Colonialism and Change: Essays presented to Lucy Mair 9783110812633, 9789027931870

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Colonialism and Change

Studies in Anthropology 4

MOUTON PUBLISHERS · THE HAGUE · PARIS · NEW YORK

Colonialism and change Essays presented to Lucy Μ air

Edited by

MAXWELL OWUSU University of Michigan Foreword by

MEYER FORTES King's College, Cambridge

MOUTON PUBLISHERS · THE HAGUE · PARIS · NEW YORK

ISBN: 9 0 279 3187 9 Fiist edition, second printing 1979 © 1975, Mouton Publishers, The Hague Printed in the Netherlands

Dr. L U C Y Μ A1R

Editor s Preface

The editor would like to express his heartfelt thanks to all those who have in some way made this volume possible, including the many who readily and eagerly accepted the invitation to contribute essays but whose contributions regretfully had to be left out either because they could not meet the deadlines of the editor and the press or because of limited space. (One contributor withdrew his paper at the last minute on the grounds that it seemed out of place in a collection entitled Colonialism and Change.) New deadlines would, in the opinion of the editor, have delayed publication, already late, almost indefinitely. The editor is particularly indebted to Mrs. Carolyn Larsen for her generous and expert assistance in re-typing and proof-reading the final drafts; to Mrs. Alberta Curley for helping with the figures; and to Miss Jo Frederick, a Graduate Assistant, for valuable aid with references. Finally, I wish to express on behalf of the contributors and myself our gratitude to Dr. Lita Osmundsen, Director of Research personally, and the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, for a generous grant-in-aid which made the publication of this volume possible at a very difficult period of worldwide economic inflation/recession. M. O. Sacramento, California March, 1972

Contents

Editor's Preface

5

Meyer Fortes (King's College, Cambridge) Foreword

9

Notes on Contributors

15

Maxwell Owusu (University of Michigan) Introduction

17

Maxwell Owusu (University of Michigan) Comparative Politics, History, and Political Anthropology

25

Onigu Otite (University of Ibadan) Encapsulated Political Systems

67

Peter Gutkind(McGill University) Are the Poor Politically Dangerous? Some Thoughts on Urbanism, Urbanites, and Political Consciousness

85

Joan Vincent (Columbia University) Room for Manoeuvre: The Political Role of Small Towns in East Africa

115

George Bond (Columbia University) Minor Prophets and Yombe Cultural Dynamics

145

8

CONTENTS

G. Κ. Nukunya (University of Ghana) The Family and Social Change

163

James L. Brain (State University of New York College, New Paltz) Witchcraft in Africa: A Hardy Perennial

179

Aidan Southall (University of Wisconsin) From Segmentary Lineage to Ethnic Association — Luo, Luhya, Ibo, and Others

203

Samuel A. Aluko (University of Ife) Rural Economic Development

231

Selected Bibliography of Lucy Mair

255

Name Index Subject Index

258 261

Foreword For Professor Lucy Μair A Tribute of Friendship

MEYER

FORTES

I first met Lucy Mair in 1930 or 1931, when I occasionally sat in on Malinowski's seminars at the London School of Economics. But we did not become fully acquainted until I turned seriously to social anthropology and became a regular member of Malinowski's and Seligman's seminars. Malinowski's charisma was at its height and the group of research students gathered around him included such future anthropologists of note as S. F. Nadel, Godfrey Wilson, J. Obrebski, and Gunther Wagner, all, alas, no longer with us, as well as Margaret Read, Monica Wilson, Hilda Kuper, S. Hofstra, P. Kirchhoff, and K. Oberg. From time to time visiting anthropologists on their way to or from the field joined us; and Raymond Firth and Audrey Richards were, like Lucy Mair, also present in their capacity as members of the teaching staff. It was, to say the least, a lively seminar, with plenty of disputation, fanned by Malinowski himself, and invariably followed by extramural recapitulation and analysis in a nearby pub or cafe. Lucy Mair had just got back from her first field trip to Uganda and we had long talks about Uganda social and political organization. Officially she was supposed to be teaching and researching in what was called Colonial Administration; but her field work in Uganda seemed to me to be straight social anthropology, as we were becoming acquainted with that discipline. Her book on the Baganda, technically superseded as it was in depth by her later research, seems to me to foreshadow clearly the approach to, and the style of dealing with her data, that have characterized the whole of her scholarly output. Indeed, as I look back, I am emboldened to say that they were constantly in evidence in seminars and

10

MEYER FORTES

other discussions and it is obvious that they were — and continue to be — fundamentally shaped by her African experience. For, apart from her survey of the New Guinea native administration under the Australian mandate shortly after the last war, Dr. Mair's research activities and scholarly interests have been concentrated on Africa for the past forty years. In pursuing them she has worked and travelled in all of the former British colonial territories and is also well acquainted with the ethnography and the social and administrative affairs of the former French and Belgian African colonies. Backed by an encyclopaedic command of the literature, theoretical as well as descriptive and historical, this has led Dr. Mair to an approach not usually associated with the functionalist method. Her intensive studies have almost invariably served as the springboard for the comparative enquiries and the concern with general principles that a wide professional public has become familiar with through her publications of the past ten years or so. Specialists in African sociology, government, and administration during the colonial period and since, have long been indebted to her for judicious and comprehensive surveys of the data available and the theories current on major topics within their field. Her contribution to the famous African Survey in which she collaborated closely with Lord Hailey are well known. For my part, I regard her masterly comparative analysis of African Marriage and Social Change in the book Survey of African Marriage and Family Life, edited by Arthur Phillips (first published in 1953) as one of the most outstanding contributions of our period to the elucidation of this thorny subject. It is marked not only by the rigorous examination of facts which is characteristic of Dr. Mair's approach but by the blend of concern for the human issues and impatience with biased interpretation that arc equally characteristic of all her writings on applied anthropology. It should be remembered that Dr. Mair's professional compass has never been limited to the subject matter conventionally associated with social anthropology. The study of colonial administration in all its aspects, from the level of the tribal " b u s h " village to that of policy-making central institutions, has been a major concern of hers. The merging of this interest with her anthropological interests led to the development of the pattern of applied anthropology Dr. Mair established at the London School of Economics. As taught by her and practised by the research students under her direction, the keynote of applied anthropology was its basis in field research. What has chiefly interested her about colonial administration has been to see its institutions and agents in action, in villages, in courts of law,

Foreword

11

tax offices and so on. When the new political movements arose in the early years of self-government in the ex-colonies, she went to see them in action, at local political meetings as well as in the corridors of central power. Her book on New Nations reflects this approach to modern political developments in the "Third World". In colonial days, this pattern of research in ex-colonial territories required, in the first place, a knowledge of the political and social institutions of the indigenous society, ideally as it was before the arrival of the colonial government. It required, likewise, a knowledge of the structure and modes of operation of the colonial governmental institutions, as they impinged on the indigenous society. The task then was to analyze the changes that had taken place in the indigenous social system in response to the influences and pressures of colonial rule. Anthropological field techniques and theory have provided the key to the research procedures followed by Dr. Mair in working towards these objectives. Thus, applied anthropology, in her hands, became primarily the anthropology and sociology of social change in Africa, that is to say, a source of information and interpretation of what was happening, for example, as a result of the establishment of Indirect Rule or of experiments in creating local authorities on the British pattern, rather than of precepts or plans for arriving at policy decisions. Dr. Mair has, in various places, considered the functions an applied social science can honestly fulfil in relation to the policy objectives of a government and its administrative agents, whether in a colonial context or in that of a sovereign state. She is on the side of those of us who would like to see a strict distinction respected between advisory and investigatory functions and also believe that anthropologists as such are not qualified or bound to take on the former role. They might attempt to forecast what could be the outcome of particular measures or even of general principles in a given society at a particular stage of its history, provided the observational, statistical, and other data are at hand. But that is as far as they can be expected to go in their professional capacity, within the framework of their discipline. Anthropological detachment is essential but it need not of course imply the abandonment of personal ethical and moral values. There are other avenues than those of their trade for anthropologists to promote ethical and moral ends they hold dear. But without knowledge and understanding of the facts it would be difficult to take sensible or even humane action in this regard. It is in this spirit, I believe, that Dr. Mair has over the years guided the research of students who have worked under her direction, amongst them the contributors to the present volume.

12

MEYER FORTES

I referred, earlier, to Dr. Mair's style of dealing with anthropological and other scholarly material. For me the outstanding quality of Dr. Mair's style of work is the way she is able to put complex arguments into plain language without loss of technical point or sacrifice of scholarly precision. This ability to clarify is as evident in the short book reviews as in her papers on subjects like land tenure, marriage, chieftainship and clientship in East Africa, as well as in her books on Primitive Government, New Nations, Witchcraft, etc. Her short book on Australia in New Guinea (1948) is an object lesson in the application of an anthropological approach to a postwar colonial problem. Dr. Mair succeeds in extracting order from a miscellany of historical, geographical, ethnographical, and administrative material, which looks superficially quite higgedy-piggedy. Not that she is unable or unwilling to hit hard on occasion. The most generous of critics, and always ready to consider things from other people's points of view, she nonetheless makes no concessions to sloppy thinking or to misrepresentation of facts and arguments or to polemical bias in matters of scholarship. Speaking personally, I would rather be guided by Dr. Mair's judgment where my own work, or that of others, is concerned, than by the opinions of many more widely publicized colleagues of our generation. Like most British anthropologists of our generation, Dr. Mair came into anthropology by a side door, so to speak, after a brilliant undergraduate record in Classics at Cambridge. One of her teachers was Francis Cornford who, with Jane Harrison and Gilbert Murray, revolutionalized the study of Greek culture and philosophy in the nineteentwenties by drawing on the anthropological and sociological theories of that time. It would be easy to attribute Dr. Mair's style of thought and of work to this background. But I doubt if this is appropriate. After all it was Malinowski who persuaded her to take up anthropology; and it was the intellectual and social climate of the London School of Economics in the thirties that fostered his and his students' commitment to this, at that time, academically underprivileged branch of human science. These essays by former students of hers, brought together in the present volume, are a tribute to Dr. Mair's contributions to the growth of these studies at the L.S.E., and to the international fame gained by them in the past thirty years. Looking back over the years of our friendship, I can recollect no time when Lucy Mair was anthropologically inactive. In addition to her teaching and research work she has served on the Council of the Royal Anthropological Institute and was one of the founding members and at one time Secretary of the Association of Social Anthropologists of the

Foreword

13

British Commonwealth. It is inspiring to see her vigor unabated. The series of synoptic books she has brought out over the past dozen years have proved to be a boon to students. They show her to be at the top of her form. Long may this last. We offer these essays to her with affection and admiration. University of Cambridge, Cambridge, England February, 1972

Notes on Contributors

SAMUEL A. ALUKO Μ.Sc. (Economics) 1957; Ph.D. (Economics) 1959, London School of Economics and Political Science. Professor and Head, Department of Economics, University of Ife, Nigeria. GEORGE BOND B.A., Boston University 1959; M.A. University of London 1962; Ph.D., University of London 1968. Associate Professor of Anthropology, Columbia University. JAMES BRAIN Ph.D., Syracuse, 1968; Associate Professor of Anthropology, State University of New York College, New Paltz. MEYER FORTES M.A., Capetown; Ph.D., London School of Economics and Political Science. William Wyse Professor of Social Anthropology and Fellow of King's College, Cambridge. Fellow of the British Academy. PETER C. W. G U T K I N D M.A., University of Chicago, 1952; Ph.D., University of Amsterdam, 1963. Professor of Anthropology, McGill University, Montreal, Canada. 1970-71 Visiting Professor, Department of Sociology, Uni/ersity of Ibadan, Nigeria. Fellow of the East African Institute of Social Research, 1953-55, 1956-58. G. K. NUKUNYA B. A. (Hons) Sociology, University College of Ghana, 1961; Ph.D., London School of Economics and Political Science, 1964. Lecturer in Sociology, University of Ghana, Legon, since

16

Notes on Contributors

1964. Visiting Assistant Professor, Department of Anthropology and African Studies Center, Michigan State University, East Lansing, Michigan 1967-68; Visiting Research Fellow, St. John's College, Cambridge, England, 1971-72. ONIGU OTITE B.A. (Hons) Sociology, University of Nigeria, Nsukka, 1963; Ph.D. (London), 1969. Lecturer in Sociology, University of Ibadan, Nigeria. Secretary, the Nigerian Anthropological and Sociological Association. 1963-65 Government Administrative Officer, Midwestern State of Nigeria. MAXWELL OWUSU B.Sc. (Hons) Sociology, London School of Economics and Political Science, 1963; Post-Graduate Studies, Harvard University, 1963-64; M.A., 1966; Ph.D. (Anthropology), University of Chicago, 1968. Associate Professor of Anthropology, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, since 1973. Research Associate, Center for Research on Economic Development, University of Michigan. Associate Professor of Anthropology, California State University, Sacramento, California, 1970-73. Associate Editor, African Studies Review. Fellow, Committee for Comparative Study of New Nations, University of Chicago, 1965-66. AIDAN SOUTH ALL B.A., Cambridge, 1942; Ph.D., London, 1952. Professor of Anthropology, University of Wisconsin, Madison, since 1969. Professor of Anthropology, Syracuse University, 1964-69. Professor of Sociology and Social Anthropology, Makerere University College (University of East Africa); Chairman, East African Institute of Social Research, 1957-64. JOAN VINCENT B.Sc. (Econ), London School of Economics and Political Science; M.A., University of Chicago; Ph.D., Columbia University, 1968. Associate Professor of Anthropology, Barnard College, Columbia University, since 1973. Lecturer in Political Sociology, Makerere University College, 1966-67. Fellow, East African Institute of Social Research, 1966-67.

