources such as the media, participation in regional monetary agreements—all of these institutions shape the options available for building coalitions.

This paper reviews the appropriateness of a development intervention celebrated for its direct benefits to the rural poor: small farmer credit. It will focus on the degree of inappropriateness that results from a contradiction between the convenience of directing the credit to discrete compound units and the dependence of small farmers' success on the coordination of production activities among larger groupings. The case to be looked at is from the West African savannah of Central Mali.

The economic posture of Malian savannah farmers develops within the context of these larger groups of producers. Unlike peasant coalitions in Latin America (Ortiz, 1972), the Malian groupings have not arisen to provide mutual security by spreading market risk among a wider group. This occurs where peasants are dependent on returns from a commercial crop the demand for which leaves them uncertain about how much to produce at any given time. If this were the case, subsidized credit inasmuch as it improved the peasant's marketing options might be able to circumvent such coalitions in attracting the small farmer. But the Malian peasant's coalitions are organized to confront production rather than marketing constraints. As long as these production constraints remain, his loyalty will be to his coalitions rather than to a marketing opportunity should these conflict.

The Malian peasant is not limited by land scarcity in the amount he cultivates. Therefore, he is not dependent on income from commercial crops to buy food; he will increase cash crop production only when its marketing situation is stable. Dry season migrant labor opportunities have long been available to him as an alternative for raising money for the colonial and post-colonial head taxes. Migrant laborers come home to grow unmarketed, subsistence crops. The money uses of their labor are often better served elsewhere.

This essay addresses how recent changes in electronic media may impact upon what the rest of the world sees of Africa on television. Its predictions are disheartening, especially to Africanists and communications scholars who have well documented the longstanding insufficiency of African news coverage. And my conclusions contrast with those of the big television news companies, who, with a “good for business, good for everyone” mentality, like to believe that the new media market and nifty new technologies can only mean more and better coverage of every part of the planet.

The utility of postmodern thinking to the study of Africa continues to be a matter of hot debate. Some authors see postmodernism, particularly colonial discourse analysis, as a threat to well established historical methods for studying African societies. Others draw on postmodern insights while warning of its shortcomings, especially the lack of attention to political and economic structures. This brief discussion cannot fully explore such a complicated subject; rather it is intended as a personal view on some of the key issues at hand.

In many respects, the least important part of the 1999 elections were the elections themselves. From the beginning of General Abdusalam Abubakar’s transition program in mid-1998, most Nigerians who were not part of the wealthy “political class” of elites—which is to say, most Nigerians— adopted their usual politically savvy perspective of siddon look (sit and look). They waited with cautious optimism to see what sort of new arrangement the military would allow the civilian politicians to struggle over, and what in turn the civilians would offer the public. No one had any illusions that anything but high-stakes bargaining within the military and the political class would determine the structures of power in the civilian government. Elections would influence this process to the extent that the crowd influences a soccer match.

Compared to political developments in Eastern Europe and Latin America, democratization in sub-Saharan Africa has been more problematic and uneven. Looking at the performance in four subregions—central Africa, East Africa, southern Africa, and West Africa—yields no convincing evidence of a “wave” of democratization; countries next to each other differ considerably with regard to their Freedom House scores. This does not mean that democratization has necessarily stalled, but it does demonstrate that the prevailing vertical cleavages along ethnic, racial, or religious lines can make such a transition volatile, as suggested by the cases of Burundi, Mali, and even Kenya. While political competition in mature democracies, typically divided along horizontal group or class lines, tends to generate positive-sum outcomes, such competition in Africa easily turns into “prisoner’s dilemma” games. The uncertainty about the value of cooperation in such situations usually produces political “truces” that are easily abandoned if the costs of adherence exceed the benefits. Against the background of this prevailing political logic, this article calls for a new approach to conceptualizing notions of “institution” and “power” in the analysis of politics in the region.

This article examines a complex dispute over the jurisdictions of traditional and statutory institutions that traversed shifts in forms of government in Ghana for nearly a decade following the ousting of Kwame Nkrumah in February 1966. The analysis emphasizes underlying processes of continuity and seeks to add nuance to familiar conceptualizations that view this period in terms of state weakness, crisis, and rupture. The article explores, in particular, a powerful category of chieftaincy defined in opposition to state logics that have escaped empirical investigation. It therefore invites a rethinking of the notion that the post-Nkrumah era heralded a state-initiated revival of traditional institutions.

