To those who peer into the shadows beneath the dazzling peaks of media-lit summitry, the shape of America's projected post (Vietnam) war foreign policy is becoming discernible. Thoroughly nationalist and pragmatic, it stresses advantage and comity in relations with other major powers — whether politico-military (China and the Soviet Union) or economic (Western Europe and Japan). Coonskin zealotry having given way to cost-benefit real-politik, military withdrawal from Southeast Asia is being accompanied by strategic retrenchment. From Guam and Micronesia in the Pacific, to Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean, to Bahrain in the Persian Gulf, to the Azores in the Atlantic, American air and sea power is taking on an insular “low profile” — while maintaining a long reach. At the same time, domestic postwar introversion threatens a further decline in already minimal American concern for the fate of the world's relatively powerless and economically disadvantaged.

In early October 1967, four months into the Nigerian Civil War, federal troops massacred hundreds in Asaba, a town in southeast Nigeria on the west bank of the Niger. While ethnically Igbo, Asaba was not part of Igbo-dominated Biafra. Through the reconstruction of this event, the article fills a significant gap in the historical record and contributes to the discussion on the impact of traumatic memory at the local and national levels. It also suggests that the Asaba massacres speak to larger issues of potential reconciliation that extend beyond Asaba and Nigeria.

This essay examines the history of the African Studies Association's engagement with the debates, concerns, and issues that have generated both tensions and creative energy within the association since its founding in 1948. The author argues that in the future, the association must maintain its preeminent role in fostering scholarly exchange, but that the association must also seek to engage in a much more active dialogue with the policy world; it must address issues of concern to academics in Africa, and it must work to encourage greater interest in Africa within and outside the academy.

For the mission-educated men and women known as “New Africans” in segregationist South Africa, the pleasures and challenges of courtship and marriage were not only experienced privately. New Africans also broadcast marital narratives as political discourses of race-making and nation-building. Through close readings of neglected press sources and memoirs, this article examines this political interpolation of private life in public culture. Women’s writing about the politics of marriage provides a lens onto theorizations of their personal and political ideals in the 1930s and 1940s, a period in which the role of women in nationalist public culture has generally been dismissed as marginal by scholars.

In this paper an attempt will be made to provide answers to the following questions: (1) What was the pattern of political values held by members of the Zambian elite soon after independence? (2) How did these values develop out of the experiences of elite members during the struggle for independence? (3) How have the events of subsequent post-independence years influenced these elite values, and specifically, what is the relationship between earlier elite values and the ideology of “Zambian Humanism” which has only recently been articulated in a systematic way? (4) What have been the consequences for the Zambian political system of the interaction among elite values, ideology, and problems of exercising power? The answers given to these questions will be more meaningful and more easily understood if we first present briefly a theoretical framework which includes definitions of the principal concepts employed in the paper and a discussion of the interrelations among them.

The link between resource scarcity and group demands is apparent to many observers. Thus, David Easton (1957: 387) remarks: “The reason why a political system emerges in a society at all … is that demands are being made by persons or groups in the society that cannot all be fully satisfied. In all societies one fact dominates political life: scarcity prevails with regard to most of the valued things.” In modern Ghana, not only are desired resources in short supply generally, but the inherited subregional inequalities add a further dimension to collective demands for the allocation of goods and services by central government authorities. Longstanding subregional inequalities in amenities and services heighten and complicate competition over scarce resources. The resulting demands on the part of the relatively disadvantaged subregions therefore emerge as a dynamic aspect in the process of determining public policy.

This article investigates issues of identity construction and public memorialization in postapartheid South Africa. It focuses on the Sunday Times Heritage Project, a unique private-sector initiative that involved the installation of thirty memorials throughout the country between 2006 and 2008. The article discusses the conceptualization and implementation of the project, pointing out important differences between this private initiative and the state-directed heritage effort. By interrogating the nexus between race, space, and memory in the construction of memorials, the article highlights the significance of placement and location in the formation of new identity discourses.

In the context of shifting global geographies of labor and political volatility, Nigerian migrant associations play a significant role in organizing diasporic life. Yet, far from being a culturally static feature, Igbo Nigerian associations emerge through diasporic agitations, or dynamic mobilizations around particular events, crises, and projects that deliberately engage the postcolonial state. Lu first reconsiders the significance of 1970s post-civil war reconstruction in southeastern Nigeria before tracing subsequent transformations in flexible diasporic organizations within Global South locations such as China and Dubai. These agile and multi-scalar diasporic mobilizations enable their members to negotiate the nexus of postcolonial politics and transnational capitalism.