Introduction

MAXWELL

OWUSU

The conception and the actual birth of a Festschrift for truly outstanding scholars and teachers by their students, colleagues, and friends is nothing new. All the same, I am encouraged by the fact that it has been possible, in spite of exciting problems, most of them unanticipated, for me to initiate and successfully carry through an enterprise traditionally reserved for older, and well established European social scientists. In the preface to his much-quoted book, Facing Mount Kenya, written about thirty-five years ago under the supervision of Malinowski, Lucy Mair's teacher, Jomo Kenyatta observes rather woefully: "In the present work I have tried my best to record facts as I know them, mainly through a life time of personal experience, and I have kept under very considerable restraint the sense of political grievances which no progressive African can fail to experience. ,, He continues, more hopefully: "I could not do justice to the subject without offending those 'professional friends of the African' who are prepared to maintain their friendship for eternity as a sacred duty, provided only that the African will continue to play the part of an ignorant savage so that they can monopolise the office of interpreting his mind and speaking for him... [The African's] power of expression has been hampered, but it is breaking through, and will soon sweep away the patronage and repression which surrounds him" (my emphasis). Jomo Kenyatta was writing in the good old colonial days when indigenous African social (natural) scientists were a rarity and when the very few who were present had often been forced by the colonial situation to play subordinate intellectual roles to Europeans. Even today foreign scholars still dominate African studies, but the picture has changed

18

MAXWELL OWUSU

considerably since the 1930's and will continue to change at an even faster rate as the growing number of African intellectuals seriously commit themselves to the sacrifice of time, energy, and money in the pursuit of objective, relevant, and responsible scholarship. The scholarly role of the European social scientist, particularly the social anthropologist in Africa and other non-Western societies, has from its very inception been and still remains an unenviable one. As an academic discipline, social anthropology is closely associated with the latter 19th century and the first decades of the 20th century — the high tide of Western imperialism and colonialism. Though today "colonial anthropology" may be dead in many areas of the non-Western world, it is perhaps true to say that the average Western anthropologist, himself hardly a colonialist or imperialist, was, as a highly privileged white person, invariably identified with the colonial system of white domination by the people he studied. A s Jack Goody, a British social anthropologist, accurately observes: " T h e anthropologist arrived as a representative of a technologically advanced society to put the local inhabitants under the sociological microscope" (Comparative Studies in Kinship, 2). There are, of course, other reasons why Western-educated Africans, a group most familiar

with the traditions

of

Western

epistemology,

whether as members of Victor Turner's (Colonialism in Africa

1870-1960

I I I , 2-3) appellate international body of professional anthropology, the general reading public, or merely as common men with common sense, are often intolerant of outsiders who, after spending a brief period studying African societies with the help of native interpreters, set themselves up as sole or primary authorities and experts on particular "tribes". Here again, Jack Goody's reminder that "it is only a figment of the anthropologist's imagination and not one that he [the anthropologist] would be prepared to extend to an understanding of his own personal situation" that makes the anthropologist an expert after only a couple of years' sojourn in a "strange" country (Comparative Studies in Kinship, xiii) is apropos. There is an ancient African proverb (proverbs are the distilled wisdom o f a people) that "the stranger who returns from a journey may tell all he has seen, but he cannot explain all". What is even worse from a scientific point of view, many of the " t r i b a l " monographs ingeniously protected by an "ethnographic present" tend to have a take-it-or-leave-it cast to them. It is virtually impossible to falsify, replicate, or evaluate them objectively. Often it is not clear whether the accounts painstakingly presented are about informants, about "scientific" models, or about the anthropologists

themselves.

E. R. Leach, Political

In

fact,

Raymond

Firth's

remark

(see

Systems of Highland Burma, vii) that "ethnographic

Introduction

19

facts may be irrelevant — that it does not matter so much if they [anthropologists] get the facts wrong so long as they can argue the theories logically" only increases one's doubt about the "truth value" of anthropology, in the empirical sense. Traditionally, the role of the anthropologist, particularly the so-called applied anthropologist, has also been a problematic one. In teaching those concerned with "primitive folk" the principles and facts of his subject (with perhaps some special reference to their problems) and in investigating those aspects of "primitive life" which he was requested by an administration to study, answering specific problems put before him by a colonial official who might or might not use the data in formulating his policy towards native life, the anthropologist found himself in an awkward position (Melville Herskovits, "Applied Anthropology and the American Anthropologist", Science, LXXXIII [1936], 215-22). It is perhaps fair and of some relevance to point out that on the eve of the Second World War, a war whose aftermath led to increased and persistent "nationalist" agitation for independence of subject peoples from colonial rule, there were only a handful of trained European anthropologists. There were perhaps only twenty in the whole of the British Commonwealth at this time, according to Meyer Fortes (Social Anthropology at Cambridge Since 1900). As often as not, what the colonial administration wanted to know from the anthropologist was, no doubt, how a particular measure — whether recommended by the anthropologist or by an official on "scientific" grounds or on grounds of colonial morality/ philosophy or personal ideology, whether in the interest of the colonized or not — could best be accommodated to administrative requirements, defense and strategic needs, and imperial policy which insisted on spending as little as possible for the welfare of colonized peoples. The colonial official, not the anthropologist, had authority to take and implement decisions and was accountable to the home government. Of course, a number of anthropologists were increasingly employed in official positions. Most usually, however, anthropologists held university and other academic positions (appointments) specifically charged in some instances, so it seems, with the search (made possible by the "flood of government largess") for "scientific" knowledge as a basis for smooth, "enlightened" administration of distant and "primitive" territories under colonial rule. This was, of course, in addition to their more pedestrian teaching and other obligations. Dr. Mair, whom we are honoring here, herself began her academic career in 1932-38 as a Lecturer in Colonial Administration at the London School of Economics and Political Science. For

20

MAXWELL OWUSU

a year (1945) she was made Lecturer at the Australian Land Headquarters Civil Affairs School. She returned to London in 1946-56, this time as Reader in Colonial Administration. After 1956, perhaps when it was clear that it was only a matter of time until all British colonies, following the 1947 examples of India and Pakistan, would be granted political independence, the "Colonial Administration" lectureship was naturally rechristened "Applied Anthropology". From 1956-63 she was, hence, a Reader of Applied Anthropology. In 1963, she was made Professor until her retirement in 1968. Dr. Mair has been the recipient of a number of colonial and other academic distinctions. In 1949 she was awarded a colonial office grant that took her to Nyasaland (Malawi) and which resulted in her publication of Native Administration in Central Africa, having published Welfare in British Colonies in 1944. She delivered the Lugard (of indirect rule fame) Memorial Lecture in 1958. Here, then, is a brilliant and most distinguished scholar and teacher who meets nearly all the popular qualifications of the colonial anthropologist, a true daughter of that era of British imperialism (Dr. Mair was born outside London, in 1901, the turning point of British rule in Africa), and an arch supporter or clever defender of that heartless imperialism while it lasted. It would be easy to rescue Dr. Mair from such a cruel and baseless charge. But, in this as in other things, her ruthless honesty, rare wisdom, and uncompromising respect for Africans — and all human beings, for that matter — are best guarantees for a safe-conduct anywhere. Those of us Africans who had the honor and privilege of working intimately with her during our undergraduate and postgraduate days (and, happily, some of them are contributors to this volume) remember very well, as we look back, Dr. Mair's sincerity and genuine concern for the welfare and progress of her academic wards, whatever their origins. She was always sympathetic without being patronizing, helpful without being paternalistic, objective without being aloof. Many of us, from warm tropical countries, perhaps could not have attained our present measure of success as professional social scientists in that ever-reserved, cold, and bleak London social climate without her warm and constant "maternal" attention, encouragement, and careful but demanding and rigorous academic supervision. It is significant to note that Dr. Mair was not unaware of the special problems of the European anthropologist working in the colonial situation and of the somewhat biased nature of their work. Her almost unique approach, her emphasis on contemporaneity, avoided many of the serious pitfalls of her rigidly functionalist colleagues. For instance, the pre-

Introduction

21

vailing and dominant "functionalist theory" prevented many a concerned anthropologist f r o m posing the right questions — pressing questions dealing historically with the social, economic, and political implications of the tyranny of European-appointed African chiefs, with forced labor, discriminatory practices against Africans, forcible seizure of African lands by Europeans, and so on. These were some of the issues which no responsible African anthropologist could ignore or treat lightly. Virtually no systematic studies were done on European and other minority communities in Africa by anthropologists. The relationships between Africans and their European masters, between one group of Africans and other groups, between Africans and Asians or Levantines, were scarcely subject to the familiar microscopic analysis. When, therefore, many of the pre-independence sociological and anthropological findings are considered invalid or irrelevant, as it is now fashionable to do in some quarters, it is because the anthropologists of that period failed to perceive the real aspirations of the indigenous population, the oppressive conditions, the unsettling experiences, and other urgent problems — in fact all aspects of the total social reality of the peoples they studied. Naturally, African anthropologists — following closely in the footsteps of the European anthropologists, it should be emphasized — have often posed equally misleading or meaningless questions. The professional interest of the anthropologist in trying to understand his subject holistically often led him to take the colonial situation for granted instead of combining scientific analyses with meaningful consideration of historical continuity and the direction of change. Thus the anthropologist was prevented from asking and tackling those major intricate questions which were (and still are) so important both to the progressive, educated African and to the illiterate or semi-literate African peasant and urbanite. The situation seems particularly tragic today when the kinds of factual knowledge about non-Western peoples, which the anthropologist claimed or was believed to possess, are considered indispensable for effective policy formulation and execution. Even a cursory look at the teeming number of "tribal" monographs written by the outside experts demonstrates one thing — the cumbersome "scientific" jargon apart, they are of little practical use, being mostly backwardlooking instead of forward-looking or contemporaneous, focusing on the speculative reconstruction (a functionalist taboo, incidentally) of the so-called exotic and vanishing indigenous traditional social and cultural systems. The studies were more concerned with the construction of highly abstract kinship terminologies, contrived genealogies, and neat models than with real consideration of the total impact of admittedly highly

22

MAXWELL OWUSU

selective and uneven colonial development schemes and policies on African populations; with the bonds in the color bar more than with the contradictions in apartheid, a system based on a denial of human rights and democratic freedoms and on socioeconomic exploitation; with the ordered anarchy of the so-called acephalous segmentary systems more than with the unsettling effects on traditional polities of indigenous and European colonial conquest and rule. Thus, the anthropologist, the social scientist par excellence of non-Western societies and cultures, working in the colonial situation missed a great opportunity (a chance that could hardly be recaptured with any assurance or certainty) of recording for posterity and analyzing, systematically and at firsthand, the real and true nature of colonial society and practice. Of course, now that the whole subject of Western colonialism is said to be a dead issue — the Portuguese presence in Africa notwithstanding — anthropologists, spurred on by a new, bolder, more humanistic and, no doubt, scientific professional ethic, are busy wiping the heavy dust off their buried and forgotten field notes to try to recapture part of the colonial experience for us! It does seem an interesting commentary on the sociology of knowledge that, in a post-colonial situation, anthropology should now be preoccupied with patterns of European imperialism and colonialism. But, all said and done, Dr. Lucy Mair's work stands out as a shining example of what anthropology could have, and still can, become: a science in the service of genuine human understanding, if not human advancement — a consideration every anthropologist could do well to emulate. The African anthropologist or sociologist is primarily interested in understanding his society scientifically as part of a general and more urgent concern for directing or changing that society — to modernize his society without losing his essential humanity and Africanness. This means that Scholars must — will have to — rethink all areas of anthropology, not just kinship, for anthropology to emerge at last as a true empiricalhistorical discipline. Anthropology must provide not only coherent analytic information but also meaningful and falsifiable (verifiable) knowledge. Dr. Mair, more than any single European scholar, understood the African's position very well. In 1934, she wrote in the concluding paragraphs of her An African People in the 20th Century, "African societies have so far produced few, if any, sociologists. Consequently, the demand made by Africans, however intelligent, however highly educated, cannot be taken as decisive in determining the lines along which African development should go. The decision should be made on the results of a scientific study of the actual

Introduction

23

problems involved." She went on to say, "The position of the person who sets up to know what is good for somebody else is not an enviable one: his motives are always suspect. It is embarrassing to find oneself uttering, in all honesty, one of the texts which are most frequently cited by the devil for his purpose" (see p. 288). Dr. Mair did a lot, sometimes going out of her way to encourage and urge Africans to become sociologists themselves, to prepare the ground for the eventual assumption by the Africans themselves of the direction of research into African societies as a basis of policies for modernization and technological change. Though many of the small number of Africans who have received formal anthropological training are employed in government ministries, there is a growing number (still a drop in the pan compared with the size of the contingent of European anthropologists working in Africa) of African anthropologists holding positions in universities and concerned with research and teaching. But whether the African anthropologist is an administrator or a professor, he is — or should be — seriously concerned about the overwhelming problems of modernization in Africa. It is no accident that these essays written to honor Dr. Mair all deal with various aspects of the impact of colonialism and modernization in Africa — a worldwide process characterized, among other factors, by: 1. Structural changes affecting the total society in the direction of largescale integrated units. In Africa the process would seem to lead eventually to continental (Pan-African) governments and economies. 2. Diffused and increasing awareness of one's total environment, particularly of its expanding or contracting range of opportunities, situational possibilities, along with the consciousness and rational understanding of the nature of both internal and external constraints and limitations, on change within one's environment. 3. A wide range of choices and the ability to make effective and socially beneficial and viable decisions. 4. Increasing levels, complexity, and depths of role differentiation and redefinition, associated with the rational organization of society. 5. A change toward self-reliant and self-sustaining economic growth, and development. 6. Higher and more dignified standards of living for the total population through industrialization and appropriate scientific-technological changc. 7. Revolution in attitudes and tastes based on institutionalized commitment to meaningful (aesthetic and spiritual) constructive innovation and maximization of indigenous creativity.

