The correct starting point in the analysis of any economic unit is to pose the following three questions: What are the needs of the people? What resources are available? How adequately are these resources being mobilised for these needs ?1

These questions are applicable to a continent or a country (or for that matter a county, a city, or a village); they can also be applied to the world as a whole. If they are, a picture emerges which, if it does not appal us, because it is so familiar and so easily taken for granted, would certainly astonish a visitor from another planet. The basic human needs for nourishment and for protection from the weather are not great, and the resources known to be available could, with current levels of technique, easily permit a comfortable living standard for everyone. Yet these resources are very largely unexploited or wasted, and miserable poverty is the typical human condition.

This article indicates the complexity of the social relations of whites and Africans in Southern Africa and the myths by which they rationalise their behaviour.1 The situation is not identical throughout Southern Africa, but there are, as I will show, certain fundamental similarities which validate an over-all analysis in terms of a ‘colonial situation’.2

Each of the countries of Southern Africa (the Republic of South Africa, Southern Rhodesia, Northern Rhodesia, Nyasaland, the three British High Commission territories of Swaziland, Bechuanaland, and Basutoland, and the Portuguese provinces of Mozambique and Angola) represents a distinct political unit, expressing in its constitution the limits of control and participation permitted to groups which are distinguished according to so-called ‘racial’, ‘ethnic’, or ‘cultural’ differences. There has been a major distinction, explicit in some countries, disguised in others, between a dominant white minority and a subordinate African majority, a division corresponding to the ‘colonisers’ or ‘colonials’ on the one hand, and the ‘colonised’ on the other. But now Nyasaland has become independent Zambia, and Northern Rhodesia will achieve independence in October 1964.

Africa is a vast continent. It embraces nearly one-fourth of the land surface of the earth. The last decade has witnessed a profound transformation of its political landscape. Thirty-four countries have attained their independence. The rest of the continent will soon be governed by its people. The broad sweep of the surge towards independence has belied those predictions of only a decade ago that the political transition to independence in Africa would take a long time. This has already come about. But the continent yet remains mostly ill-fed, ill-clad, ill-housed, and illiterate. The popular pressure to overcome the age-old afflictions of mankind—poverty, disease, and lack of knowledge—is mounting. The new African governments are beginning their first faltering steps towards the economic transition from poverty to relative affluence.

KENYA became the 34th independent state in Africa on 12 December 1963, after perhaps the longest drawn-out campaign between nationalism and immigrant interests yet seen in British colonial history in Africa. If this bitter struggle has left deep and permanent scars on the body politic, in the form of racial hatred, entrenched tribalism, and a climate of violence, it bodes ill for Kenya's future. In the belief that an observer may most satisfactorily take a country's temperature, and gauge the condition of such scars, at election time, we have written the following brief study of the elections for the Senate (41 seats), the House of Representatives (129 seats), and six of the seven Regional Assemblies,1 held in Kenya between 18 and 26 May 1963. We hope that our varied experience in Kenya may help give readers a taste of the real flavour of the country at this important juncture, in a way that undiluted tables of statistics could not possibly do.

Since 1960, the Northern Frontier District of Kenya (N.F.D.) has become the centre of controversy between two African nations—the Somali Republic and Kenya. The area, about 102,000 square miles, includes the dominantly Somali-inhabited Mandera, Wajir, and Garissa Districts and the non-Somali (mainly Galla) districts of Marsabit, Isiolo, and Moyale.1 It consists of a vast, low plateau sloping rather uniformly from 2,000 feet east of Lake Rudolph towards Lamu on the Indian Ocean. Except for the Marsabit mountain region, it is semi-desert, covered by thornbush and useful only for grazing camels, cattle, goats, and sheep. The climate is hot, and the average annual rainfall is less than 12 inches. No commercially exploitable minerals have been found, and the flatness of the land often causes flash floods during and after the two rainy seasons.

A Recebt study by the U.N. Secretariat provides ample proof, if further proof were needed, that the problem of the economic development of the low-income countries cannot be solved without these countries becoming not only producers, but also exporters of manufactured goods, on an important scale.1 At present 86 per cent of the exports of the ‘developing countries’2 consists of primary products, and only 14 per cent of manufactured goods. But the world market for primary commodities expands only slowly, owing to the low income elasticity of demand. This is partly due to the low income elasticity of food consumption in the wealthy countries and the rapid growth of their own agricultural production, and partly to economies in the use of materials in industry and the development of synthetics. Since 1938, the volume of trade in manufactures has more than trebled, while the volume of trade in primary products has increased only by two-thirds.