Most contemporary historians of the colonial period in Kenya emphasize the importance of the state. The colonial state, it is argued, ensures the conditions of settler capitalism, provides the infrastructure of transport, credit, marketing and agricultural research, creates by administrative action a supply of African labor, and generally ensures the interests of settler capital against those of an emerging African class of landed capital (Brett, 1973; Leys, 1975; Swainson, 1980). Equally, the theme of tension between the colonial and metropolitan states is a classic one in colonial history, and one which in much of the Kenya debate is seen as refracting tensions and conflicts between the interests of settler capital and the interests of international capital (Swainson, 1980; Cowen, 1982). Yet, despite this emphasis on the colonial state, very little discussion of its distinctive political features has occurred. The economic functions of the colonial state are stressed to the exclusion of questions about the basis of its legitimacy, of its citizenship principles and of its authority. Gavin Kitching (1985) recently pointed out that we have no really adequate theory of the post-colonial state. We are constrained instead to making negative statements to the effect that it is not simply the agency of one particular class force in Kenya, nor is it a unified force but die site of contending and fractured forces. The argument could well be extended to the colonial state.

Probably no two of the scholarly works punctuating the past quarter century better exemplify the intellectual voyage that Africanist political scientists have taken than do Thomas Hodgkin's pioneering classic, Nationalism in Colonial Africa (1956), and Crawford Young's recent admirable comparative study of political economy in Ideology and Development in Africa (1982). These two broadly comparative works reflect the major shift from the study of the processes of African self-assertion and decolonization–the quest for and acquisition of state power–which characterized the concerns of the first decade of that period, to the study of how that power is maintained and in whose interest and with what effectiveness it is exercised, foci which have increasingly become the preoccupations of the last decade.

The intention here is to examine some of the features of this intellectual trek–from first generation conventional studies of nationalism, elections, and constitutions to the current preoccupation with the state, class, and political economy–not by a travelogue of the journey, but by focusing upon an enduring issue, namely, the antinomy of universalism vs. relativism. The antinomy exists at two levels. The first is that of the individual scholarly endeavor and product; namely, does the product reflect (a) a generalizing and scientific mode of inquiry in which the scholar's intent and perspective is to identify uniformities and regularities–as well as differences–through systematic comparison? In short, is it nomothetic? Or is it (b), a mode that is idiographic, i.e., that aims to describe and to understand a phenomenon in all its configurative, situational, and cultural-historical particularity and uniqueness? The antinomy at the second and obviously related level concerns the conceptualization of the discipline by a particular set of practitioners as either (a) a social scientific endeavor aimed at generalization and universality, or (b) an intellectual vocation which is essentially descriptive and interpretive of political phenomena that are inherently historically and culturally relative to a particular human group or situation (cf. Fallers, 1968: 576; Pye, 1975: 6).

This article is a tentative incursion into the making and workings of collective memory in the recent Nigerian elections. The crisis of memory—construction, distortion, exploitation, and suppression—is evident in the Nigerian “transmutation” process—the perpetuation in power, through civilianization, of a military regime. The term “transmutation” is used here to convey the sense of a political mutation, a process of uncertain nature or progeny, certainly a transition, but one emanating from an unlikely parentage, a brutal and militarized past.

Madagascar is often cited as an example of a country with a long history of local institutional strength and stalwart community participation in the decision-making process. This article explores the crisis of community life in southern Madagascar, particularly the changed nature of community involvement. Associational life is in decline—a result not only of challenging economic conditions, but also of eroded social norms, as the rule-making institutions of the past have been replaced by the loose guidelines of the present. This situation, which has the potential of exacerbating economic problems, is also likely to have grievous political and ecological consequences.

The subject of colonialism is still imbued with emotive overtones, and it is perhaps too early to expect complete agreement in the description and evaluation of the impact of colonial rule on Africa. This article utilizes an important indicator of government activity, public expenditure decisions, to aid in describing the nature of British rule in the Gold Coast from 1901 to 1939. The intention is twofold: first, to check the validity of certain propositions about British colonialism and, second, to investigate how well the apparent uniqueness of one particular Governor, F. Gorgon Guggisberg (1919-1927), is supported by this information source.

The descriptive strengths of government expenditure data are readily apparent. Expenditure is quantified and thus fairly comparable both over time and cross-nationally. Moreover, expenditure provides an empirical measure of nearly the entire range of government activities. Consequently, changes in governmental goals might be expected to be reflected in expenditure allocations.

There are, however, several problems which may impair the usefulness of government expenditure as a descriptive tool. First, every government, even the wealthiest, must operate within the constraints placed on it by the size of the revenue and, more fundamentally, the structure of the national economy. Strongly desired programs may, therefore, languish because of a shortage of funds. As is the case elsewhere in the social world, objective acts are often imperfect measures of subjective motivations. Second, the distribution of funds among various sectors is not always amenable to rapid restructuring, so that a change in goals may be sluggishly reflected in government expenditure.

Although philosophers do not accept that education has intrinsic values or that it serves instrumental ends (Dewey, 1966; Peters, 1967; Gribble, 1969), most people would readily agree that it can be put to several uses and that it fulfills diverse functions. If by education we mean the aggregate of skills, values, knowledge, and attitudes necessary for the self-perpetuation of a society, it is easy to see its instrumental extensions, philosophers notwithstanding. Hence in every society that we know of today—under whatever form of government—much faith is placed on education as a panacea of all social evils. One of the tasks that education has been assigned in Africa is to forge national consciousness out of a myriad of ethnic particularities. From all indications, it has not been a success.

