While public attention has focused on the stature of Nelson Mandela, there has been at a deeper level in South Africa since 1990 a steep decline in state capacity, and a marked deterioration in democratic practice. The participatory democracy which had so characterised the decade of the 1980s was brought to a sharp end after the return of the nationalist leaders, and the workings of even a liberal, representative democracy have also suffered under the rise since 1994 of a predominant party system and élitism. The latter features are present too in Namibia, with similar consequences. Democracy which is understood merely as electoralism, as Botswana earlier had shown, has few defences against predominance. The voters' brief electoral act is wide open to manipulation and containment. Power is shared by élites, while popular participation is rendered moribund, and concern for justice and equality ceases.

The political openings that took place in the early 1990s, followed by a wave of elections across Africa, were widely interpreted as the beginning of a transition to democracy. Few persons knowledgeable about the continent assumed that this process would be easy. The obstacles, it was recognised, were legion, ranging from the nature of the existing régimes to the difficult economic circumstances confronted by virtually all countries. Nevertheless, the overall assessment remained optimistic. Slowly, imperfectly, with set-backs, Africa would move in the direction of democracy, and western liberal democracy at that.

It is time to reassess the validity of such expectations, not least since much of what has happened in Africa on the political front during the past five years could easily be interpreted as indicating the persistence of authoritarianism, the spread of ethnic conflict, or the continuation of a process of state disintegration. Indeed, there is a real danger that attempts to analyse how close African countries are coming to democracy, or how far away they remain, may in the end blind us to the real significance of the available data. Hence the need to re-examine why the idea that Africa is experiencing a democratic transition, however, imperfect, gained ground.

THE conventional wisdom has it that European/Western constitutional forms cannot be expected to take root in African political soil, much less grow and flourish, since they are based on essentially alien predicates and principles. That is why, it is further claimed, practically all the so-called ‘independence’ constitutions were quickly annulled, abrogated, or simply put aside by the generation of ‘founding fathers’ and/or their immediate successors as leaders, despite having been adopted in the 1960s amid universal jubilation and optimism about the continent's democratic future. Needless-to-say, this bit of conventional wisdom suffers from the post hoc, ergo propter hoc fallacy that given the failure of constitutions, it must follow that they were at fault – a conclusion warranted neither by an examination of their provisions and the circumstances of their genesis, nor of the contexts in which they allegedly ‘failed’.

Since the decolonisation process in the continent began after World War II, West Africa stands out as the only zone of ‘negative’ peace. This terminology merely implies that the formal absence of international wars has been precariously maintained on an unstable basis by threats, deterrence, and/or a lack of will or capability to enter into interstate hostilities. Leaving aside the liberation struggle waged by Guinea-Bissau against Portugal 1965–74, and with the exception of a very brief armed conflict between Mali and Burkina Faso, there have been no wars among the 16 member-states of the Economic Community of West African States (Ecowas), which is quite remarkable given the region's multi-ethnic and multinational character, and the persistence of numerous territorial disputes. This starkly contrasts with widespread internal violence, military coups, and virulent civil wars, notably in Nigeria 1967–70, Liberia 1990–6, and Sierra Leone 1993–6. As the title of this article implies, the convoluted reality of West Africa can be characterised by relative international peace, in contrast to domestic conflicts.

Democratisation has been the subject of much scholarly discussion during the past few years, notably the so-called ‘third wave’ that is taking place in Africa and the former Soviet bloc. Of particular interest is the concept of the abertura, or opening of the political system, that many have come to believe is the prerequisite for a fully fledged transition to democracy. After years of military rule, this is what appears to have occurred in Ethiopia, and hence the aims of this article are (i) to trace the origins and platforms of the various political parties that have had a relatively open forum for opposition since 1991, (ii) to evaluate their effectiveness both in providing a viable alternative to the régime in power and in aggregating the interests of the different societal and ethnic groups, and (iii) to examine the future of democracy in their country.

There are two remarkable features of post-independence economic policy-making in Zimbabwe: the very limited nature of the changes made by the new government in 1980, and the complete reversal of policy announced in 1990. It was surprising that a more radical transformation had not been introduced soon after independence, since this had been achieved by a civil war prompted not only by the denial of even basic rights to the majority of the population, but also by an extremely inequitable distribution of economic resources. The volte-face in 1990 was also unexpected, because it required a repudiation of governmental rhetoric at a time when the economy was by no means in a state of crisis, even though under stress. This article attempts to understand these policy shifts.

THE political agenda in Cameroon has become increasingly dominated by what is known as the ‘anglophone problem’, which poses a major challenge to the efforts of the post-colonial state to forge national unity and integration, and has led to the reintroduction of forceful arguments and actions in favour of ‘federalism’ or even ‘secession’.