THIS article attempts to relate some of the ideas put forward by Professor Hans Morgenthau in his Politics Amongst Nations (New York, 1949) to the world position of South Africa, and then essays some more general reflections on the Republic's external situation today.

Such a study should normally begin with an historical introduction, but South Africa's recent history is, perhaps, well enough known for this to be dispensed with, and for my present purposes it will suffice to recall that South Africa was recognised as a sovereign state after World War I, when she was a separate signatory of the Treaty of Versailles and of the League Covenant. There were, of course, constitutional developments after that which led first to the weakening and then to the breaking of the Commonwealth tie, but this did not affect South Africa's formal relations with foreign states. Her relationship with Britain was of great but decreasing importance; but from the standpoint of other powers this importance was political rather than constitutional, for South Africa could be influenced through the British connexion much as Panama can be influenced through the U.S.A.1

There has been a marked change in recent years in the climate of ideas about industrialisation in developing economies and it is fortunately no longer necessary to argue in favour of industrialisation in opposition to another approach to economic development. Yet it is still necessary to continue to state the basic case, particularly since Africa is industrially the least developed of all the continents. The doctrine that industry is the key to economic development is of comparatively recent origin. Its antecedents are the writings of Professor G. Myrdal and Dr R. Prebisch and the practical achievements of the U.S.S.R. and Japan.

In November 1963 the inhabitants of the Transkeian Territories, the largest block of Bantu reserve in the Republic of South Africa, went to the polls to elect representatives for a Legislative Assembly, upon whom the responsibility for the government of this, the first so-called ‘Bantustan’ to achieve a limited form of self-government, is to be laid. The election was the culminating point in a series of changes in the administrative structure of the area which have been characterised by an emphasis on the institution of chieftainship as the basis of local government. After approximately 60 years of rule through magistrates (later supplemented by a system of district councils) the Bantu Authorities Act of 1955 was introduced, giving greatly enhanced powers to the Chiefs, who now became the heads of the tribally-structured Bantu Authorities.

There is an understandable tendency to think that the first overt action taken by the British Government in respect of colonial education in Africa was the setting up of an Advisory Committee on Native Education in the British Tropical African Dependencies in 1923. This is not in fact true. There was for instance a Privy Council memorandum of 1847 on ‘industrial schools for coloured races’, in many ways a remarkable document, setting forth a number of ideas that were to be later accepted in colonial provision for education in Africa—ideas such as the interdependence of moral and physical training, the need for the school to make an impact on the local community in respect of agricultural development and improved sanitation, the need to adapt the content of the curriculum to local needs, and the advisability of the teacher being familiar with the local culture. And of course British experience in education in India provided some terms of reference for educationists in other parts of the world ruled by Britain. Often they tended to treat the Indian experience as a warning of what to avoid: for instance, it was believed that the use of English as a medium of instruction, as recommended in Macaulay's minute of 1833, might have contributed to the Mutiny of 1857; and also the structure of Indian education was considered rather top-heavy, following the establishment of universities whose students became leaders in the movements of political discontent. These “lessons’ were to be incorporated in British thinking about education in Africa in the following century.

If my own experience is at all typical, probably most students concerned with the influence of Islam in the modern world occasionally experience total doubt about their approach to the subject. Can one still justify putting such emphasis on the role of Islam as a historical continuum? Rather, since the nineteenth century, the period of the intensive ‘impact of the west’, haven't there been so many institutional changes that we have reached a real watershed, a breaking point with past history and with past categories of thought designed to explain that history? Shouldn't we de-emphasise Islam as a vital factor in the equation of the modern Arab world and of North Africa? Isn't it a mistake to put so much emphasis on the Islamic heritage?

This analysis of the problem, coming as it does from an Ethiopian, may seem biased against Somalia. Although I shall not claim objectivity, for I am a conscious Ethiopian, I must, nevertheless, state that I have not deliberately omitted or distorted facts to suit Ethiopia's case. My conviction that Ethiopia is in the right is quite apparent. I am equally convinced that it is not in the interest of either country to ignore their vital interdependence.