Statistical studies of the relationship between formal education and political integration in Africa have generally painted a grim picture. In their study of six nations—involving university students from Ethiopia, Ghana, Nigeria, Senegal, Uganda, and Zaire (then the Congo)—Klineberg and Zavalloni (1965) found that national consciousness was very low, particularly in Nigeria. To the question “What are you?” 56 percent of the Igbos and 60 percent of the Yorubas replied in terms of ethnic references. The Yorubas disliked the Igbos more than the Igbos disliked them (74 percent Yorubas as opposed to 59 percent Igbos), and a Yoruba in Nigeria felt closer to a Yoruba in Benin (then Dahomey) than to a non-Yoruba in Nigeria.

In December, 1980, John Block, the Illinois farmer selected by Ronald Reagan as his new Secretary of Agriculture, told reporters: “I believe food is the greatest weapon we have for keeping peace in the world.” Mr. Block envisioned America shipping its agricultural surpluses to hungry nations in return for “more stability in the world.”

Africa is the second largest continent in the world. Partitioned into what is now fiftyone or more territorial units at the Berlin Conference of 1884-85, the continent presently has the largest number of states represented at the United Nations. This numerical strength has advantages and disadvantages for Africans. It is advantageous because it gives Africa greater visibility in the international voting process. It is disadvantageous because it turns this vast continent into a highly fragmented sector of the international community. Yet Africa's size and fragmentation have great significance for Africanists because together these factors make the continent a major laboratory for research on human society. Africa's numerous political and socio-economic units provide many examples of political and social engineering for students of underdeveloped world societies.

My presidential address tonight deals with Africa and its role and position in world history between two ages. The two ages addressed are the ancient/medieval and the modern/contemporary. As a historian, I see ancient African history as going back to the appearance of Homo Sapiens whose origins are now conclusively identified with East Africa. In tracing the historical past of Africa, I do not wish to travel so far back as to link up with those early Homo Sapiens, rather I wish to go only as far back on the world continuum as ancient Egypt to show in time how this magnificent civilization served as the birthplace of many cultural ideas that later travelled in all directions from the Nile Valley.

The growth of Johannesburg is synonymous with that of South Africa's gold mining industry and the expansion of the metropolitan area from a ramshackle collection of huts to one of the continent's major urban concentrations attests to the impact of visions quickly accumulated wealth on patterns of human movement. This is particularly true of the city's early white community, the prospectors and later the purveyors of capital and mining technology, to whom the imminent possibility of riches compensated for the rigors of existence on the geographically featureless Witwatersrand. Yet similar imaginings of affluence also partially explain the historic drift of blacks to “N'goli” (the city of gold) where today they constitute the overwhelming majority of its population. The opening of the gold reefs in 1884 brought unprecedented wealth to white South Africa (if not to the legions of black labor responsible for the precious metal's extraction). At the same time the discovery of gold set in motion the process of black urbanization of which Johannesburg is the epitome. By 1896 approximately half of the fledgling town's population were blacks seeking refuge in mine wage labor from growing poverty in the country areas and by 1913, with rural dispossesion aggravated by the Natives Land Act, an irreversible momentum was set in motion. Twelve years after the striking of the first successful claims Johannesburg's population of 102,000 was roughly divided between black and white (Lewis, 1966: 3). A mere 80 years later, despite the barriers to black urban influx institutionalized by successive white governments, the racial distribution of population was of the order of 3 to 1 with blacks the predominant element of the ratio.

Recent studies of development in Africa reflect the broad ideological gulf between the perspectives of classical capitalist developmentalists and neo-Marxist dependency theorists. In the capitalist view, development is seen as a problem of modernization (i.e., westernization). Marxists, on the other hand, perceive the underdevelopment of the third world as a product of western development and the emergence of the world capitalist system. In an effort to inject an empirical element into this ideological debate several analysts have undertaken comparative examinations of the merits of the alternative approaches (Kaufman et al., 1975; McGowan, 1975; 1976; Vengroff, 1975; 1976; Walleri, 1975; Stallings, 1973; Chase-Dunn, 1975).

A general examination of the relative merits of the developmental and dependency approaches is beyond the scope of this brief paper. Here die author will attempt to assess the utility of these conflicting approaches as explanations of the particular phenomenon of domestic inequality in black Africa. The question of domestic inequality and development in Africa has unfortunately received only limited empirical consideration (Vengroff, 1976) and then usually from a national rather than a cross-national perspective (Leys, 1973; Harris, 1975).

Proponents of capitalist theory suggest that inequality is a natural, short run outcome of the development process. As the level of development increases, there is a broad expansion of the middle class, and hence a decline in inequality (Adelman and Morris, 1973; Paukert, 1973).