24

MAXWELL OWUSU

8. Democratization of society, economy, and polity through the elimination of inequalities and unjust and unreasonable privileges of age, sex, race, religion, class, ethnicity, status, origin, etc. 9. Popular participation in, and support for, domestic and foreign policy decisions and their implementation. The volume and the choice of focus represent, I think, the; most suitable and lasting tribute that African and non-African scholars alike, with a serious and genuine interest in the elimination of racialism, racism, class oppression, economic and technological exploitation, tyranny, colonialism, and war, can pay to a most dedicated and truly outstanding scholar and teacher of major influence, a woman who in her lifetime has done much to correct the confused and tarnished image of Africa imposed largely by an unyielding European presence. Dr. Lucy Mair is primarily a political anthropologist who is interested in social implications of technological change in new nations which were former colonial territories. Her chief regional focus has been Africa, though she has studied and published on non-African populations. It is, therefore, altogether appropriate and fitting that four of the essays should be devoted to themes on political anthropology (by Gutkind, Otite, Owusu, and Vincent); one on socioeconomic development — that is, on the new "applied anthropology" (by Aluko); two on the effects of urbanization (by Nukunya and Southall); and two on religion (by Bond and Brain). Each one of the essays is concerned with the integration of theory and fact and is written in the same spirit of dedication, objectivity, honesty, and humility so characteristic of Dr. Mair's lifelong work. "I can only assure the reader of my honesty, and leave him to judge whether this book is a specious plea for the maintenance of the African in subjection or an objective analysis of the reaction of an African society to European civilization" (Mair, An African People in the 20th Century, p. 288). Maxwell Owusu California State University, Sacramento June, 1972

Comparative Politics, History, and Political Anthropology1

MAXWELL

OWUSU

T H E M O R A L I T Y O F POLITICS One of the major interests of Professor Lucy Mair has been the study and interpretation of political developments in the newly independent countries of Africa and Asia. 2 Her dedication to objective and dispassionate analysis which is not, in her words, "concerned with dividing sheep from goats", is exemplary. Dr. Mair's humility toward research data, and her humanistic concern for a just society everywhere, make her very critical of oppressive, racist, and other forms of arbitrary rule, phenomena she rightly sees not as "cultural peculiarities of geographical areas" but as "universale of life in society". We ought, therefore, to critically examine in every study of political systems to see "how freedom is balanced against constraint, arbitrary action against respect for rules, the exercise of power against the checks on its abuse". 3 In today's world, where internal coercion and violent external aggression are familiar facts — if not dominant styles — of 1

An earlier version of this paper was presented to the Faculty Colloquium of the Anthropology Department, Stanford University, in February, 1971. Subsequent drafts were read by Professors Ronald Cohen, Department of Anthropology and Political Science, Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois; Peter Gutkind, Department of Anthropology, McGill University, Montreal, Canada; Jan Vansina, Department of History, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wisconsin; and Joan Vincent, Department of Anthropology, Columbia University, N e w York. I am grateful to them for their useful criticism and suggestions. 2 Lucy Mair, New Nations (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1963). 3 Lucy Mair, Anthropology and Social Change ( — LSE Monographs on Social Anthropology 38) (London: Athlone Press, 1969), 140.

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political leadership, basic questions such as those suggested by Lucy Mair should require our urgent attention and examination, and relevant answers to them must be sought. Politics is, after all, about the attainment, use, and abuse of power in ther various cultural forms and expressions.

A N T H R O P O L O G Y A N D A F R I C A N POLITICS—1930-60 Since the political scientist, David Easton, in 1959 commented critically on the state of the study of politics by anthropologists, many interesting changes have taken place in the analyses of African politics — in fact, of politics of non-Western societies in general. My own limited study of Ghanaian politics, perhaps, reflects very well some of the new developments and the theoretical concerns of Lucy Mair. 4 The changing climate of world academic opinion, itself the result of the changing international political and economic environment, has in an important way contributed to the continuous search for methodological and theoretical breakthrough in the general field of comparative, crosscultural study of politics. In this paper, my primary aim is to trace the principal characteristics of this development, focusing on some of the more significant trends in contemporary political anthropology, and to suggest various ways in which we can render African political studies more rigorous, relevant, and meaningful. Returning to Easton's remarks on political anthropology, 5 the main thrust of his critical comments was not, as Abner Cohen's criticism implied, 6 that anthropologists did not have "shared paradigms" 7 and political scientists did. Both disciplines are characterized, in fact, by competing "paradigms", by the absence of standardization and clarity in the definition of basic concepts, and by avoidable confusion in the logical interconnections of these concepts. Rather, Easton emphasized that anthropologists (implicitly Africanists) lacked a broad theoretical orientation to politics, as Jacques Maquet's point that the classifications of the Ethnographic Survey of Africa, a great anthropological achievement, is "a 4

Maxwell Owusu, Uses and Abuses of Political Power: A Case Study of Continuity and Change in the Politics of Ghana (Chicago and L o n d o n : University of Chicago Press, 1970). 5 D a v i d Easton, "Political Anthropology", in Biennial Review of Anthropology, 1959, ed. Bernard J. Sießel (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1959), 210-62. 6 Abner Cohen, "Political A n t h r o p o l o g y : The Analysis of the Symbolism of Power Relations", Man IV (June 1969), 215-35. 7 T h o m a s S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 2nd., enl. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1970), 215.

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pragmatic device... [but] it does not pretend to be based on theoretical foundations" 8 (my stress) perhaps shows. Easton argues correctly that the conceptual framework — the lineage or kinship model — used by political anthropologists tended to detract from their professed commitments to comparative political theory. In fact, the overemphasis on kinship and the "tribe" by anthropologists studying African politics, however worthwhile, appears to have prevented a real "scientific revolution" in the cross-cultural study of politics. The anthropologist's traditional preference for logically neat, if empirically misleading and historically inadequate, concepts such as "ordered anarchy", "the dichotomous organization of paired segments in balanced opposition", based primarily on kinship and other "precategory assumptions", stood in the way of meaningful progress. Easton's argument and conclusions are to be seen, then, as the political scientist's particular and more direct concern with the "political system" as a system sui generis — ultimately with the most inclusive political system. 9 Generally, English-speaking anthropologists working in Africa in the 1930's and particularly since the Second World War, have been concerned primarily with indigenous pre-colonial political institutions and types of authority, often ignoring the changes introduced by alien economic and political forces. The great collection of "tribal" monographs, clearly, demonstrates a serious bias toward "kinship determinism" instead of a more realistic "colonial determinism". The colonial situation which made African anthropology attractive and even possible was, on the whole, at best treated halfheartedly. The living histories of African societies characterized by culturally innovative regional mobility associated especially with colonial trade and technology, and the various dynamic interracial and interethnic relationships in times of peace and war, were all fossilized in the ingenious mould of the self-serving "ethnographic present" and the circular structural-functional ideologies of Dürkheim, RadcliffeBrown, and Malinowski. The preoccupation of anthropologists with normative and behavioral equilibrium was partly related, in Britain at least, to the policy objectives of the International African Institute with its organ, Africa, founded in 1926 to promote the so-called "applied anthropology". Lucy Mair notes that the founders of the Institute "did not think of it as a learned society, but as an organization which should seek knowledge as the basis of enlightened policies". 10 She goes on to 8

Jacques Maquet, "The Cultural Units of Africa: A Classificatory Problem", in Man in Africa, ed. Μ. T. Douglas and Ρ, M. Kaberry (London: Tavistock, 1969), 6. 9 Easton, "Political Anthropology". 10 Mair, Anthropology and Social Change, 2.

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indicate that "the emphasis was on the integration of innovation into an existing framework, with the implication that tradition should be preserved wherever possible and the rate of change be not deliberately accelerated". In a word, "the anthropologist's central problem... is the forces of conservatism"11 — that is, the prevention of rapid, broadly-based socioeconomic and political change (my emphases). The fact that long before colonial rule tradition to Africans had become not an immutable system but something that could be and was constantly manipulated, trimmed, and even broken and replaced in response to the adaptive requirements of changing ecological and demographic pressures was missed by anthropologists who took for granted the static nature of pre-European African societies. Against this background, Leach's dynamic conception of politics, that "empirical political behaviour... is a compromise response to ... polarised political doctrines" 1 2 and that "kinship relations have no 'reality' at all except in relation to land and property", 1 3 appears almost revolutionary; and Easton's conclusion that politics (outside the lineage framework) was peripheral to the dominant theme of anthropologists working in Africa thus makes sense even today. Of course, kinship considerations are not irrelevant in politics. The problem is when, why, and how self-interested people exercising individual choice in given situations with increasing or diminishing "room for manoeuvre", utilize kinship, among other strategies, for political and socioeconomic advancement. Significantly, after Fortes' and Evans-Pritchard's pioneer work, African Political Systems, in which a serious attempt was made to treat politics in a general ecological and demographic context and to classify African "traditional" polities, typology-building became practically an end in itself. 14 The discovery of types of political systems not covered by Fortes and Evans-Pritchard, rather than being an expression of an earnest concern for comparative political theory, was ritually and triumphantly proclaimed. 1 5 In his preface to African Political Systems, for example, RadclifFe-Brown pays little attention to the need for general theory and 11

Ibid., 16. Edmund Leach, Political Systems of Highland Burma (Öoston: Beacon Press, 1964), xiv. 13 Edmund Leach, Ρ id Eliya, a Village in Ceylon: A Study of Land Tenure and Kinship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961), 305. See also his brilliant and original Political Systems of Highland Burma. 14 Meyer Fortes and Ε. E. Evans-Pritchard, eds., African Political Systems (London: Oxford University Press, 1940). 15 See John Middleton and David Tait, eds., Tribes Without Rulers: Studies in African Segmentary Systems (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1958); Paula Brown, "Patterns of Authority in West Africa", Africa XXI (4) (1951). 12

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the rigorous definition of key concepts, e.g. "political system", which he defined functionally in about six different ways.

A N T H R O P O L O G Y A N D A F R I C A N POLITICS — 1960's-70's If the dominant theme of political anthropology before the 1960's had been the description, analysis, and classification of patterns of authority of particular "tribes", the last ten years have witnessed a serious effort to re-think and re-orient anthropology. However, some of the pre-1960 anthropological studies of politics — particularly the writings of Lucy Mair — did not lack insight, lucidity of conceptualization, clarity of expression, and relevance. More than twenty years ago Professor Mair concluded, after a careful and almost unique comparative analysis of the effects of European colonialism, that political independence (India and Pakistan were granted independence in 1947) not based on sound economic foundations posed serious practical problems for the new states. She commented on the economic constraints of colonialism thus: When the present colonies are free... there will be only two alternatives. Either they will by this time have attained a level of productivity at which capital for further development can be supplied from local savings — which does not seem very likely — or they will have to obtain it from abroad on ordinary commercial terms 16 (my emphases). She then noted, prophetically, that: The most likely general prognostic seems to be a policy of economic nationalism, in the sense of heavy taxation of foreign firms and the imposition of various restrictive conditions on them — a policy which is not calculated to attract new capital. 17 Since 1960 (Africa's year of independence), many African states have combined a policy of economic nationalism, in Lucy Mair's sense, with self-reliant economic growth while at the same time accepting the advantages of international economic cooperation. Lucy Mair's observations show the importance of integrating, theoretically and empirically, both local- and national-level economic and political decision-making processes in Africa with those of powerful external or international politico-economic systems. The consequences of the constraints and restraints imposed on developing states by the export of capitalism, advanced technology, science, and industrialization associ16

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Ibid.

and Social Change, 116.

