The term ‘New International Economic Order’ – often referred to as N.I.E.O. – suggests two immediate thoughts: the first is related to ‘New’ and the second emphasises ‘Order’.

The New Versus The Old International Economic Order

If there is to be a new order, then presumably it must be contrasted with an old order, an O.I.E.O., namely the Bretton Woods system which was established at the end of World War II as a result of Anglo-American negotiations, with an absorbing interplay between the intellect of Keynes, subtly representing British interests, coming up against the hard facts of U.S. power and economic supremacy.

The South African commitment to racial separation is well-known. The deep historic roots of apartheid, the religious fervour with which it is justified by its proponents, and the rapidly growing weight of criticism by which it is condemned throughout the world have served to make it a familiar ideology and policy. Less well-known is the extent to which separation in a relatively superficial, transient context – in stores, theatres, parks, some hotels and restaurants – has been eroded in recent years. Least familiar, despite the substantial propaganda of apologists for the system, is the transmutation of the negative commitment to apartheid into an affirmative effort to foster and guide what the Government labels ‘separate development’. One of the most significant achievements thus far of this policy was the birth on 26 October 1976 of Transkei, presented to a doubting world by its South African parent as a sovereign, independent nation in which its African citizens could work out their destiny, just as the dominant white population of the Republic of South Africa assert an entitlement to realise their own.

Africa has become more reliant – not less – on exports of primary products and raw materials and on imports of finished and semifinished goods since independence… the fact that Africa's role in the world economy has undergone a relative decline at the same time as dependence on foreign markets, goods and capital has experienced an absolute increase is evidence that the gap between Africa and the industrialised world is growing, despite the ambitious efforts of African states to close it.1

Relations between the United States of America and Africa have important historical, economic, and political dimensions which are by no means confined to the United Nations. The historical ties predate the creation of international organisations, but it was the emergence of the United Nations from the ashes of World War II that provided the greatest opportunity for close bonds by creating an institutional framework within which the common goals and interests of Americans and Africans could be pursued.

There is a well-known story that is regularly acted out in many countries of the world. An individual suddenly wins a large fortune – from a lottery or horse race – and is catapulted from rags to riches. After a few years of dissipation, the money has been squandered, the physical and mental health of the nouveau riche broken, and the glorious future of unlimited possibilities constricted into a bleak vista of regret and recrimination. At the moment of exhilaration, what the person concerned – understandably enough – failed to recognise was that the danger such sudden wealth represented was no less great than the dazzling promise.

This article discusses some of the issues involved in the choice of technology in developing countries, especially those in Africa, and the relationship of this to employment and output. The problem is to find an optimum combination of productive resources that comes nearest to satisfying two objectives: the full and economically efficient utilisation of such resources, and the creation of as much surplus as possible over current consumption, thereby making possible new investment and long-term growth.

Niccolo Machiavelli and Frantz Fanon are in the tradition of political philosophy. Do they not address themselves to the notion of freedom, the concept of legitimacy, and the moral basis of political action? This article will further argue that there exists a notable correspondence of thought between them.

The political thought of Machiavelli enjoys ubiquitous fame. Its pristine vigour is attested to by the fact that, through the past four and a half centuries, dictators and democrats have embraced its values.1 Yet there is no patent contradiction in this if one realises that Machiavelli deals compellingly with what is while not rejecting what ultimately ought to be; his prince is a sort of political Everyman concerned with realising the kingdom of earth.

From the late 1950s until the present day the territories, colonies, and later the new states of English-speaking Africa have been engaged in a continuing effort to develop their own national constitutions. It has been an attempt to capture in written form the government structures and political systems which would best express their political will and guide them through the difficult early years of independence.

National governments, politicians, policy-makers, and planners have become increasingly concerned with the manner in which human populations have been distributed among the component parts of many nations in the Third World, and especially with the three key processes of mobility, fertility, and mortality. As alterations in birth and death rates tend to have far stronger national than regional components, and as such changes can only affect relative population distribution over a very long period of time – in the absence of catastrophic wars and famines – the regulation or influencing of migration is the most effective way of changing the distribution of people between regions or between rural and urban sectors. Such alterations may be seen as desirable for a variety of reasons, including the need to overcome present (or future) imbalances between the distribution of population and resources, and to assist in the implementation of certain national socio-economic goals.1

‘The events of recent years have brought out the conflicts that can arise between the continuing pressures for political independence and the inescapable truths of economic interdependence in the modern world’. – Recent words from the horse's mouth, to wit the British– North American Committee, consisting of some 100 leading industrialists of the western world who view with alarm the strong desire on the part of the emerging nations to exercise ever-greater control over their own mineral resources. In a concise report, they sternly remind the governments of developing countries of the dire consequences of the hostile attitude to foreign investors as expressed in demands for higher taxes, more local participation, and – Heaven forbid – nationalisation.1

