During the 1970s, African arms imports rose faster than in any other region of the world. Indeed, military spending doubled between 1970 and 1977, albeit falling since that peak by about one-quarter by 1982,1 as may be seen in Figure 1. The expansion by developing countries of their armed forces during the 1970s, which was certainly not confined to Africa, stimulated interest among economists regarding its impact on economic growth. Our article attempts a quantitative assessment of some of the moew important factors which influence levels of military expenditures in developing countries, first in general and then in Africa specifically, by means of cross-country multiple regression analysis for the average of the years 1978–80. Although military spending is often an end in itself, providing a living for the soldiers and their suppliers, it is also justified on the grounds that it deters armed conflict or domestic unrest, despite being responsible for so many coups d'état.

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’.

With the intensification of the Southern African crisis, its ramifications have spread ever more widely until now they pervade and corrode virtually every sector throughout the black states neighbouring South Africa. The prospects for peace and prosperity in the region, once heralded with such high hopes, have long since faded as energies have increasingly been absorbed in the daily challenge of sustaining a precarious human existence.

Six years of intense debate have produced a measure of agreement on a solution for Africa's malaise. This is captured by the latest catchphrase of the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank, ‘Adjustment with Growth’, which implicitly acknowledge past errors by African governments – or, minimally, that a continuation of previous policies is no longer tenable in a changed external environment. An emphasis on ‘growth’ recognises that ‘adjustment’ must encompass more than ‘stabilisation’, that the continent needs additional externally-provided financial resources on concessional terms if import strangulation is not to exacerbate the downward economic spiral in which many countries are currently trapped. This fragile consensus is facing its first serious practical test as the World Bank attempts to extend its Structural Adjustment Lending programme in Africa. Clearly, significant differences remain between the attitudes of African governments and external donors, and within the academic community, on the sources of the continent's problems and on the policy measures that are needed to counteract them.

Praetorianism has been authoritatively defined as a situation in which ‘the military class of a given society exercises independent political power within it by virtue of an actual or threatened use of military force’.1 A praetorian state, by elaboration, is one in which the military tends to intervene and potentially could dominate the political system. The political processes of this state favor the development of the military as the core group and the growth of its expectations as a ruling class; its political leadership (as distinguished from bureaucratic, administrative and managerial leadership) is chiefly recruited from the military, or from groups sympathetic, or at least not antagonistic, to the military. Constitutional changes are effected and sustained by the militaty, and the army frequently intervenes in the government.2

In the four years since the signing of the Nkomati accord in March 1984, Mozambique has undergone a quiet but far-reaching process of policy reform. Faced with a major crisis caused by the Renamo insurgency and by economic mismanagement, the Government has apparently abandoned its ambitious programme of socialist transformation through the creation of state farms and the launching of large projects, adopting instead a package of market-oriented economic reforms. Having joined the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund in late 1984, Mozambique has been devaluing its currency, increasing the prices of agricultural produce, allowing peasants to sell commodities to private traders, and channelling some aid to the private sector, in keeping with the policies favoured by those organisations, The U.S. Agency for International Development, which has also become a donor since 1984, has likewise exerted pressure for policy reform, in particular for aid to the private commercial farms. While the socialist economic sector has not been dismantled, the Government is now stressing the importance of peasant and private agriculture, and the necessity of providing more support for both.1

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

Many students of human relations in South Africa would probably agree that an understanding of the policy of racial separation and the general determination of whites not to yield power to the black majority necessitates an awareness of their fears. The importance of this factor can hardly be overlooked, especially if it is defined broadly along the lines suggested by Philip Mason in his succinct study of racial tensions around the globe: There are fears of all kinds… There is the vague and simple fear of something strange and unknown, there is the very intelligible fear of unemployment, and the fear of being outvoted by people whose way of life is quite different. There are fears for the future and memories of fear in the past, fears given an extra edge by class conflict, by a sense of guilt, by sex and conscience… Fear may also act as a catalytic agent, changing the nature of factors previously not acutely malignant, such as the association in metaphor of the ideas of white and black with good and evil… Where the dominant are in the minority they are surely more frightened.1

Captain Thomas Sankara, Comrade President of Burkina Faso, was assassinated on 15 October 1987, allegedly in accordance with the wishes of Captain Blaise Compaoré, Major Jean-Baptiste Lingani, and Captain Henri Zongo. These three officers, said to have feared for their lives, had ordered the arrest of Sankara in order to avoid plunging their country into a blood-bath. The radio broadcast announcing the execution referred to Sankara as a ‘renegade’, a ‘traitor to the revolution’, ‘an autocratic mystic’, and a ‘paranoid misogynist’. It added that the ex-President's ‘high treason’ was illustrated by his trampling upon all organisational principles, his betrayal of the noble objectives of the democratic and popular revolution, his personalisation of power, and by his ambitious use of mysticism to solve the concrete problems of the masses. ‘This’, the broadcast concluded, ‘was inexorably leading us towards total chaos.’1 When he finally broke his silence, Compaoré, the alleged leader of the coup d'état, accused Sankara of ‘wanting to lead the world revolution’.