Ethiopia has often been portrayed as a unique case of peaceful inter-religious relations. The country has, however, seen an increase in violence between religious communities over the last decades, something which has been interpreted within the prism of extremism. Analyzing inter-religious dynamics in Ethiopia, Østebø argues that the notion of extremism is an inadequate analytical tool, and proposes instead an alternative approach that explores how mutually constitutive developments within each of the main religious communities in Ethiopia together have contributed to exacerbate inter-religious tensions. In particular, Østebø suggests a typology consisting of the intersected processes of expansion, protection, and reclaiming of space.

This article examines the perceptions of Canada by Nigerian youths who have a desire to immigrate to Canada. It explicates why Canada remains an attraction to prospective immigrants in spite of documented accounts of racial discrimination against racial minorities in Canadian society. Based on semistructured and focus group interviews with thirty-five Nigerian youths, the study demonstrates that Nigerian youths chose Canada because the Canadian postsecondary education system can provide them with foreign credentials that will give them access to economic power and social prestige in an unfair and unequal Nigerian society. The youths are also impressed by the transnational lives of their peers and social groups residing in the West. Although the youths criticize the dysfunctions of key institutions of Nigerian society, especially the education institution, they do not deplore social inequality per se.

Popular arts are an effervescent and protean aspect of contemporary culture in Africa. Karin Barber's overview captures the styles, flavor, and general sociological significance of these art forms for both artists and consumers. Noting a lack of theoretical synthesis in the field, the author begins with a critique of the tripartite “European model” of folk, popular, and elite art. She aptly remarks that this model obscures analysis by relegating popular art in Africa to an “undefined and shapeless space” between folk and elite art. Moreover, Barber is concerned with the role that the popular arts play as expressive acts that reflect particular social, political, and economic relationships.

One of the main purposes of much recent work in subnational politics in Africa has teen to find levels and categories of action that are both meaningful and persistent. The study of politics at the local level may avoid some analytical difficulties associated with earlier macro-level studies (for a critique of earlier work, see Zolberg 1966), hut the problem of nonreproducibility begins where macro-analysis leaves off. One result of this dilemma is that few of the increasing number of local studies in African politics either build on previous research or relate theoretically to other work. While this random quality in the literature may be partially overcome as more local research is undertaken, for the moment one of the safest generalizations we can make about local politics in Africa is that there is great variety in social formation and political process in local political arenas.

This suggests that the problem of focus in the study of contemporary African politics cannot easily be resolved merely by shifting the research effort from the national to the subnational level. Both macro- and micro-level studies present their own challenges of validity and interpretation. What both approaches have tended to share, however, is an almost exclusive orientation to politics as the influences on, and the processes of authoritative decision-making. In fact, this orientation largely characterizes political science as a discipline; it is not confined to the study of African politics. But it is equally as important for political scientists to develop categories to analyze the substantive performance of African political systems as it is for them to analyze how the systems operate. Such categories will certainly involve the notion of public policy, to which we now turn our attention.

“There is no conflict between the Church and the State in Zaire,” President Mobutu Sese Seko stated recently in a Kinshasa daily newspaper (Salongo, 28 Oct. 1973: 5). Despite the President's claim, the events of the last several years indicate a situation of high tension, if not of conflict. Zaire's only Cardinal was expelled from the country; the state banned all religious broadcasts, publications, youth groups, and Bishops' meetings, and a Bishops' Committee wrote that the government is moving towards totalitarianism and dictatorship—not exactly the kinds of actions which reveal close harmony.

This article discusses the steady deterioration and final stabilization of church-state relations in Zaire over the last five years. In an attempt to give both viewpoints, President Mobutu's public pronouncements and the state's concrete actions are presented, as well as the Bishops' statements and the Church's responses.

This conflict has been an important one to both sides. On the one hand, the Zairian Church is certainly the largest and most powerful Catholic Church in Africa, and thus one in which the Vatican takes a keen interest. On the other hand, the government is preoccupied with the Church, which has constituted the greatest threat to Mobutu's drive for absolute power. With its 3,900 Belgian priests and sisters and its close ties to the Vatican it represents both the colonial past and foreign domination. Worst of all, the Church professes a system of beliefs and practices which are different from those of the Zairian political party. Certainly one of the fascinating aspects of this topic is the contradiction between the President's public statements, which imply that he objects to the large foreign involvement in the Zairian Church, and the state's concrete actions, which are clearly directed against spreading the Catholic system of beliefs and practices.