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ated, in non-European countries, with Western imperialism and colonialism, provide us with historically the most meaningful and analytically useful focus for comparative politics. 18

COMPARATIVE POLITICS AND POLICY INTERESTS All the same, the more important advances made in the study of African political systems are traceable to three major influences: (1) Theoretical and methodological trends in comparative politics, particularly the more recent contributions of the behaviorists — Almond, 19 Verba, Easton, and Apter, 20 etc. — despite some serious conceptual problems inherent in their approaches. Easton's provocative observation that anthropologists studying politics lacked a clear theoretical focus has been generally beneficial to anthropology. (2) The emergence of new nation-states in Africa and the comparative problems posed by the politics of nationbuilding. (3) The total rejection by Third World and other radical intellectuals and politicians of the colonial view of the causes of Third World underdevelopment and political instability, and their serious ideological and scholarly search for the real reasons for Africa's material poverty and political subjection. Here, Lucy Mair's interest in relevant (policyoriented) and objective research is worth mentioning. Professor Mair accepts as fact that "ethical judgments are not external to... [social science] ... but at the very centre of it", 2 1 and sees the anthropologist's most significant contribution to be that of informing men of affairs "so that they might see more clearly the possibilities and limitations of political action and so frame their policies more intelligently". 22 Today the urgency of comparative policy-oriented research in Africa is clearer than ever before. Increasingly, the approval of research in 18

See, for instance, the last five chapters of Thomas R. D e Gregori, Technology and the Economic Development of the Tropical African Frontier (Cleveland and London: Case Western University Press, 1969). In a recent work, Ernest Gellner argues that "the uneven diffusion" of modernization and industrialization not only produces economic and political "nationalism" but also creates acute cleavages of interest between "the more and less advanced" populations. Thought and Change (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), particularly chapters six and seven. 19 See Gabriel A. Almond and G. Bingham Powell, Jr., Comparative Politics: A Developmental Approach (Boston: Little, Brown, and Co., 1966). 20 David Apter, Politics of Modernization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965); idem, Choice and the Politics of Allocation (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1971). 21 Mair, Anthropology and Social Change, 21-22. 22 Ibid., 20.

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Africa will depend on its relevance and contribution to the African country's socioeconomic development plans and national policy objectives. Social scientists will have to recognize and accept this trend as inevitable if they wish to continue and advance comparative research in Africa. 23 As comparative politics strives to become a genuine empirical (interdisciplinary) science, our fundamental task remains how to combine well our valid scholarly descriptive and normative interests with a serious concern for comprehensive, unambiguous, explanatory, and predictive theories that bear directly on the changing policies of African states. Chandra Jayawardena has argued, for instance, that Easton's major contribution to political anthropology lies in the clarification of basic concepts and in the investigation and analysis of those aspects of political relations amenable to equilibrium interpretations. 24

EQUILIBRIUM MODELS, CIVIL WARS, A N D CONTINGENT POLITIES Most recently, Adam Kuper has attempted to apply, somewhat uncritically, Easton's equilibrium model — "input-output analysis" — in his study of contemporary Kalahari village politics in Southern Africa. 25 Kuper's introductory statements demonstrate Easton's influence: Political demands and support, which constitute the "inputs" of the political system, are mediated by the citizen body or by groups within it, and by the District authorities, or, more recently, the Democratic Party. These groups are keepers of the political threshold, and constitute the immediate intra-societal and extra-societal environment of the village political system. Decisions, policies, administrative actions, the "outputs" of the system, are absorbed by the same groups, and may in turn generate new demands or produce changes in the structure of the support.26 23

See David Brokensha and Marion Pearlsall, eds., The Anthropology of Development in Sub-Saharan Africa (= Society for Applied Anthropology, Monograph 10) (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 1969); and Victor Uchendu, "Priority Issues F o r Social Anthropological Research in Africa in the Next T w o Decades", in Expanding Horizons in African Studies, ed. Gwendolen M. Carter and A n n Paden (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1969), 3-25. 24 David Easton, Political System (New Y o r k : Knopf, 1953); idem, A Framework for Political Analysis (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey; Prentice-Hall, 1965); idem, A Systems Analysis of Political Life (New Y o r k : J o h n Wiley and Sons, 1965). It is worth reading, in this connection, A. W. Singham's study of G r e n a d a , West Indies, The Hero and the Crowd in a Colonial Polity (New Haven, L o n d o n : Yale University Press, 1968), particularly his introduction. 25 A d a m Kuper, Kalahari Village Politics: An African Democracy (Cambridge University Press, 1970), particularly p. 17. 2ti Ibid.

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Kuper's analysis, to my mind, parallels Ottenberg's study of Afikpo Igbo politics of Southeastern Nigeria — which Ottenberg, ignoring the theoretical implications of colonialism and nationalist politics, characterizes misleadingly as "egalitarian gerontocracy" — except that Kuper's Kuli analysis is complicated by the Ngologa politico-administrative monopoly and the political subjection and economic oppression of the Bushman, not to mention the external economic and politico-military pressures f r o m the Republic of South Africa, etc., considerations that surely indicate the existence of gross political and socioeconomic inequalities and hence destroy the validity of Kuper's "democratic" model and the smooth flow of the " i n p u t - o u t p u t " process. 27 The rather metaphoric " i n p u t - o u t p u t " model requires a more rigorous and dynamic reconstruction to cope with the common complex and contradictory problems posed by abject poverty and the overwhelming internal structural weaknesses of the new states that engender a permanent condition of violent political instability. However, the stress that Kuper places on contemporaneity, i.e. Kuper's move away f r o m the traditional preoccupation with the mere "reconstruction" of "traditional" political system and his explicit concern with the total political environment — is in keeping with current trends. He suggests rightly that village or grass roots politics can be understood only by incorporating the smaller structures into the larger political systems and by tracing how external forces (precolonial, colonial, and post-colonial influences and pressures) have affected, shaped, or are affected by local politics. The "systems m o d e l " (with its concepts of "tension" and "disturbances" within order-maintaining political systems), which Kuper employs in isolating the structural and processual factors in Kgalagari politics could, therefore, hardly have uniform significance throughout Africa. Civil wars, irredentist movements, wars of liberation, police state methods, and military/police coups d'etat are very common. Again, Bailey has indeed questioned Easton's alleged equation of politics with sovereign authority. We return to the problem of political sovereignty later. Nevertheless Bailey, along with many anthropologists, finds Easton's concept of parapolitics useful in the analysis of village and local-level politics and politics of lesser arenas, and has demonstrated its heuristic value in his study of factionalism, caste climbing, and inter-caste conflicts in Bisipara. 2 8 However, it is not always clear from Bailey's analysis what 27

Simon Ottenberg, Double Descent in an African Society: The Afikpo Village-Group (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1968). 28 F. G. Bailey, "Parapolitical Systems", in Local Level Politics, ed. M . J. Swartz (Chicago: Aldine, 1969), 281

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precise theoretical assumptions define the relationships between local (village), regional (constituency), and national (state) level politics. Lloyd Fallers 29 has also discussed the utility of Easton's concept of the contingent political system for comparative study of polities. Fallers notes that, though the contingent political system probably characterizes "stateless" societies everywhere, wherever local communities are not entirely "sovereign" (the case for most contemporary political communities), one can conceive of a variety of contingent polities, making use of kinds of political theory other than the kinship one. The concept "draws ... attention to all those non-continuous polities that function wherever the political system is not characterized by absolute sovereignty, either on the community or some higher level". Unfortunately, no serious and systematic attention has been paid to the historical implications and theoretical significance of contingent polities. Despite their legal-moral claims to be politically "sovereign", the polities of the new ex-colonial nations are in fact characterized disturbingly by varying forms of "political contingency" as a result of their worsening poverty and their critical dependence on a capricious foreign — economic, technical, military, and political — aid for national security, economic development, and political stability. Their "sovereignty", in most areas, is certainly more apparent than real. The very commitment of leaders of the new nations to rapid modernization based largely on external models often greatly limits the policy options available to them domestically and thus reinforces their de facto dependent status. I suggest that sovereignty (supreme power) be used primarily as a sociological variable which defines the relationship in given situations between rival or competitive "political publics", within and between states. It is the probability that a given group or groups have the capability and resolve to control, make, and execute effectively major and vital policy decisions in the face of significant opposition from other groups, internal or external. This formulation avoids the serious pitfalls of the legal conception of sovereignty. From the legal standpoint, what matters is not the "relative strength of wills", in Laski's famous phrase, but the knowledge of the authorities that are legally competent to deal in due form with the policy problems of the political system. However, in the sociological sense, one can speak of a political system or its subdivisions at a given time and place as having much, little, or no real sovereignty in one sphere of action and not in others, in spite of the particular system's ulti29

Lloyd Fallers, "Political Sociology and the Anthropological Study of African Polities", Archives Europeennes de Sociologie (Paris) IV (2) (1963): 311-29.

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mate appeals to legal-moral sovereignty. Basically, the power to ensure internal security, survival, and preservation of its fundamental interests provides a crucial index of a system's relative degree of sovereignty.

T O W A R D S A N E W T Y P O L O G Y O F POLITIES A N D THE PROBLEM OF MODERNIZATION Easton has suggested a typology of political systems based on the extent of differentiation between political and other social roles, the extent of differentiation among political roles, and the degree of specialization of specific political roles. He considers the three variables to be interdependent and hypothesizes that they would vary along a single continuum. In the light of Easton's formulation, Southall has recently called for a new and more sophisticated "unidimensional" classification of political systems to replace the ill-formed and crude efforts of the 1940's and 1950's. 30 All the same, the extent of political role differentiation and specialization in contemporary African societies is directly related in part to the constitutional heritage and practice of colonial rule, which favored political stratification as the major means (dimension) of socioeconomic mobility. The direct relationship Africans perceive as existing between the distribution or monopoly of power (through political parties, parliaments, civil service bureaucracies, the military, etc.) and the control of vital decisions about major allocation and distribution of economic resources encourages the proliferation of rival political structures to meet part of the mobility aspirations of ambitious individuals and groups. To avoid the limitations of essentially descriptive and taxonomic categories, classifications of the political systems of the new nations may also be constructed on the basis of the extent or relative degrees of political sovereignty as previously defined and the level of technological and economic development or modernization, multidimensional processes aiming at the total transformation of society. There appear to be two major — not necessarily mutually exclusive — types of "theories" of modernization: (a) the consensual reformist, and (b) the dialectical revolutionary. The former (the liberal democratic view) assumes the desirability, not necessarily the inevitability (it may question the desirability at times) of modernization, emphasizes its gradual evolutionary, long-term nature, and explains the slow or retarded growth in the new states primarily in 30

Aidan Southall, "A Critique of the T y p o l o g y of States and Political Systems", in Political Systems and the Distribution of Power, ed. Michael Banton ( L o n d o n : Tavistock, 1965).

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terms of internal institutional, demographic, political, and psychological obstacles or limitations assumed to be related to conservative "tribal" traditions which, once removed, would usher these societies into a new balance of political integration and self-sustained socioeconomic development. This seems to be the dominant view. 31 The latter viewpoint, which is gaining popularity, takes for granted the inevitability (provided the real nature of the internal contradictions is fully understood) and desirability of development, dismisses the gradualist assumptions of the former, and contends rather emphatically that external, mainly Western capitalist, forms of economic, technological, scientific, political, and military domination of developing countries are the major impediments to rapid modernization. This latter theory is closer to the Marxist-Leninist standpoint. 32 Both approaches, interestingly enough, argue for the crucial role of external aid in the development of the poor countries, as demonstrated by the significant improvements in the infrastructure — education, transport, electrification, water supplies, public health. No doubt, the expansion of world trade, the 'green revolution", and industrialization continue to produce some meaningful modernization in transitional societies. The fact remains, however, that the benefits of economic change have not been, and may never be, equally distributed; for large segments of populations modernization continues to mean increasing misery, a trend which may be irreversible unless the poor people, among the many solutions, capture the commanding heights of the economy through economic self-reliance and/or organize themselves for corrective revolutionary political or military action against the elitism and corruption of leadership and foreign domination. Given the deep conflict between public and private good, between sectional, class interests, and general welfare, comparative politics must 31

See, for example, B. F. Hoselitz, "Non-Economic Factors in Economic Development", in American Economic Review LXVII (May 1957), 28-41; W. Arthur Lewis, Some Aspects of Economic Development (Accra: Ghana Publishing Corporation, 1969); W. W. Rostow, The Stages of Economic Growth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1960). 32 For examples of this, see Gunnar Myrdal, Rich Lands and Poor (New York: Harper and Row, 1957), particularly chapters two and three; Hans Singer, "The Distribution of Gains Between Investing and Borrowing Countries", in American Economic Review: Papers and Proceedings, May, 1950. Professor Singer has recently observed that industrialization of the developing countries using imported capitalintensive technology can harm, and strengthen rather than weaken their technological dependence on developed countries. He argues for a labor-intensive technology suitable for small-scale production. West-Africa, N o . 2836, week ending 22nd October, 1971, p. 1245.

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be concerned with the objective examination from a global perspective of the causes and consequences of internecine socioeconomic rivalries as they affect political stability and sovereignty and national integration in the course of modernization.

