Ideological conflict between capitalism and socialism is more than 150 years old in the industrial countries of Europe and North America. Its gradual extension to other parts of the world during the twentieth century has entailed a basic alteration of the terms of debate. Within the leading industrial countries, partisans have debated both the economic merits of privately-owned productive capital, and the justice of profit-taking as a right of such ownership. In socialist thought, ‘social justice’ has meant that the whole product of labour belongs to those who actually produce it; hence its value should be realised by the producers themselves, either individually, or collectively through public institutions. On that basis, socialists have promised to construct an efficient, humane, and just social order. With equal conviction, proponents of capitalism hold that no alternative economic system produces as large a volume of goods, jobs, and other material benefits for as high a percentage of the population; that social inequality is inevitable, regardless of the property system in effect or the organisation of economic production; and that justice, in any case, is always individual, never ‘social’.

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

For many years ‘there has been a widespread sense of expectancy’ in Zaïre, a premonition of ‘fin de reégime’. Yet as Crawford Young went on to explain as early as 1979, although a ‘dissolution of the current fabric of power is an ever-present possibility… the surprising survival capacity of the régime makes risky any assertion of the inevitability of such a change.’1 During the last two decades there have been repeated reports that the political life of Zaïre' authoritatrian and absolute Head of State has been in grave danger for a whole variety of reasons, including the alleged loss of support from some powerful army general or ‘baron’, or the ruined credibility of his régime among international financial organisations, etcetera. The fact that Mobutu Sese Seko continues to remain in power as President means that we need to question our understanding of the situation in Zaïre. Before addressing ourselves to the issue of political succession and of possible scenarios in the future, I shall try to explain the main reasons for the ‘survival capacity’ of the power structure.

Now in its third decade, the nationalist revolution in Eritrea is Africa's longest conflict, and one whose nature is often misunderstood by friend and foe alike. Its supporters see it as an anti-colonial campaign, the same as that waged by people elsewhere for independence. Certainly, colonialism has something to do with it, since Eritrea itself was its creation. However, Eritrean nationalism did not emerge as a reaction to the colonial situation. It made its appearance after the collapse of Italian rule, when the fate of the former colony hung in the balance. The issue that proved the catalyst was Ethiopia's determination to absorb Eritrea, as she was soon to do with the collaboration of many of the inhabitants. These peculiar origins have been cited as good reasons for dismissing Eritrean nationalism as a sham, even though the events of the last 25 years offer ample proof to the contrary.1 This article offers a summary view of the conflict's history, and makes an attempt to distil the essence of the movement which is still fighting Ethiopia.2

Lesotho has long had the distinction of being one of the more anomalous states not only in Southern Africa, but in the world. It is entirely surrounded by another country, the Republic of South Africa. It is ethnically and linguistically very homogeneous. It is a monarchy. Physically, the lowest point in Lesotho is higher, in vertical distance above sea level, that that in any other country. Its economy is marked by some extraordinary paradoxes, such as agriculture being the main economic activity of the bulk of the labour force albeit the origin of a small fraction of total income, imports enomously exceeding exports and being larger than domestic output, and fewer citizens working for cash inside the country than outside.

The impact of economic sanctions against countries engaging in objectionable behaviour tends to be minimised by seemingly dispassionate analysts but overrated by those committed to punishing the target. Governments often act to impose economic sanctions despite controversies regarding their utility, and this article will examine the variables that contribute to their success or failure, and their potential impact on South Africa, including a brief analysis of the various measures recently imposed by western industrialised nations.

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.

There is broad international agreement on Africa's need for enhanced external financing. The United Nations unanimously adopted an unprecedented Programme of Action for African Economic Recovery and Development in 1986, which entailed, on the African side, explicit recognition of significant responsibility for poor economic performance and of the need for policy reform, and on the Northern side, an acceptance of responsibility for greater funding.

The visit of Prime Minister Yitzhak Shamir to Liberia, Cameroun, Côte d'Ivoire, and Togo in June 1987 confirmed that Israeli-African relations have entered a third phase that is more pragmatic and more limited than the first two. For Israel and Africa, this is an era of tachlis, or unadorned realism.2

It has been argued recently that implementing a laissez-faire approach to economic development faces serious difficulties in Africa.1 This article provides some empirical evidence on the question by comparing the recent efforts of two countries to move towards less interventionist policies. Both Zambia and Ghana attempted to reverse their deteriorating economic performance by introducing major reform measures during the mid-1980s. Their different experiences illustrate both the positive effects that laissez-faire policies can have when resource allocation has been constrained by extensive controls, and the difficulties of sustaining and financing a reform programme.

In the history of Malawi's transport and communications, few modes of travel can be more unusual or fascinating than the flying-boat service from November 1949 to October 1950 between Southampton in Britain and Vaaldam near Johannesburg in South Africa, via Cape Maclear, a somewhat isolated and inaccessible spot on the south-west shore of Lake Malawi, 150 miles from the then administrative capital of Zomba and a further 50 miles from the main commercial centre of Blantyre. Although short-lived and of limited immediate practical importance, its long-term significance was considerable, whilst the details of how the service came about add to our knowledge of the early post-World War II history of colonial Nyasaland, and tell us a good deal about the Governor of the time, Geoffrey Colby.

African intellectuals grapple with political problems well before social scientists are prepared to address them. The abuse of political power constitutes one such problem: a number of African countries have suffered under dictatorships over the last 25 years, but scholars have had very little to say about their experiences to this day.1 Wole Soyinka, however, the foremost African playwright, presented a satire on the régime of Kwame Nkrumah (Ghana, 1957–66) in its later years in Kongi's Harvest (London, Ibadan, and Nairobi, 1967), a play performed already in 1965. And Camara Laye indicted the régime of Sékou Touré (Guinea, 1958–84) in his novel Dramouss (Paris, 1966)