This essay examines the history of the African Studies Association's engagement with the debates, concerns, and issues that have generated both tensions and creative energy within the association since its founding in 1948. The author argues that in the future, the association must maintain its preeminent role in fostering scholarly exchange, but that the association must also seek to engage in a much more active dialogue with the policy world; it must address issues of concern to academics in Africa, and it must work to encourage greater interest in Africa within and outside the academy.

In early 1976 the Ethiopian Amharic language daily, Addis Zemen, opened its columns to a surprisingly free political debate. Through a series of so-called letters to the editor, two political factions, one violently opposed to the military government, the other reluctantly in favor of it, exchanged daily barbs. Both groups considered themselves Marxists-Leninists, both wanted people's government and a socialist revolution. Both, it should be added, used a complex, abstract, highly intellectual and, in addition, not too clear language which rather belied their claims to represent the broad masses. Here, however, the similarity between the two groups stopped. The anti-government faction, initially known as the “Democracia” group, accused the military council and its supporters of fascism. The pro-government group, known as “The Voice of the Masses”, called its rivals anarchists.

This debate was the first and most visible step in an attempt to heal the rift between the military and civilian left in Ethiopia, the major unresolved internal issue of the Ethiopian revolution. From the time of the overthrow of Emperor Haile Selassie in September 1974, the military council, or Derg, was faced with the opposition of one or another faction of the radical intelligentsia, a large section of the student body, the old labor confederation, and, in general, most civilian organized groups. Such opposition was not directed against the policies enacted by the Derg–a sweeping land reform, the nationalization of major industrial concerns, and the organization of the population into peasant associations and urban neighborhood associations whose powers have become quite considerable. Rather, the opposition was directed against the military government per se, dubbed as fascist irrespective of the radical policies it enacted.

Areas of the world classified as less than developed tend to have a relatively inflexible economic system dominated by an agricultural sector with low levels of productivity, a rudimentary industrial sector plagued by inefficient methods of production utilizing antiquated technologies, a semi-literate population with little chance of bettering itself because of sheer numbers and a rigid social system, a high level of unemployment or underemployment, and a limited infrastructure. All of these characteristics contribute to low real per capita income, difficulties in finding export markets, and an environment of economic stagnation. Modernization, which includes both economic development and social mobilization, is difficult to achieve.

The status of the guerrilla wars in Angola, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau has long been a topic of debate. While the coup d'etat in Portugal has affected the struggle for liberation in all three territories, the complexion of the debate appears to have changed most significantly with respect to the hostilities in Mozambique. This article presents an assessment of the balance of military force in Mozambique from the inception of the guerrilla war in 1964 through April 1974. Such an assessment provides an interesting perspective to recent military and political developments in that territory.

Five phases can be discerned in the fighting in Mozambique since the beginning of the war in 1964. The first phase began in September of that year and ran roughly to the end of 1965. This phase was marked by the initial military successes of the nationalists, the Frente de Libertaca'o de Mozambique (FRELIMO), and the loss of some territory and population by the Portuguese in the districts of Cabo Delgado and Niassa. The second phase, which began in 1966 and ended at the close of 1969, was characterized by an increase in the ability of FRELIMO to concentrate military force on more heavily defended Portuguese positions but with a decrease in the limits of the zones of fighting in Cabo Delgado and Niassa. Phase three ran roughly through the twelve months of 1970 and was marked by a change in Portuguese counterinsurgency strategy which began with the launching of a number of highly successful counteroffensives against FRELIMO bases and sanctuaries. The fourth phase, which began in 1971 and ended in the first months of 1973, was characterized by a diminishing of the level of fighting in Cabo Delgado and Niassa and a concomitant shifting of the focus of military activities to the district of Tete. The fifth phase, which began in the summer of 1973, has been characterized by the spread of military activities from Tete to the northern sectors of Vila Pery and Beira districts. Each phase is discussed in detail below.

To those who peer into the shadows beneath the dazzling peaks of media-lit summitry, the shape of America's projected post (Vietnam) war foreign policy is becoming discernible. Thoroughly nationalist and pragmatic, it stresses advantage and comity in relations with other major powers — whether politico-military (China and the Soviet Union) or economic (Western Europe and Japan). Coonskin zealotry having given way to cost-benefit real-politik, military withdrawal from Southeast Asia is being accompanied by strategic retrenchment. From Guam and Micronesia in the Pacific, to Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean, to Bahrain in the Persian Gulf, to the Azores in the Atlantic, American air and sea power is taking on an insular “low profile” — while maintaining a long reach. At the same time, domestic postwar introversion threatens a further decline in already minimal American concern for the fate of the world's relatively powerless and economically disadvantaged.