THE NEW POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY Taking up where Easton left off, Winckler has recently reviewed, rather narrowly, material on political anthropology published between 1959 and 1968 — concentrating, in his own words, on "comparative or theoretical" questions rather than on the descriptive material. 33 Winckler provides a neo-evolutionary typology, following Service, of political systems based on "levels of socio-cultural integration" of whole societies: primates, bands, tribes, chiefdoms, primitive (proto) states, empires, and developing (modernizing) states; and, one might add, of developed (post-industrial) states. The theoretical and empirical problems inherent in neo-evolutionary classifications and assumptions — problems obvious to Winckler — are hardly dealt with. The difficulty associated with the old tendency of evolutionism for extrapolation backwards and forwards, a habit likely to strip contemporary phenomena of their uniqueness (and modernity), is scarcely raised. As Winckler himself points out, "A single political system may exist in complex relationship with other systems of lower, equal and higher orders" of socio-cultural integration. 34 But he fails to specify the historical determinants of the "complex relationship" between different polities. The fact that anthropologists insist that there are "tribal cbiefdoms", "hunting and gathering tribes", "nomadic tribes"nomadic bands", "tribes with and without rulers", all supposedly distinct, does not lessen the difficulty. Again, the theoretical implications of the more recent offshoots of empires and nation-states such as the European Economic Community, the British Commonwealth, the United Nations, the Organization of African Unity, etc., which shape, define, limit, and influence domestic policy decisions of member states, are not even alluded to. Nowhere are the theoretical problems of political order and disorderly change related to the ultimate goals of modernization and industrialization more pressing than in the developing states of Africa, Winckler's seventh type. Surprisingly, Winckler devotes only about a page to the question, choosing to confine his discussion to Bailey's 33

Edwin A. Winckler, "Political Anthropology", in Biennial Review of Anthropology, 1969, ed. Bernard J. Siegel (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1970), 301. 34 Ibid.

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(undoubtedly suggestive) integrative comparative analysis of tribe, caste, and nation in India. 35 However, the problem of political anthropology is that of arriving not only at inductive generalizations based on in-depth comparisons but also how these generalizations based on data from the grass roots could be further verified by deduction from more comprehensive national and cross-national political theories. I would like to correct the imbalance by paying more attention to some of the epistemological problems associated with the rise of new states in Africa. Africa presents a very challenging analytical case. Independent states coexist in complex relationship with large areas still under either white colonial rule or oppressive and tyrannical white settler-controlled governments. The theoretical issues concerning the transition to modernity of the African countries therefore tend to be overwhelming.

GRASS ROOTS POLITICS A N D NATIONAL INTEGRATION In 1963, Fallers observed that very little progress had been made in the study of African states. He indicated that: The future of the anthropological study of politics in Africa depends on their [i.e. anthropologists'] ability to conceptualize the place of the local institutions they study within larger political wholes so that the results of their work may articulate fruitfully with the macroscopic research of political scientists3" —(my stress). Four years later, Alex Weingrod could argue that major differences still existed between anthropologists and political scientists in their study of politics in developing states. "The gaps between these two kinds of studies are considerable; they are like trains on different tracks, each moving speedily away from each other." 37 Weingrod has perhaps overstated the case. Typically, political scientists study national integration per se. Colin Leys has observed quite correctly that so much of the literature of political scientists "has been based primarily on studies of the activities of leaders in capital cities, and reflects their aspirations and their interpretations". 38 All the same, rural and non-rural African populations at 35

F. G. Bailey, Tribe, Caste and Nation (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1960). 30 Fallers, "Political Sociology and the Anthropological Study of African Societies", 328. 37 Alex Weingrod, "Political Sociology, Social Anthropology and the Study of New Nations", British Journal of Sociology XVIII (June 3 1967), 123. 38 Colin Leys, Politicians and Policies: An Essay on Politics in Acholi, Uganda, 1962-65 (Nairobi: 1967), q.v.

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local levels share significantly and in varying degrees much of the cultural attitudes and aspirations of their national leaders: industrialization, elimination of poverty and disease, elitism, desirability of affiuencc, ctc., even if they often fail to understand or accept the relevance of particular solutions to their overwhelming problems. 3 9 Lucy Mair has rightly criticized American political scientists, who "have sought to predict the type of political system [regime] likely' to develop in different African states, an exercise that might be more fruitful if any of the new states discussed comprised only one traditional system" 4 0 and also if external factors did not generally dictate the direction and pace of development. Apter, 4 1 for example, postulates two types of traditional polities: the consummatory (Ashanti) and the instrumental (Buganda), and a normal evolution from the consummatory to the instrumental which accompanies the establishment of central power. 4 2 Anthropologists, on the other hand, as Joan Vincent indicates, focus at the local level on the total process of integration. They arc interested equally in institutionalized and non-institutionalized, consensual and non-consensual decision-making processes; 13 in the nature of national and local linkages in specific policy areas and the actual impact of " m a c r o " decisions on "micro" structures. We return to the question of decisionmaking in a moment. But the differences in approach between anthropologists and political scientists in the study of African politics arc qualified by the fact that political scientists are now increasingly interested directly in the problems of the grass roots. Particularly since 1965, political scientists working in Africa, notably Henry Bienen (Tanzania, 1967), Kilson (Sierra Leone, 1966), Leys (Uganda, 1967), and Aristide Zolberg (Ivory Coast, 39

See the interesting discussions of populism in Africa and Latin America in the volume, Populism, eds. Ghita Ionescu and Ernest Gellncr (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1969). 40 Mair, Anthropology and Social Change, 3-4. 41 David Apter, The Political Kingdom in Buganda (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1961). 42 See Maxwell Owusu, "Ashanti and Tallensi Responses to Change: A Comparative Study of How Two West African Societies Have Reacted to Socio-Cultural Change" (unpublished M. A. thesis, University of Chicago, 1966), for other criticisms of Apter's position. 43 See F. G. Bailey's "Decisions by Consensus in Councils and Committees, With Special Reference to Village and Local Government in India", in Political Systems and the Distribution of Power (= A.S.A. Monographs 2), ed. Michael Banton (New York: Praeger Publishers), 1-20. The recent collection of essays, A. Richards and A. Kuper, eds., Councils in Action (Cambridge Papers in Social Anthropology) 6 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), concerned with a comparative study of institutionalized and "unauthoritative" political decision-making processes in African and English societies, is a welcome addition to the growing interest of anthropologists in policy analysis.

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1966), have shown serious sensitivity to the urgent need for conceptual frameworks that will integrate analytically higher and lower-level political structures and processes. Bienen captures the new outlook thus: It is... in the study of local African society that the major contributions to our understanding of African politics will be made... studying government locally in Africa means doing political anthropology as well as political history [and political science].44 But, as Ronald Cohen rightly points out, it is not enough to say that research in the new states of Africa must move to the local or micropolitical level, for there are unresolved and difficult operational and research design problems — e.g. what are the significant units of study at the local level: ethnic groups, towns, trade unions, local government? 45 The answer, of course, depends on the nature and scope of the particular problem and the researcher's ability to isolate and follow complex interpenetration of variables. Any of the units could be a valid starting point — our selection depending, of course, on our theoretical interests and existing practical problems. The categories — ethnic group, trade union, etc. — are not necessarily mutually exclusive entities. The adoption of a particular unit does not exclude the analytic and empirical relevance of the others. To the extent that they are all different aspects of one historical process — the transition to modernity — they may show a remarkable degree of historical and structural interdependence and are, indeed, susceptible to analysis in terms of a unified theory of colonialism, modernization, industrialization, or economic development.

POLITICAL ANALYSIS AND THE RELEVANCE O F HISTORY Whatever the research problem, local history provides the necessary context. What is more, there are — whatever the difficulties — many empirical and theoretical advantages in working at the local levels: (1) In tropical Africa — as a result largely of colonialism and imperialism, which fostered uneven spread of the benefits of socioeconomic development and continues to shape indigenous processes of socio-cultural and political integration — there are very real and significant local 44

Henry Bienen, "What Does Political Development Mean in Africa?", World PoliticsXX (])(1967), 136. 45 Ronald Cohen, "Anthropology and Political Science: Courtship or Marriage?", in Politics and the Social Sciences, ed. Seymour M. Lipset (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), 45.

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differences in the level of social and political consciousness, in the size of innovative migrants, and in the degree of participation in and successful adaptation to the new processes of technological change and modernization. (2) Urban life in Africa is predominantly "small town life". Many of the rural and non-rural towns have populations of about 4,000 and mostly under 20,000. The stress on history has important methodological and epiftemological implications for comparative politics. Firstly, the process of major policy decision-making is often shrouded in secrecy and is known only after the fact, through records from the past. The student of politics thus willynilly becomes a kind of contemporary historian. Secondly, local history, correctly interpreted, as Pierre Goubert argues, is "the only means of verifying the validity of old ideas and propositions, or of discovering new problems and hypotheses". 46 Through local histories we can hope to challenge generalizations and speculations that hold sway in the absence of more precise investigation. The real value of Goubert's contention is clear from the fact that, for most parts of tropical Africa, we are still working with very limited and often shoddy and heavily biased data. The search for comprehensive empirical theory is bound to be less promising if our evidence remains not only restricted but ambiguous. This calls for structural and dynamic concepts that are both precise and meaningful. 47 For Balandier, history and politics are hardly distinguishable. He notes in his recent Political Anthropology that it is in the sphere of politics that history leaves its strongest imprint. The recent interest in history has introduced new and sometimes embarrassing problems for the anthropologist or political scientist working in Africa. To begin with, historical analysis is a matter of contemporary interpretations of what is most likely to have transpired at a particular place and point in time. The difficulty here is for the anthropologist, not properly trained in historiography, to establish the relative reliability of particular data and to integrate anthropological findings and historical material in one theoretical framework. This is, of course, part of the well known problem of the limits of naivete in interdisciplinary analysis which the new problem-oriented anthropologist has to overcome.

48

Pierre Goubert, "Local History", Daedalus, Journal of the American Academy of the Arts and Sciences (Winter 1971), 124. 47 Robert M. Marsh, Comparative Sociology: A Codification of Cross-Societal Analysis (New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, 1967), estimates that there are about 5,000 politically independent societies. There is some information on about 2,000 of these and only 125 are contemporary national societies. In tropical Africa all the politically independent societies are transitional.

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Written documents apart, other data available to the researcher in Africa include archaeological and linguistic evidence and oral traditions, though much of the material still suffers hopelessly from a Eurocentric bias and easily avoidable cross-cultural confusion. The sheer volume of both oral traditions and written documents has continued to increase since about the fifteenth century, when Europeans began their numerous contacts with tropical Africa. For many areas of Africa, especially after 1650, oral traditions and written documents can be used together. Of course, for large sections of the continent, written documentation begins, practically, with European colonial domination. My own work on the Agona of G h a n a attempts to reconstruct the political history of one region to tackle theoretical issues in comparative politics and development on the basis of fieldwork data, oral traditions, and archival material going back to the middle of the seventeenth century. Vansina notes that written documents in Africa were done "by outsiders who misunderstood the working of the society and culture they were dealing with. The older the document, the more this is true" 4 8 (my stress). All the same, written documents are invaluable because of their originality, their more precise chronology — "the backbone of history" — and minimal susceptibility to gross unconscious and conscious distortions. These advantages are rarely associated with oral traditions. But, whatever the difficulties with historical research in Africa, one important answer to the problem of valid interpretation of events may lie in entrusting, whenever possible, the study of traditions to properly trained and more sensitive members of the society itself. Only people who are deeply involved in the culture itself, and are influenced by it, can readily provide meaningful (in the literal, intended, and symbolic senses) interpretations of an account. 4 9 What this means is that outsiders shall have to work intimately with serious native scholars on every aspect of their research if they are not to repeat some of the serious misrepresentations and distortions of the remote and recent past. Native scholars, on their part, should be particularly alert to the danger, now common in Africa, of "authoritative" accounts written by European "experts" which are uncritically fed back into the "tradition", a danger particularly associated with unexamined acceptance of colonial records and anthropological data and generalizations based on them. As long as African scholars continue happily to think about and see the world primarily in terms 48

Jan Vansina, "Once U p o n a Time: Oral Traditions as History in Africa", Daedalus, Journal of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences (Spring 1971), 458. 49 For an excellent discussion of oral traditions as history in Africa, see Vansina, "Once U p o n a Time".

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of established but ill-adapted European categories, there could be little real progress in African studies. The educated African's sophisticated view of "tribe 1 ', like many similar Eurocentric categories, tends to h a m p e r general understanding of Africa's historical development. 5 0 In contemporary Africa, the confusion surrounding " t r i b a l " identification and definition is, however, partly generated by rapid modernization, Western-type education, and upward social mobility, which p u t a high premium on a constant quest for new culturally adaptive strategies in changing environments.

POLITICAL SCIENCE A N D POLITICAL THE NEW RAPPROCHEMENT

ANTHROPOLOGY:

There arc, therefore, dangerous conceptual traps awaiting the interdisciplinary student of African politics, whose search for universal categories could lead to what Giovanni Sartori calls "meaningless togetherness" resulting f r o m feeding "primitivism and formlessness into nonprimitive settings". 5 1 Yet the task of restructuring our field research and comparative foci to cope with the worldwide political a n d military implications of population explosion and poverty in modernizing societies a n d of runaway ecological pollution and potential danger to affluencc in post-industrial societies is more urgent today t h a n ever before. Fortunately, anthropologists a n d political scientists have shown remarkable willingness to change their theoretical and empirical focus as they converge on African towns and carry on their local studies dealing explicitly with development problems of worldwide political significance and involvement. The small multiethnic modernizing t o w n 5 2 or the regional capital and its catchment area, which exhibits those combinations of indigenous, accommodationist, a n d alien elements characteristic of developing nations, is m o r e strategic f o r the analysis of the politics of the new African states than is the " t r i b e " . In the town, a much-needed ideographic a n d nomothetic theoretical integration in a dynamic setting 30

A very interesting discussion of this confusion is Archie Mafeic's "The Ideology of 'Tribalism'", The Journal of Modern African Studies IX (2), 253-61. Mafeje points out that in South Africa the indigenous population has " n o word for 'tribe'; only for 'nation,' 'clan,' and 'lineage' and, traditionally, people were identified by territory — 'whose (which chief's) land d o you conic from"" (my emphases). Giovanni Sartori, "Concept Misformation in Comparative Politics", American Political Science Review LXIV (December 1970), 1052. 52 Balandier's "village communities" - - see Georges Balandier, Political Anthropology ( N e w Y o r k : Pantheon Books, 1970).