The Kingdom of Lesotho is a small country, an enclave of South Africa, occupying 30,350 square kilometres of highland, ranging from 1,500 metres above sea-level at its lowest point to 3,300 metres at its highest. Although only about 13 per cent of the total area is arable, the majority of the de jure population of 1·5 million are predominantly rural.1 While the climatic conditions of this elevation are not alwaysfavourable to agricultural production, there are some fertile pastures in which sheep and mohair-producing goats graze contentedly.2 But the sanctity exuded by quiet mountain vistas is tempered by the stark hardships which accost many Basotho in their daily lives. The country is said to be ‘poor’ in that it cannot adequately provide for much of its population. Therefore many migrate to work in South African mines rather than trying to eke out an existence from the land or seeking limited employment in the cities.3 There are also others whose daily life revolves around desperately securing, by any means available, food for themselves and their families.

In contrast to its policies in the economic sphere, Zambia has one of Africa's most liberal approaches to press freedom. To convey the flavour of public debate during, or immediately after, the 19-month experiment with a market-determined exchange rate, 10 quotations are presented below:

Large scale mining will continue for 12 to 20 years, but small-working may go on for 50–60 years.

– Francis Kaunda, Chairman, Zambia Consolidated Copper Mines, June 1987.

Coffe after copper.

– Campaign slogan of the Coffee Growers Committee of the Commercial Farmers' Bureau.

Even real socialist countries have to find and use foreign exchange.

– Kebby Musokotwane, Prime Minister, replying to a question in the National Assembly, August 1986.

Zambia's cardinal mistake was to subsidise consumption for a long time, thereby delaying diversification.

– Kenneth Kaunda, President of Zambia, May 1986.

The economic reform programme has begun to succeed: devaluation has stimulated exports.

– Kenneth Kaunda, August 1936, Opening the 21st U.N.I.P. National Council Meeting.

It was not socialist principles which ruined the Zambian economy, but unfavourable economic terms which the North has imposed on the South…I have no power…we agreed to the IMF reform programme much against out better judgement.

– Kenneth Kaunda, August 1986, interviewed by Swedish, West German, and Cuban journalists.

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.

A world conference on agrarian reform and rural development came to the conclusion a decade ago that since real progress could only be achieved in these fields if the peasants participated in both the necessary planning and practical work, the prerequisites were democratic organisations for local self-administration and self-reliance.

Explaining Swaziland's political position in the context of Southern Africa has been difficult and never in vogue. This small Kingdom with a population of less than 700,000 has often been neglected in African analyses, and where facts and figures have been presented, these have not been sufficient to give us any real understanding as regards what has happened in recent years, and why. What to some has defied objective explanation has been the Kingdom's non-conflictual relationship with South Africa which, in a regionally polarised situation, has come to be interpreted as a ready willingness to collaborate with the apartheid state.

After a period of preoccupation with the study of the military in post-colonial states, some scholars have begun to turn their attention to the analysis of politics in post-military states in the Third World.1 This shift, however, has had a considerable impact on perceptions of the traditional rigid dichotomy between military and civilian régimes. In particular, there is increasing scepticism about the ability of the latter to restore political order, to establish the supremacy of civil institutions over the armed forces, and to acquire popular legitimacy. There seems little doubt that the pre-eminence of the soldiers, and their ability to dictate the degree of participation in politics, has continued to persist in a number of African countries, thereby producing systems of government that are a mixture rather than a clear manifestation of either a military or a civilian régime.

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

South Africa has neither a developed nor a typical underdeveloped economy. Too often it has been wrongly classified, along with, say, Australia and New Zealand, as one of the peripheral developed countries, because only a part of the economy and population have the characteristics we associate with that group. Yet its economy is distinctly different from others in sub-Saharan Africa. South Africa falls squarely into the category which the World Bank classifies as ‘upper middle-income’ developing economies, with G.N.P. per capita in 1982 ranging from $2,000 to $7,000 and averaging $2,500, thereby including South Africa, with $2,700.1 (By contrast, Kenya's G.N.P. per capita was $400 and Britain's $10,000). The World Bank's group includes Algeria, Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Mexico, South Korea, Venezuela, and Yugoslavia. South Africa shares many structural economic characteristics with these semi-industrialised countries.

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 great strength, durability, and versatility of steel has undoubtedly caused this engineering material to become, almost literally, an essential foundation of present-day civilisation.1 Indeed, it is sometimes used as one of the indices of measuring the economic advancement of nations because of its widespread direct and indirect application. The commercial importance and strategic significance of steel has been recognised in Nigeria for many years, and this has prompted successive Governments to initiate various plans designed to create a metallurgical industry. As the country continues to expand its manufacturing output, as well as to produce more oil and to refine more petroleum, so the demand for the precious metal will go on increasing tremendously.2 The creation of an iron-and-steel complex by means of a combined investment of over 5,000 million is clearly Nigeria's biggest industrial undertaking and emphasises its resolve to attain greater self-reliance.3

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