Non-governmental organisations (NGOs) have a long history of promoting grass-roots membership organisations, but have made few attempts to document this experience in ways that are accessible to external audiences. Academic analysis has partially filled this gap by identifying the characteristics of strong organisations, but has had relatively little to say about how they develop, or the specific rôle which NGOs might play in helping them to emerge. This issue has recently assumed greater importance in the light both of donor wishes to strengthen civil society, and the more specific concerns of NGOs to scale-up their activities by helping the organisations with which they work to become more self-sufficient.

This article is drawn from a wider study which explores the strategies employed by NGOs in promoting membership organisations, and asks whether this can be done in ways which are both broadly equitable and reasonably cost-effective. It describes a programme mounted by the pan-African NGO consortium known as ACORD (Agency for Co-operation and Research in Development) to initiate a process of institutional development in the Nebbi District of Uganda. The case is of particular interest as an example of an attempt to introduce new institutions into a highly volatile environment, and provides a basis for arriving at a number of more general propositions about good practice.

Water is scarce yet vital in Botswana's desert climate. As one of only two perennial surface sources, the Okavango Delta has often been seen by the Government and international donors as under-utilised and ripe for development. Hence the major project proposed in the early 1980s by the Department of Water Affairs (DWA), albeit suspended, nearly a decade later, after both local and global protests. This article examines how a small group of state bureaucrats was able to control the decision-making process, and discusses the implications of this hegemony. It is based on research undertaken in Botswana during 1991–3 that included over 150 interviews with the members of a wide range of organisations in the public, parastatal, and private sectors.

The people of Madagascar found themselves increasingly immersed in a veritable socio-economic and political quagmire from 1975 until 1993, with their highly unpopular President, Admiral Didier Ratsiraka, was removed from office. Many of those who had played such an important rôle in easing him into power in 1975 by being activists in Zatovo Western Andevo Madagasikara (Zwam), a coalition of angry students, intellectuals, peasants, as well as disaffected middle and upper class elements, were again on hand in 1993, but this time to jeer and curse him after the results of the presidential elections had been announced to a largely enthusiastic public. However, the apparently fickle temperament of Malagasy voters had been demonstrated before and, ironically, some members of the same disparate groups had cheered just as enthusiastically when President Philibert Tsiranana, the leader of the pro-French Parti social démocratique (PSD), had been forced to step down in 1972 in the face of their urban-led revolutionary movement centred in the capital, Tananarive (later renamed Antananarivo), only months after winning the presidential elections with over 99 per cent of the votes.

How can Africa's societies reorient and rebuild state apparatuses where predatory, neo-patrimonial governance has held sway? This emerges as a key question if one accepts that dysfunctional institutions, and not just poor initial conditions, a hostile international environment, external shocks, or policy errors, have impeded Africa's economic recovery. Although analysts and organisations place differing weights on these various causes, few now dissent from the consensus that political-institutional reforms are a necessary condition for African development. Yet recognising the need for such change is one thing; knowing how to bring it about is quite another. Few guidelines exist to steer this complex and long-term task. Democratisation is now often cited as one means to foster institutional renewal, and this article draws on the Ghanaian experience to reflect upon the efficacy of this route.

AFFIRMATIVE action in South Africa – sometimes referred to by euphemisms such as ‘corrective action’, ‘reverse discrimination’, or ‘positive action’ – can be understood as a remedial strategy which seeks to address the legal historical exclusion of a majority. Unlike most other countries in which minorities are targeted, in South Africa a previously disenfranchised majority is the beneficiary of such policies. Quite distinct from North American notions of affirmative action, a labour/union driven vision of transforming the living and working conditions of the majority competes with a narrower business advocacy of black advancement as managers in response to market demands. Little resistance is found among white-owned corporations to broaden their recruitment pool by including qualified blacks and women.

It has become increasingly evident that a conceptual framework of ethnicity is being employed by analysts for understanding the continent as the discrediting of African nationalism proceeds apace. Indeed, it has become a commonplace to assert that part of this project's failure can be put down to its notorious disregard for indigenous awareness. ‘In order to overcome ethnic differences exploited by colonial powers’, according to Alan Fowler, ‘many African governments systematically negated traditional social organisations in the belief that they ‘reinforced an unwanted ethnic awareness and, through their values and practices, acted as barriers to rapid growth and modernisation’. The conversion to a positive view of tribalism by Basil Davidson has served as something of a watershed. In 1992 he wrote that while modern African nationalism amounted to a western imposition, ‘The history of precolonial tribalism ... was in every objective sense a history of nationalism’.

This is an attempt to assess Eritrea's democratic prospects in light of its political experience since 1993 as a sovereign state. I readily concede that it is too early to make a definitive assessment; yet, just as a child's first few years are extraordinarily critical in helping to determine its subsequent intellectual, physical, and moral development, so can a new nation cumulate experiences that help set it firmly on its feet and give it the capacity for yet more positive growth. Further, there is no denying the force of genetic and environmental factors in the development of both children and states: what they inherit from the past, as well as the circumstances of their creation, and experiences of infancy, all contribute to what they will become. I have no wish to stretch the metaphor further; my point is that a detached analysis of Eritrea's political inheritance and the forces and key events since its formal independence can give, at least, a preliminary reading on its prospects. Thus, I intend to argue that these first five years have been marked by pragmatic policy-formation and decision-making which, taken as a whole, warrant a cautious optimism about the country's democratic future.