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is inescapable. Of course, the crucial and indispensable role of national (and international) governments and organizations in mobilizing local populations for popular participation in development, its planning and its execution, makes it theoretically and empirically inescapable to relate local responses and reactions systematically to the effects of national and international policy decisions and their implementation. Both domestic and foreign policies of the new African states impinging on the grass roots reflect the primacy of economic interests, the great instability of national leadership, and the difficulty and determination to modernize rapidly. Good observes that, for a new state, "foreign policy is domestic policy pursued by other means; it is domestic policy carried beyond the boundaries of the state". 5 3 In African countries, domestic policy is basically about the improvement of the quality of life of particular towns, villages, or regions, and the elimination of serious structural disequilibrium of the economy. It is also concerned with: 1. the generation of confidence in the African's ability to pursue successfully a self-reliant economic development; 2. the fullest control and use of all local resources to reduce their excessive dependence on external aid for development; 3. the correction of inherited imbalances in local and regional development; 4. the equitable distribution of the wealth of the nations to reduce or eliminate the major causes of political instability; and 5. the overthrow of colonialism, neocolonialism, and other forms of racist oppression. To return to the changing theoretical framework of African political studies, the historical town studies arc clearly an advance over the naiveempiricist, ahistorical research of much of the pre-World War II anthropology and the institutional — legal — formalism of political science. Our continuing success here will depend on the coherence and clarity of our concepts, their standardization and range of application.

INTER- A N D M U L T I - D I S C I P L I N A R Y POLITICAL STUDIES The convergence of the various social sciences in the local political fields and arenas has already produced analytical results of far-reaching importance in the study of new states. Noteworthy among them are: 53

Robert C. Good, "Changing Patterns of African International Relations", A merican Political Science Review (September 1964), 638.

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1. The "detribalization" o/the study of politics. There is now the recognition and a more realistic handling of the conceptual problems related to the "tribe". The "tribe", as "ethnic" category "discovered" and popularized by colonial officials and anthropologists, has stood in the way of realistic understanding of the modernizing problems of African nations. At any rate, the total effects of and local responses to Western colonialism in Africa and Asia are considered indispensable data and are beginning to be systematically explored. Thus, in his Political Anthropology, Balandier sees the immediate political consequences of the colonial situation as (a) the creation of new territorial boundaries, (b) the reduction of pre-colonial polities to conditional existence and the transformation of politics into technical administration, (c) the strengthening of arbitrary and limited power of chiefs, (d) increased nepotism and skillful manipulation of conflicting roles and interests, and (e) the destruction of the king's "divinity" and religious sanctions. What this amounts to, in practice, is the abandonment of the anthropologist's erstwhile paternalistic commitment to single "tribes" — the "my 'tribe' complex". Consistent with the new movement for "the decolonization of social science, and the emergence of a truly comparative sociology", 54 some authors are celebrating the passing of "tribal" man in Africa. 55 But social science cannot be truly "decolonized" until native intellectuals are first "decolonized" and assume leading, responsible, and imaginative roles in all areas of critical scholarship.

2. Critical concern with history. Stanley Diamond summarizes this trend when he says: Political anthropology... seeks to understand and isolate the specific dynamics of social change in whatever historical depth proves pertinent. The approach alerts us to the dangers of ascribing contemporary conflicts to such abstractions as "tribalism." 50 The social unrest and civil confusion in Africa are seen increasingly as inseparable from Africa's colonial heritage, characterized by weak 54

Jack Goody, Comparative Studies in Kinship (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1969), xiv, 1. 55 See Peter C. W. Gutkind, ed., The Passing of Tribal Man in Africa (Leiden, The Netherlands: E. J. Brill, 1970). 56 Stanley Diamond and Fred G. Burke, eds., The Transformation of East Africa: Studies in Political Anthropology (New York: Basic Books, 1966), 14.

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internal socioeconomic, political, and technological structures and by foreign domination. Within African countries the roots of the new elitism and preoccupation with privilege, which add to political instability, are thought to lie deeper in their checkered histories. 57

3. Multi-ethnic and racial urban and peri-urban focus. Towns, the recent focus of research, include rural, industrial, commercial, and administrative polyethnic and racial centers of various sizes.58 In them, the coexistence of highly specialized, formal relationships and the more diffused informal patterns is clearly crystallized. Towns, as units of district and national organizations, are relatively dependent political structures within a complex network of linked political structures. Dominated by national and international centers, they constitute contingent polities par excellence. The extent of their political dependence, their relative degrees of sovereignty — primarily defines the relative effectiveness of the towns' control over major economic, political, military, technical, and technological policy decisions and their execution. Within each town, whatever its specific level, degree, and scope of dependence on superordinate structures, economic, social, religious, kinship, and other activities create some integration among its members, while dramatizing existing and often irreconcilable economic and political cleavages. The nature of the intricate dynamics of a town's socioeconomic and political dependence and relative independence in a national and global context is again shown by my study of Swedru, a town of about 20,000 (1960 national census) people in the Agona area of Ghana. Through its vital commerce, Swedru is an integral part of a world capitalist economic system and subject to its fluctuating pressures. The existence of socioeconomic inequalities creates patron-client ties locally and nationally which lead to the establishment and perpetuation of various forms of political dependence. In towns, the relationship between national elites and sub-elites, national elites and representatives of foreign governments and multi-national interests, as they struggle to harmonize or force through their political and economic decisions, can be better understood and the outcome better appreciated. It is in towns that we can follow 57

Maxwell Owusu, "Culture and Democracy in West Africa: Some Persistent Problems", Africa Today XVIII (January 1971), 68-76. 58 Joan Vincent, The African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971); Owusu, Uses and Abuses of Political Power.

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individual strategy relations — i.e. observe individuals as they manipulate their environment to their advantage, where individuals and groups ostensibly forget, in the absence of effective sanctions, public duty when it hampers the pursuit of gain. Towns, in short, provide the best "laboratory" for the study of the process of national and transnational integration and disintegration.

4. Interest and conflict analysis:

international,

class, communal,

etc.

One most crucial defining feature of African countries is their material poverty and the frightening disparities in economic and social opportunities and benefits. The deep socioeconomic cleavages and the ruthless and violent rivalries which they occasion are related primarily to the uneven diffusion of the opportunities associated with modernization, to the dynamics of worldwide modern industrial capitalism which reinforces and sustains mass poverty. The stress on self-interest, on pragmatism and expediency as opposed to civic duty, is therefore almost inevitable in these circumstances. Elsewhere I have shown that the major problem facing African states today is the commitment of the leaders to instant embourgeoisement and privilege even as they pursue the noble and distant objectives of egalitarian "African socialism". 5 9 Recently Gutkind has been concerned with one particular category of persons — the unemployed in urban areas of Africa. 6 0 He, perhaps correctly, sees the unemployed as the probable core of African studies in the future, relates cogently their activities to problems of economic development, and emphasizes their potential for revolutionary political leadership. The focus on external and internal interest and status groups points to the most critical variables in African political studies, to the existence of hostile, unremitting, and often violent socioeconomic and political rivalry, and to "civil wars" and guerrilla wars of regional and national liberation. It leads to the search for the conditions which engender relative felt deprivation, perception of disadvantage, a sense of powerlessness, suspicion of insidious discrimination — the very stuff of politics everywhere. As Sklar has shown for Nigeria, more often than not the so-called "tribalism" is a mask for class (or emergent class) privilege. Thus, in concentrating on various expressions of political and economic 59

Owusu, "Culture and Democracy in West Africa, Some Persistent Problems", 72. Peter C. W. Gutkind, "Tradition, Migration, Urbanization, Modernity, and Unemployment in Africa: The Roots of Instability", Canadian Journal of African Studies (Montreal), III (Spring 1969), 343-65. 60

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inequality, we are moving away from our past overcommitment to orderrestoring, "balance of power" models to conflict and revolution models, which better explain Myrdal's "cumulative inequalities" in excolonial societies. Myrdal argues that in the economic sphere "colonialism meant primarily only a strengthening of all the forces in the markets which anyhow were working toward internal and international inequalities. It built itself into, and gave an extra impetus and a peculiar character to the circular causation of the cumulative process" (my emphases). 6 1 One of the most crucial, but sorely neglected, areas of political anthropological research in contemporary non-Western societies is the politics of rural-urban guerrilla wars of liberation, of the various forms and impact of armed conflicts. According to the Economist, these "halfforgotten" wars are neglected because they are going on "in inconvenient and unpleasant places ... the people doing the fighting talk the wrong languages" 6 2 (my emphasis). Of course, there is abundant material on so-called primitive warfare and on non-human (primate) forms of aggression. 63 But the discussion, no doubt valuable, has very little to offer in our urgent search for better understanding of the specifically modern, and more destructive, patterns of war and aggression which have changed the very character of warfare.

5. Anthropologists studying politics in Africa now require new skills and techniques andflexible, multi-purpose tools. Perhaps Swartz had this in mind when he said: Since it cannot be known in advance what scope a processual investigation is going to involve, the more the investigator knows about the peoples, government, history, languages, in the general area in which he is working, the more ready and better equipped he will be to follow his social fields wherever they lead him. 64 Swartz again notes that: One might start by studying the processes by which disputes are settled in fil

See Gunnar Myrdal, "International Inequalities", in Expansion of World Trade and The Growth of National Economies, ed. Richard S. Weckstein ( N e w York: Harper and R o w , 1968), 61-77. 62 Economist, August 7, 1971, pp. 16-17. 63 The role of firearms in the development of indigenous states and in the resistance to white control in Africa is considered in two important issues of the Journal of African History XII (2) (1971) and XII (4) (1971). 64 Marc J. Swartz, "Area Studies, Theory, and Cross-Cultural Comparison", African Studies Review XIII (April 1970), 66.

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Lugbaraland but... it might well be that actors and individuals who are not Lugbara [e.g. members of other ethnic and national groups, as is shown by the recent role of the World Council of Churches in bringing an end to the internecine war between the central government of Sudan and the rebellious populations of the south 65 ] are involved in the dispute settlement fields and should receive serious attention from the investigator.66 This is clearly commonsensical, but Swartz reminds us of serious inadequacies of the old and still fairly dominant uni-disciplinary approach to African politics. The problem-oriented anthropologist certainly needs a broader, more systematic, and more in-depth knowledge about his subjects and their environment than he has, perhaps, hitherto possessed if he is to deal adequately and meaningfully with his selected problem.

6. Comparative decision-making

studies.

As anthropologists move away f r o m static, holistic "tribal" or community studies, they turn increasingly to the new issue-oriented processual studies of which the analysis of political decision-making is a major attraction. As Snyder points out, the decision-making approach to the study of politics belongs "in the category of dynamic, as distinct from static [structural-functional] analysis". "Dynamic analysis", according to him, "is process analysis. By process is meant ... time plus change — change in relationships and condition." 6 7 Snyder insists that there are two ways of scientifically studying process in the sense of interaction and decision-making: the making and implementing of decisions, and "the patterns of interaction between individuals, states, organizations, groups, jurisdictions, and so on". 6 8 Swartz, Turner, and Tuden similarly see the field of political anthropology as the "study of the [structure and] processes involved in determining and implementing public goals and in the differential achievement and use of power by members of the group concerned with these goals". 6 9 Three interrelated aspects of decision-making are distinguishable — 65

See Kodwo E. Ankrah, "Sudan: The Church and Peace", Africa: An International Business, Economic and Political Monthly 9 (May 1972), 58-63. 66 Swartz, "Area Studies, Theory, and Cross-Cultural Comparison", 66. 67 Richard C. Snyder, "A Decision-Making Approach to the Study of Political Phenomena", in Approaches to the Study of Politics (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1958), 10. 68 Ibid., 11. 69 Marc J. Swartz, Victor W. Turner, and Arthur Tuden, eds., Political Anthropology (Chicago: Aldine, 1966), 7.

