The first three decades of African independence have been an economic, political, and social disaster. The number in absolute poverty is rising faster than anywhere else in the world, and is expected to exceed 250 million by the turn of the century. Once fine universities are in decay, and governments are chronically over-staffed and underperforming. This sad state of affairs is not simply a consequence of an unfortunate coincidence of collapsing commodity prices and mismanagement, but rather because of a fundamental flaw in the prevailing development paradigm. This was based on the erroneous proposition that state institutions derived from metropolitan models could be made the engine of development in the post-colonial era. In retrospect, it is all too obvious that the underlying cultural premises of these institutions were alien to the vast majority of Africans, and they started to crumble the moment the colonial administrators left.

The ostensible purpose of intelligence collection and activity is the preservation of national security. A careful examination of what has been published in this field in recent years has convinced me that all African régimes and liberation movements have established some form of secret state-security apparatus, in many cases with considerable external assistance. As for foreign intelligence services, such as America's C.I.A., Russia's K.G.B., and Israel's Mossad, they have proved to be effective major mechanisms for influencing the internal affairs of African nations.

The imperative to regulate and redistribute land has become almost universal to governments in the developing world. In Africa, this kind of policy has been couched in impressive language that justifies increasing regulatory control as the only viable way to revolutionise the productive use of land for national development. Land reforms often signify one element of a larger trend involving the expansion of the state at the expense of other forms of societal authority. As such, they represent the frontier of a widening struggle over legitimacy and control between ‘state’ and ‘society’. Scholars from a wide variety of intellectual traditions have recently shown increasing interest in exploring the nature and impact of the state. However, the overall utility of such an approach in helping us to understand political developments in Africa has often been hindered by the absence of empirical data.

During almost two decades, beginning in the early 1970s, the Horn of Africa was racked by the ravages of hunger and war. Natural disasters are not new to the region, which historically could count on at least seven major droughts each century, but in the current era they have been increasing, in part due to massive deforestation and the changing pattern of weather. It is estimated that in Ethiopia alone, because of soil erosion and deforestation, 30,000 million tons of top-soil are lost each year. A second important factor affecting the severity of famine has been the dramatic escalation in the level and intensity of civil conflict, nowhere more evident than in Ethiopia.

One of the casualties of the gruesome nightmare that is gripping Somalia has been the capacity to think historically and systematically about the nature of the malady, and to find practical ways of controlling the present in order to build a more sustainable future. As explained by Ahmed Samatar: ‘the fullness of understanding a given situation is [not] coterminous with the immediate and experiential.Rather, any visible elements of a particular reality are usually signals that other more discrete factors could be at work’. For far too long, those opposed to Siyad Barre's régime refused to go beyond the General and his constellation of clients to identify ‘the enemy’. Their unwillingness to engage in any hard-headed analysis and their hostility to critical scholarship has undoubtedly helped to condemn the very people they ‘wanted’ to liberate.

Reform and the transformation of authoritarian régimes in Eastern Europe, the former Soviet Union, and the Horn of Africa have been associated with rampant nationalism, secession of component units, and ultimately, demands for the return of lost territories. By contrast, within supposedly ‘tribal’ Southern Africa, the African National Congress (A.N.C.) and its Africanist opponents are agreed that any settlement must apply to the whole of the Republic of South Africa, including the so-called ‘independent Homelands’.

This article is an attempt to present (and thereby to come to terms with) an important aspect of the meaning of race as it relates to the experience of black people, especially in America. It commences with Edward W. Blyden because his ‘color complex’ is of a kind that brings us back, not without much embarrassment, to the realisation that while colour may be a state of the mind, it is also and even primarily a matter of the body. Blyden is particularly appropriate as a starting point, for he is an epitome, in many ways, of the African experience in the later nineteenth century, linking (as he does) the multiple experiences of the Caribbean, the United States, and mainland Africa. He wrote at a time when the intellectual and other currents in ‘Negro’ America flowed easily to the new centres of influence in Liberia and colonial West Africa. He was thus the product of the history of Africanity in his period, and for a long time after.