For those who follow African events closely it is the phenomenon of nationalism which attracts greatest attention. It was a rising sense of national identity which threw off the colonial yoke, and this ongoing creation and exaltation of culture and society at the national level can either foster or frustrate the creation of viable political units. We are therefore obliged to keep abreast of African nationalism if we are to understand the course of events and forecast the shape of things to come in this developing continent.

The accusation that Britain neglected the three High Commission territories of Basutoland, Bechuanaland, and Swaziland, especially during the inter-war period, is a common one, both in standard works on the subject and in current controversies over their future. It has been alleged that an important reason for this neglect was the assumption made by successive British governments that their future status was uncertain, particularly in view of South Africa's repeated claim that the territories were geographically part of the Union, largely dependent on the latter's economy, and therefore should be transferred to South Africa's jurisdiction.1 In this article an attempt will be made to test the truth of these assertions in so far as there is evidence for a considered judgment.

Tribe is a dirty word nowadays. Not to me of course, but particularly, as you know, to a great many African intellectuals and politicians. No wonder they don't like it when one thinks of the terrifying things that have happened in Kenya and the Congo, with elections in Nigeria going along tribal lines, and in the Republic the Bantustans encouraging the worst kinds of tribalism. There is a positive and a negative kind of tribalism, as Tom Mboya very sensibly says in his book Freedom and After; however, most people concentrate on the negative side. But you and I together might have a look at this word-this concept-and see whether there may not be another and better future for it. You know quite well that part of my feeling about our own tribe comes from my being partly Highland and knowing in myself the warm feeling that we in the Highland area have towards our own and our related clans, however much we may laugh at it and pretend it is all part of a bad past. This warm feeling clears the first hurdle towards mutual understanding, perception, and some kind of loyalty-basic human needs.

Well over 50 years ago, John Mensah Sarbah, a Gold Coast lawyer, romantically described the traditional social order in these terms: ‘In the African social system the formation of a pauper class is unknown, nor is there antagonism of class against class.’1 Similar views still prevail throughout most of Africa and the western world. Moreover, a rationale based on this ostensible ‘classlessness’ is employed by Africa's leaders to justify single-party rule and the repression of dissident elements in society, and to explain and defend policies of African socialism.

The World Federation of Trade Unions (W.F.T.U.) was one of the most hopeful ventures of all the Communist front organisations. Unlike some of the other fronts the Russians did not create it. They captured the W.F.T.U. after it was established, and had a good start. Once captured, however, the W.F.T.U. represented merely an extension of the pattern of the earlier Red International which had been created by the Comintern following World War I as a vehicle to reach the working masses of the world and rally them to Moscow. But like its predecessor—dissolved in 1937—the W.F.T.U. has also failed to make significant inroads among the workers in western countries and win control over them. While it has affiliates in the west, the French Confédération Générale du Travail (C.G.T.) and the Italian Confederazione Generale Italiana del Lavoro (C.G.I.L.) being the most outstanding examples, the W.F.T.U. does not at all dominate these movements. Rather, control for the most part is exercised through the local Communist parties, some of which, while still very much an integral part of an international apparatus, have won some measure of autonomy from Moscow.1

The map of Africa was once notorious for bearing the various colours of the European colonial powers. Today the map of post-independence Africa is newly and neatly divided between the 18 independent African states which have chosen to become associated by treaty with the European Economic Community (E.E.C.) or Common Market, and the 16 independent African states which have either rejected such an association or—as with Egypt, Ethiopia, Liberia, Libya, South Africa, and the Sudan—were never offered the possibility of becoming associated.

Numerous writers—ethnologists, linguists, educators, and lately literary critics and African creative writers themselves—have called attention to the problems of communication either from African to European or vice versa. The problems range from purely linguistic inequivalence in literal translations to the inequivalence between words and their referents in the cultures described, and further to the manifold difficulties of educators or writers wishing to develop successful communication between themselves and their audiences.

It is commonly claimed by critics both within Nigeria and outside that, while the present Government preaches political non-alignment, it does not practise it, and indeed cannot because of Nigeria's economic alignment with the west. The present article seeks to assess the validity of this thesis. Three separate propositions are involved: first, that Nigeria professes but does not pursue a policy of non-alignment; secondly, that Nigeria is economically tied to the west; and finally, and most important, that there is a causal connexion between the two.