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namely, (a) the policy-maker's (makers') perception of the world, which links analytically the perceived external setting to the actual policy decisions and non-decisions; (b) the different kinds of decisions or policies ; (c) and the various types of decision-making processes. 70 In studying policy decisions (domestic/foreign) in the new nations, it is possible to identify three or four major kinds of decisions which are not necessarily mutually exclusive: crisis policy, which refers primarily to decisions in national emergency or in response to national security needs — external and internal threats from opposition groups, military coups d'etat, natural disasters, adverse and sudden changes in international trade, foreign aid, etc.; budgetary policy, which defines the pattern of annually debated or declared policy objectives as they affect domestic revenue collection and allocation; development planning policy, which refers to the short- and long-term large-scale development plans, generally subject to the dynamics of expected external technical and economic aid; and local development projects policy, which is about the various small-scale self-help, voluntary and non-voluntary community development schemes and about local levies and taxes subject to national budgetary policy and influenced by international assistance. It should be noted that different kinds of policies may involve the same or different policy makers using the same, different, or overlapping kinds of decisionmaking systems. Anthropologists focusing on village, town, or local government councils and on development and other committees as decisional units (e.g. Bailey, Robertson) have tended to concentrate on forms of decisionmaking processes. They have analyzed the difficulties in decision-making procedures, especially the effect on decisions of the coexistence of Western "democratic" parliamentary rules characterized by the majority vote and indigenous procedures stressing the need for consensus. Bailey identifies two alternative forms of decision-making procedures and their combinations: consensus and division (dissensus). At the "consensus end of the scale" are other forms of decision-taking methods — e.g. drawing of lots, consulting oracles, appealing to gods, procedures emphasizing "appeals to impersonal(chance)forces (factors)"; and at "the division end" are the complicated variations in voting procedures, including "appeals to personal forces or power" — namely, bribery, blackmail, boycotts, kidnapping, threats, riots, fights, assassinations, and other forms of 70 See Ross Stagner, Psychological Aspects of International Conflict (Belmont, California: Brooks-Cole Publishing Company, 1967) and Harold and Margaret Sprout, The Ecological Perspective on Human Affairs (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965) for interesting discussions of the effects of perceived milieu on decisions.

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personal violence and property destruction — as proven techniques for forcing a division or changing the outcome of a decision if not the political system itself. Bailey again points to the importance of linking local council behavior to the structural characteristics in the wider society. 71 One could do this by explicitly identifying and isolating specific policy areas, their institutional, non-institutional, and historical setting, analyzing why and how they relate to the intricate characteristics of policy-makers, especially their perception of the decision environment, and to particular types of decision-making procedures, noting how both relationships affect the probable policy outcomes. As my Swedru study indicates, a local council or committee as a decisional unit may be related systematically to other higher- or lower-level councils in the wider society (societies) by (1) overlapping memberships or the existence of "mediators", (2) common procedures, tacit cultural understandings, similar professional training or life experiences, (3) reciprocal effects of courses of action adopted, (4) common objectives — e.g. improvement in the quality of life requiring intercouncil consultations and coordination, (5) overlapping spheres of competence or jurisdiction, and (6) dependence on a national or transnational center for political guidance, authorization, and vital economic aid. 72 Given the differences in authoritative capacities and resources of decisional units, decisions may be constrained by external conditions (e.g. pressures from superordinate structures or "authorities") — how the total environment appears to decision-makers, or by internal factors associated with the type and functional weaknesses of the decision-making system, or both. Internal factors that may limit policy decisions and their outcomes in any system include, from the analysis of decision-makers' perception (or misperception) of the environment: (1) extent of control of the external environment; (2) alternative or contradictory policy objectives or intentions; (3) alternative or inconsistent means to given policy objectives; and (4) the size and quality of political resources — money, material, skill, energy, information, commitment, etc. Magic, charms, amulets believed to ensure favorable or intended 71

F. G. Bailey, "Decisions by Consensus in Councilsand Committees With Special Reference to Village and Local Government in India", in Political Systems and the Distribution of Power, ed. Michael Banton (New York: Praeger Publishers, 1965), 1-20. 72 See particularly Chapter 7 of my Uses and Abuses of Political Power for an interesting case study of the actual processes involved in linking different levels of decisional units.

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(negative) decision outcome, and the reliance on prophecy, rumors, oracles, and so on for beneficial political direction or course of action should not be discounted as important political resources. Anthropologists who have studied culture and personality factors as they affect action in different societies should be able to make significant contributions to the analysis of political decision-making.

7. Ecological and demographic variables in an evolutionary perspective. One of the principal features of the resurgence of interest in ecological and demographic factors in African political studies 73 from a comparative evolutionary perspective is a concern with the analysis of the exact causal relationships between high population density, technology, and state formation, an interest going back to the pioneer work of Fortes and Evans-Pritchard 74 and others. This brings to mind the earlier postulates of nineteenth century evolutionary sociologists — e.g. Herbert Spencer and August Comte — that the emergence of the state was the result of, among other factors, the increasing size and complexity of societies in which militarism was an important ingredient. The major difficulty with ecological and demographic analysis is that, for Africa, it often involves imaginative, frequently wild, reconstructions based either on no evidence at all or on inferential data of doubtful validity. It is not clear, for instance, in Ottenberg's recent analysis of the data of Afikpo Igbo of Nigeria, whether the population density figures for Afikpo are for the period between 1700-1830 or for a later period. In both Ottenberg's and Stevenson's original studies, the latter's concerned primarily with reexamination of the African material as presented by Fortes and EvansPritchard in their African Political Systems, there is clearly a confusion of time levels. Nevertheless, whatever the logical and interpretative problems involved, one of the major and valid scholarly interests of anthropology is in demonstrating how global political systems did and continue to develop or evolve, one out of the other, whatever the precise spatio-temporal sequence. Anthropologists, thus, take for granted Sahlins' idea that "tribes" are, by definition, societies which do not possess "a true government, political and sovereign, structurally separate from the underlying population 73

Ottenberg, Double Descent in an African Society; Robert F. Stevenson, Population and Political Ssytems in Tropical Africa (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968). 74 Fortes and Evans-Pritchard, eds., African Political Systems.

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and set above them". 7 5 Sahlins' contention — typical of much of evolutionary speculation in anthropology — is unfortunate, since "tribe" remains a blanket term used by anthropologists and laymen alike for any indigenous, primarily pre-industrial, non-European populations, past and present, including the now tautologous "tribes without rulers". Sahlins asserts that tribes "occupy a position in cultural evolution. They took over from simpler hunters; they gave way to the more advanced cultures we call 'civilization'." 76 For Sahlins and his followers, "civilizations" are synonymous with states. According to this view, it was with the emergence of government that man moved from the primitive (tribal) to the civilized condition. How, then, do we explain the existence of "tribal governments"? The Eurocentric confusion involved in this type of thinking is recognized by Diamond, who himself advances a scheme of polity types and their historically progressive "levels" of development, not dissimilar to that of Sahlins. 77 In his essay on "historicism" in Africa, Wrigley correctly argues against what he calls "the Sahlins model", which "dominates popular thinking about African (non-Western?) affairs to the exclusion of all others" and which results from semantic confusion or deliberate obfuscation. 78 Wrigley, following Popper, 79 provides a cogent criticism against the evolutionary hunter-gatherer-tribe-state progression. In the first place, this type of evolutionary thinking is liable to the familiar charge of "historicism". The error of the historicists and much of anthropological thinking about African societies and polities, as Wrigley demonstrates, is to combine the social scientist's taxonomic procedures with the evolutionist's concept of inevitable progress, so that "classificatory types, formulated in the first place for their heuristic value ... [are] translated into developmental stages, conceived as having real existence and arranged in a hierarchy which is both chronological and qualitative". 80 Again, the evolutionary schemes, at best, distort and oversimplify the realities of the cultural and historical process. It remains to be shown that the Bushmen today truly represent the pre-modem hunting and gathering populations of prehistoric periods. This point concerns the 75

Marshall D . Sahlins, Tribesmen, Foundations of Modern Anthropology Series (New York: 1968), 4; see also Μ. H. Fried, The Evolution of Political Society (New York: Random House, 1967). 79 Sahlins, Tribesmen, 5. 77 Diamond and Burke, eds., The Transformation of East Africa, 4-11. 78 Christopher Wrigley, "Historicism in Africa", African Affairs: The Journal of the Royal African Society LXX (279) (April 1971), 113-24. 79 Karl R. Popper, The Poverty of Historicism (London: 1957). so Wrigley, "Historicism in Africa", 121.

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general problem of extrapolation already discussed. From the standpoint of political anthropology, what is of inestimable value is how the various groups of Bushmen, as fairly recent survivors of a genocidal effort associated with European colonization, have adapted or failed to adapt technologically, politically, socioeconomically, to a very limiting and harsh ecological environment dominated by more powerful and hostile populations. Put another way, the view implied by Gellner's "neo-Episodic vision" of the transition, as he discusses it in Thought and Change, is a real process that, in different degrees and intensity, involves or affects most, if not all, the so-called congeries of "bands", "tribes", "chiefdoms", and what have you as concatenated units of new and modern national or international governments, all at once. Of course, I am not arguing that "political archaeology" — the imaginative reconstruction of polity types from the present to the very remote, often irrecoverable past is academically indefensible. But it is important to be aware of the primarily academic nature of our speculative exercise, of the inherent weaknesses of our "evolutionary epistemology".

8. The conceptual problems of national integration studies. The major concern of political anthropologists and political scientists working in Africa since the end of colonial rule has been with the problem of national integration or disintegration as modernization proceeds. The process of integration itself is variously conceptualized in terms of: center-periphery relations, with increasing emphasis on both vertical and horizontal patterns; of formal and informal interstitial aspects of politics and administration, and their environments, and of patronclient networks. Bailey postulates an encounter between a number of structures — i.e. between small-scale structures typical of rural villages and towns, having a lower level of structural differentiation and limited political resources of personnel, money, skill, arms, and educated people. 81 Against these impoverished fields are the large-scale, highly differentiated, specialized political structures of the regional, national, or even international centers supported by disproportionately greater political resources. Various phases of encapsulation or interpenetration of the smaller structures by the larger ones may be conceived, with "middleman" roles providing linkages. As Bailey points out, "Middle81

F. G. Bailey, Caste and the Economic Frontier (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1957); idem, Politics and Social Change in Orissa, 1959 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1963).

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men ... are roles which come into existence to bridge a gap in communications between the larger and smaller structures. ..." 8 2 In the towns (the radiating centers of socioeconomic and political activities), sub-elites straddle lower- and higher-level structures and play brokerage roles. From this new perspective the artificial rigidities of the old opposition between "tradition" and "modernity" are eliminated. Theι flexibility of Bailey's model is demonstrated by his consideration that members supporting each of the structures have a series of options concerning how far they wish to influence, compromise with, accept dependent status, or disregard one another. In fact, reversion to relative isolation is theoretically conceivable along this strategy continuum. Yet, given the gross inequalities of political resources between higher- and lower-level structures, it is hard to conceive dependent polities subject to more powerful external pressures exercizing real and effective choice in major spheres. Further, we may consider the politico-economic, military and technological relationships between Africa and the external world in terms of center-periphery, patron-client relations and of the encapsulating model. 83 It is interesting that Bailey's formulation and research based on it have produced hypotheses of significant comparative import. After distinguishing between normative and pragmatic rules of political behavior, he suggests, for example, that "the ratio of normative to pragmatic rules can be taken as indicator of potential instability..." 84 My own work in Ghana, based independently on similar distinctions — that is, between normative, symbolic, and instrumental orientations — appears to support Bailey's general hypothesis. 85 The units of political analysis are also variously conceived: as individuals, crowds, corporate groups, political parties and relationships within the parties, cliques, elites, classes, nation-states, the unemployed, councils, trade unions, towns, ego-centered networks, factions, and so on. The importance of the foregoing types of conceptualization is that they draw attention to the difficulty of establishing relational boundaries of actors whose dynamic behaviors are not necessarily coterminous with formal legal, kinship, or territorial boundaries. They point to parapolitical systems, partly dependent on and partly independent of larger encapsulating political structures. 86 They indicate the fluctuating boundaries of polities, 82

Bailey, Stratagems and Spoils, 167. See, for instance, Henry Bretton, Patron-Client Powers (New York: General Learning Press, 1971). 84 Bailey, Stratagems and Spoils, 189. 85 Owusu, Uses and Abuses of Political Power, 254. 86 Bailey, "Parapolitical Systems", 281. 83

Relations:

Middle Africa and the

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Anthropology

55

contingent on changes in both domestic and foreign policy issues and in individual and group interests. The range of political behavior includes nepotism, favoritism, and personalism; bribery and corruption; "tribalism" (the ideological scapegoat of African modernization); neocolonialism; and Western imperialism, communism, and socialism. Whatever it is, "tribalism" continues to be singled out as the greatest impediment to national cohesion and the achievement of stable polity and prosperous economy in African states. As Lucy Mair puts it, some, including African leaders, consider "tribalism" to be not only a moral defect but a defect peculiar to Africa. In recent times, students of urbanizing African societies have tended to substitute the less pejorative term, "ethnicity", for "tribalism". The implicit assumption here appears to be that "ethnicity" represents an evolutionary advance, after which Africans might eventually attain a true sense of nationhood! The progression is similar to the old nineteenth century Morganian savagery-barbarismcivilization law in new terminological clothing. Anthropologists have, however, demonstrated a readiness to re-examine critically popular but misleading concepts such as the "tribe". For concepts are not only crucial structural and dynamic elements of a theoretical system but also tools for fact-gathering. If they are not sufficiently discriminating, data misgathering is inevitable. Some anthropologists, for instance, have either rejected "tribalism" as a general explanatory concept, an independent variable, or consider it a dependent variable, one of a host of labels or symbols (e.g. language, religion, skin pigmentation, sex, ideology, etc.) in terms of which individuals and groups, possessing uneven political resources, compete for limited economic and other advantages in changing and stressful environments. 87 Here one recalls Lucy Mair's timely refutation of the sociological perspective that saw whole cultures rejecting foreign intrusion or value systems endowing societies with behavioral rigidities or flexibilities. As she put it, "We look rather at the new opportunities that present themselves to individuals, and ask what choice they make and why, and we tend to find that it is the existing situation of the individual, not of the society or culture, that makes him choose one way or another; and that all do not make the same choice" (my emphases; stress on "individuals" original). 88 For her, "the social changes we are witnessing today are effected by social forces that have been in operation in all societies in all times — 87 Abner Cohen, "Political Anthropology"; Ronald Cohen, "Anthropology and Political Science: Courtship or Marriage"; Owusu, Uses and Abuses of Political Power; Vincent, The African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town. s ® Mair, Anthropology and Social Change, 4.