THE question of how countries in Africa are dealing with the control and restructuring of their military forces and security agencies has aroused some scholarly and political interest but little systematic research. The story of the transition in Ghana may be said to have begun when the Supreme Military Council (SMC) was removed by a coup d'état on 4 June 1979 and replaced by the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (AFRC) headed by Flight-Lieutenant Jerry Rawlings. The young officers had intervened, as they soon explained, because of the growing corruption and deteriorating conditions of service, the severe economic crisis and reduced military budgets, and the mismanagement of both the Armed Forces and the national government. Although power was restored to civilians only four months later, Rawlings intervened again on 31 December 1981 after the régime headed by President Hilla Limann had failed in the view of supporters of the ‘June 4 Movement’ to respond effectively to the problems faced by Ghana. Ironically this coup by Rawlings, widely known as his ‘Second Coming’, and described with some truth as ‘a popular affair’, interrupted efforts that were being made to re-professionalise the Armed Forces and restore civilian control.

‘The State Stops at PK 12’ – i.e. 12 kilometres from the capital, Bangui.

The situation described by this statement, often heard in the Central African Republic, seems to conform to the objectives of the currently fashionable policies of decentralisation and structural adjustment – for example, to end ‘too much state’. However, the absence of the state in the rural areas of the CAR is so striking that the position in certain respects has almost reached the level of caricature. It also reflects the more general situation in other parts of the continent where the excesses of a centralised, over-staffed post-colonial régime can coexist perfectly with the pronounced absence in the rural areas of certain functions which are commonly supposed to be provided by the state, including basic administration and justice, as well as social, educational, and health services.

THE Portuguese were the first Europeans to come across the island of Mauritius. It was found by the Dutch in 1598, and the Dutch East India Company settlement created in 1638 introduced both sugar cane and slavery. The French arrived in 1721, using slaves to clear large holdings which eventually became sugar cane plantations. Over time there emerged a colonial society of extreme inequality, where power and privilege belonged to estate planters from France while hard labour and deprivation became the lot of slaves imported from Africa. The British established political control of Mauritius in 1814 and preserved the structure of the island's economy and society with one exception: slavery was abolished in 1835 with generous compensation to slave owners. The colonial state helped to organise the importation of indentured workers from India, and by the 1860s the island had become the leading cane producer in the British Empire.

After a 14-year struggle the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF) took control of the entire northern Ethiopian province of Tigray in 1989. But it was not until two years later, when the TPLF-led Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) captured power in Addis Ababa, that plans to rehabilitate and develop the badly weakened provincial economy could proceed in an environment of peace. This meant that the TPLF in Tigray could for the first time begin to utilise the resources of the central state for its programmes. Since 1991 the post-revolutionary régime has been attempting to stabilise the rural economy, repair and strengthen the province's infrastructure, create a climate in which private investment can flourish, and begin the process of establishing an industrial base to meet the rising demands of off-farm labour.

This article largely contrasts conditions observed in Tigray during the first half of 1993 and those existing in December 1995 and 1996, when my primary objectives were to update my doctoral study of the history of the Tigrayan revolution for publication, and to gauge – with the help of subsequent interviews in Ethiopia – some of the changes that had taken place in the province during that three-year interval.

The Nile flows for 6,700 kilometres through ten countries in north-eastern Africa – Rwanda, Burundi, Zaïre/Congo, Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Eritrea, Ethiopia, the Sudan, and Egypt – before reaching the Mediterranean, and is the longest international river system in the world – see Map 1. Its two main tributaries converge at Khartoum: the White Nile, which originates from Burundi and flows through the Equatorial Lakes, provides a small but steady flow that is fed by the eternal snows of the Ruwenzori (the ‘rain giver’) mountains, while the Blue Nile, which suffers from high seasonal fluctuations, descends from the lofty Ethiopian ‘water tower’ highlands. They provide 86 per cent of the waters of the Nile – Blue Nile 59 per cent, Baro-Akobo (Sobat) 14 per cent, Tekesse (Atbara) 13 per cent – while the contribution from the Equatorial Lakes region is only 14 per cent.

It would seem that one of Africa's few growth industries in recent years has been the stampede of scholarship attempting to account for the failure of the state to generate meaningful economic development. While academics argue over whether the primary culprits are kleptocratic governing élites, Western imperialist forces, or unfair market conditions in the global economy, the realities of African political life show an increasing reactionary trend away from the political integration of the state. Some criticise the integrity of state structures as being Western inventions that have little capacity to respond to African needs, and note the rise of pre-colonial traditional structures organised around ethnic or tribal considerations. Some argue that capitalism in the African context is not able to generate capital accumulation sufficient to improve living standards. Still others suggest that anti-democratic patriarchal forces prevent capitalism from effectively generating maximum growth.