Mon travail c'est pour former et encadrer la jeunesse dans le bon chemin et dans la fidélité au Guide; à l'attachement inconditionnel au PrésidentFondateur. Pour leur apprendre à être responsable, être productif. Pour leur préparer à leur vie future comme l'élite du pays. – a J.M.P.R. leader1

Observers have been intrigued by the relationship which has developed between the United Nations and Africa, a continent that now houses one-third of the membership of the world institution. Investigators have been seduced by subjects such as African frustration with the world organisation,1 African cohesion on Assembly roll-calls,2 African co-operation with Latin America in New York,3 or the impact of Mother Africa's offspring upon the United Nations.4 A few authors have sensed the magnitude of the impact which the world organisation has had upon the continent5, and several have detailed discrete instances of what has happened. What we have not seen is a general assessment of this impact with supporting data. My aim is to fill this gap in the literature, and to determine to what extent the existence of the United Nations has made a difference for Africa.

For some time, the general enthusiasm for viewing organisations as ‘open systems’ subject to a wide number of influences has had something of a hollow ring. This is shown by the way in which many scholars continue to concentrate their attention on certain selected parts of an organisation and its environment, and to ignore others.1 In 1970 this tendency was described as follows:

For better or worse, Africa is coming of age. The golden epoch of high hopes for pan-African co-operation and unity has passed. In its place is coming a new era of confrontation, ideological conflict and even ‘African imperialism’ that threatens everything pan-Africanists believed in and were crusading for… at the dawn of [the] continent's independence from colonial rule. The change in the nature of pan-African politics from lofty idealism to hard-nosed realpolitik is nowhere more evident than in the present paralysis of the Organisation of African Unity. The Angolan crisis and now the Spanish Sahara dispute have laid bare the new realities of the African continent in a revealing and even devastating manner. – The Montreal Star, 16 March 1976.

International political considerations are now an integral part of the fabric of the emerging African state systems. As national governments struggle with the complex problems of institution-building and economic development, they are increasingly obliged to look beyond their existing territorial boundaries. At the same time, it is not unusual to find that the economic, political, and bureaucratic interests of various expatriate government or inter-state actors are being pursued in the context of African development initiatives.

Kenya has a bad image among those who see themselves as ‘friends of the people’, who for many years must have thought of it as the land where it is always 1788. But although some years ago we were informed by a reliable authority that ‘Africa is ripe for revolution’, in Kenya up till now – though who dares predict what will be in the newspapers tomorrow? – it is still not 1789: the revolution has not arrived.

The exchange rates of several African countries have historically been specified as units of certain ‘master currencies’ of former imperial powers, notably the pound sterling and the French and Belgian francs. The fact that these countries might notionally be said to have belonged to ‘common currency areas’, the Sterling Area and the French and Belgian franc zones, has variously been commended and criticised. To some observers, the break-up of such monetary groupings, following the establishment of national currencies by some African governments shortly after independence, was a retrograde step. This process had offered no alternative basis for rationalising regional monetary and economic co-operation. Others have emphasised the limitations under such arrangements as regards national freedom of initiative in managing exchange rates – even though they would accept that some restrictions may not be inconsistent with the logic of common currency arrangements.

Tanzania differs from many countries in the Third World in that it does not have a fully fledged national bourgeoisie. The class that led the nationalist movement, the petty bourgeoisie, captured the fruits of the drive towards political independence. The upper stratum transformed itself into a bureaucratic bourgeoisie and used the state apparatus against its local rivals, initially the commercial bourgeoisie. But owing to a weak material base rooted outside the local economy, the former has been unable to direct effectively the process of accumulation and economic reproduction. Thus, while the governing class of Tanzania is comprised of African politicians and civil servants, the ruling class is the international bourgeoisie.1

It is now generally acknowledged that Tanzania's policy of rural collectivisation has been abandoned as a failure. By most accounts, systematic efforts to bring about collective production ceased altogether during 1975 and may have halted, informally, as early as the end of 1974. According to the Villages and Ujamaa Villages Act of 1975, one or another form of block farming is considered sufficient for a village to become officially identified as an ujamaa village. Thus, ujamaa as a concept once intended to convey a social ideal of collective ownership, labour, and sharing is reduced to describing a state of affairs in which individual farming is intermittently supplemented by occasional cooperation in such tasks as planting and harvesting. Villagisation without socialism is, in effect, the current policy.

Botswana, Lesotho, and Swaziland are among very few countries which, in recent times, have for an extended period and without formal agreement used another national currency as their domestic circulating medium and legal tender. After many years of being de facto part of a larger monetary area using the South African currency, in 1972 the three smaller countries jointly initiated negotiations with Pretoria which led to the creation of an officially recognised Rand Monetary Area in December 1974. Thereafter they chose different arrangemènts which span the spectrum between continued integration with and separation from the monetary system of South Africa. The experiences of these countries, while of interest in themselves, may also be relevant to other governments with dependent currency systems which face similar options.