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the manipulation of whatever areas of free choice there may be by people who are able to calculate where their advantage lies. When new opportunities present themselves, many people will hesitate to take risks with them, and some will perceive that their advantage would lie in the maintenance of the status quo... Both types of person have always existed in all societies. What is peculiar about the changes of the present day jn the nonWestern world is simply the breathless speed with which historical circumstances have extended the room for manoeuvre." 89 Vincent distinguishes between ethnicity as "the sense of belonging to a community and valuing its norms and customs before those of comparable communities" and "tribalism" as a slogan or tactic employed in political and economic competition. 90 She argues logically that the first does not necessarily entail the second and that, in actual situations, ethnicity may be irrelevant: "There are clearly times when ethnicity was politicized and there are times, perhaps more numerous, when it lies in no one's interest to admit ethnic distinctions into social and political encounters." 91 This points to a convenient dilemma. The "ethnic" in a polyethnic society is both "ethnic" and "national" citizen at the same time. Which identity is salient depends, as Lucy Mair shows, on how an individual perceives his situation. The difficulty with Vincent's important distinction is that, in the context of rapid social change and shifting individual and group affiliations, 92 what seems crucial is the ability to distinguish in advance in what situations ethnicity is likely to assume a particular form, politicized or not. Again, inter-ethnic struggles may not necessarily result merely from existing cultural differences but from mutual competition for a third party's (positive reference) customs and habits, as was predominantly the case in the colonial period, when indigenous groups fought each other for the colonial, Victorian style of life. What generally seems to happen, in practice, is that selected aspects of the same or different (indigenous and borrowed) values and symbols are deliberately manipulated or given new historical interpretations and definitions in political encounters requiring extraordinary resourcefulness, to mobilize support and advance individual and group interests. 93 Gellner's consideration is again rele89

Ibid., 134. Joan Vincent, "Anthropology and Political Development", in Politics and Change in Developing Countries: Studies in the Theory and Practice of Development, ed. Colin Leys (Cambridge University Press, 1969), 52. 91 Ibid., 10. 92 A feature of most African societies and described by the contributors to From Tribe to Nation in Africa: Studies in Incorporation Process, ed. Ronald Cohen and John Middleton (San Francisco: Chandler Publishing Company, 1970). 93 Owusu, Uses and Abuses of Political Power. 90

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vant here. Gellner rightly notes that industrialization and modernization are the narrower and wider aspects of the same phenomenon. 94 In the new nations, the absence of a viable industrial base has meant that political competition is generally couched in terms of the "trappings, terminology, expectations, and slogans" of industrial society, and that a "complex of such anticipatory borrowings may have almost as much impact on a society as the thing itself". One should certainly add to the list the political impact, on a developing society, of actual borrowings: imported military and other consumer products of advanced technology.

Symbols and Political Competition The set of symbols deployed by a group or party in a given encounter seems to depend on: (1) the social-cultural characteristics (diffused stereotypes) of the rival party and how the party is perceived and defined; (2) the mutual definition of the struggle, its goals, and the means considered legitimate, and rules perceived as relevant to the struggle; (3) the extent to which particular groups or individuals have exclusive access to specific, deployable as opposed to generalized, symbols and myths; and (4) their differential access to political resources, human and material. 95 Of course, conflicting interests may be expressed or advanced by using the same set of symbols. In his analysis of the Ndembu ritual process, Victor Turner makes a similar point, without stressing the innovative capacity of groups and individuals, when he says, 'What is really needed ... is a typology of culturally recognized and stereotyped situations, in which the symbols utilized are classified according to the goal structure of the specific situation." 96 Symbols are cognitive classifications for ordering and changing the political universe, evocative devices for rousing and channeling politically relevant emotions, and are also cognitivepurposive. All this poses a very difficult problem for fieldwork and demands of the political anthropologist new types of insights and skills. Once again, the native scholar, steeped in and sensitive to the cultural nuances of historically based perceptions and cognitions of his society, can assist in clarifying aspects of the problem. A fundamental difficulty still remains: the fact of man's creative genius, his ability for symbolic innovation in unforeseen directions. 94

Gellner, Thought and Change, 171 n. Owusu, Uses and Abuses of Political Power, 325. 96 Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure 1969), 41.

95

(Chicago: Aldine,

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As we move away from local studies based on a single "tribal", smallscale society of the ahistorical "strong structural-functional" anthropology to the multi-ethnic, relatively modern, and dependent towns of the historical "processual" anthropology, the crucial variables become increasingly difficult to isolate and define. In fact, it is becoming almost unrealistic to study African politics meaningfully at any level without paying serious attention to the effccts of international pressures on domestic policy-making and implementation. Two examples may suffice. The inability of an African government to import adequate quantities of simple, but necessary and suitable, farm implements — hoes and cutlasses — at prices that farmers could afford, due to foreign exchange difficulties, may lead to serious domestic political crises. Again, the price that the peasant gets for his groundnuts or cocoa — his principal means of livelihood and major foreign exchange earner — price invariably determined by the largely Western-controlled or dominated international market, may be the most critical factor in determining the nature and direction of local and national political battles. In 1928, the worsening of the Gold Coast farmers' terms of trade — as reflected in the low price they received for their cocoa and the high price they paid for imported goods — led directly to the formation, at the instance of local chiefs and with their support, of popular organizations that successfully protested their grievance by refusing to sell their cocoa during the 1930-31 season. 97 The increasing interest shown by anthropologists in recent times in the problems of development is welcome and reflects trends in the social sciences generally. However, the major problems of comparative political theory — conceptual clarification, meaningful standardization, etc. — are yet to be adequately solved. In the words of Gregor, our efforts are "excellent examples of the cognitive uses of pre-theoretical conceptual schemata" 98 because the current concepts of comparative politics are used largely as storage and retrieval conveniences and constructed out of inadequate "functionalist" and/or "systems" vocabulary. What is urgently needed is genuine dialectical propositions that hypothesize meaningful, precise, and testable relationship between, say, national or individual economic self-interest, the distribution of power, and political instability in relation to the dynamics of political violence, alliances, and cleavages, at different levels of society simultaneously. 97

Owusu, Uses and Abuses of Political Power, 87-88. A. James Gregor, "Theory, Metatheory, and Comparative Politics", in Comparative Politics (July 1971), 580. 98

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Politics, History, and Political

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E P I S T E M O L O G I C A L ISSUES IN A N T H R O P O L O G Y : THE "INSIDER" RESEARCHER The classical anthropological techniques of participant observation and saturation sampling, however indispensable, must be improved and combined with other methods. In this regard, the fascinating discussion of the epistemological, mcthodological-ethical questions raised by fieldwork in an alien society, issues which from the outsider's perspective may be summed up as the conflict between the scientific (pure) and humanistic (ideological) approaches to knowledge, is noteworthy." The survey method is already proving useful to urban anthropologists; so are the non-quantitative mathematical social network mode s of Mitchell and Epstein. 100 Traditionally, intensive fieldwork has involved learning an alien native language in a mono-linguistic, culturally homogeneous, small-scale "tribal" society, and at least a year's residence in the society. This consideration, of course, does not apply to the native anthropologist studying his own society, and who is faced with different problems, but hardly as stated by Nukunya. 1 0 1 The "culture-bearer anthropologist", brought up in the society, is part of the situation, a potential or actual informer and probably a conscious agent of change, and "his naturally unavoidable sympathies for or disapproval of certain institutions", which disturb Nukunya so much because they supposedly adversely affect scientific objectivity, constitute part of the objective material of any anthropologist, perhaps the most important one. Again, the scientific search for "latent functions" is, ironically, precisely what anthropologists share with ruling elites, who often consciously feel duty-bound to manipulate "latent functions" in the interest of the status quo. The major problem of the anthropologist studying his own society is that he is directly accountable to the society for his findings and their publication. This enjoins scrupulous honesty on the part of the fieldworker, whom many members of the society intimately know, and whose scholarly integrity may mean treading on a few toes, politically speaking, without impunity. While it is impossible to require an investigator in the cosmopolitan, poly-ethnic, polylinguistic town to acquire facility in all the principal languages found 99

Current Anthropology 10 (1969), 505-23, "Problems of Role Conflicts in Social Studies"; and Current Anthropology 12 (1971), 230-32, "On Professional Ethics and Epistemological Foundations". 100 J. Clyde Mitchell, ed., Social Networks in Urban Situations (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1969). 101 G. K. Nukunya, Kinship and Marriage Among the An/o Ewe (London: University of London, Athlonc Press, 1969), 19-20.

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there, a working knowledge of at least two (principal and minor, as determined by the relative size or dominance of locally represented speech communities) is practically a must. The fieldworker may have to spend a longer period in the field (the best way, incidentally, of acquiring the much-needed languages) than the current average (for the doctoral candidate) if he is to produce valid and meaningful work. In any case, it appears that interdisciplinary (team) projects extending over a number of years will increasingly become the norm. In the town, the anthropologist will be working with masses of historical records — Christian-mission, school, local and regional administration correspondence and documents, political party minutes, private diaries, newspapers — and with oral traditions; he must be properly trained to interpret them correctly. Amateurism in historiography could prove (as it has proven for Africa) more dangerous than quackery in medicine. Valid interpretations of surviving historical evidence itself depend on the ability of the investigator to gain as wide an understanding as possible of behavior patterns which usually lie beyond his own personal experience. For the future, meaningful progress in political anthropology — in comparative politics generally — will depend not only on how sophisticated and comprehensive our methods and theories of modernization are but also on how well our scientific theories can explain historically, interpret realistically, and cope with the deep moral issues dividing mankind: war and want, tyranny and terrorism, environmental pollution, population pressures, economic and political exploitation. Thus, the development of political anthropology ought to go beyond the mere consideration, in Balandier's words, of "the various modalities of the relation between tradition and modernity' 1 and the determination of "unities and levels of inquiry in which analysis would be capable of attaining an increasing scientific efficacy" 102 (my stress).

C O M P A R A T I V E POLICY ANALYSIS Political anthropology should be actively and explicitly concerned with the critical and intelligent examination of urgent public policies and policy issues, the course and effects of policy implementation, and the integration of studies wherever possible with similar studies elsewhere, particularly those of more powerful foreign governments and businesses as they affect policy decisions in Africa. In political science, policy analysis has traditionally meant at least three things: 102

Balandier, Political

Anthropology,

177.

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Anthropology

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1. The study of specific kinds of public policy to provide a better understanding and explanation of the working of political systems. The focus here has been the correlation of types of policy issues and types of policy-making processes with the hope of arriving at more sophisticated causal statements about political phenomena. 2. The general and abstract definition and delineation of policy-making structures and processes themselves. 3. The systematic and critical evaluation of the total context and results of particular policy decisions or non-decisions, and how they have affected the political systems in question. 103 Systematic policy analysis and evaluation in the new states demands a serious and realistic concern with the total context of the decision-making process. It is, therefore, imperative for the policy scientist to determine and delineate the precise nature of, for instance, the effects on Africans of colonial conditioning (e.g., the loss of national and racial self-confidence). The worldview, expertise, and political experience of local decision-makers, and the racial and cultural attitudes, political beliefs, and backgrounds of foreign experts in advisory roles in developing countries, as they affect policy formulation and implementation, should be carefully and systematically analyzed. The point is that systematic comparative policy analysis which consistently failed to take into serious account the complex interplay of constituent elements of the decision-makers' perception of the external setting and the actual policies of big powers toward small nations would miss a very critical aspect of policy-making in developing countries of Africa and Asia. 104 For the extant unequal power relations between nation103

For an interesting and timely discussion of the resurgent concern with policy analysis in political science, see David Easton, "The N e w Revolution in Political Science", American Political Science Review LXIII (December 1969), 1051-61; Charles W. Anderson, "Comparative Policy Analysis: The Design of Measures", Comparative Politics IV (1) (October 1971), 117-31; Raymond A. Bauer and Kenneth J. Gergen, eds., The Study of Policy Formation (New York: The Free Press, 1971). 104 Africa: An International Business, Economic and Political Monthly 8 (April 1972), 27-28, "African Survey". It is of comparative interest to contrast the dependencecreating factors of Western economic and technical aid to developing countries with the eight principles of Chinese aid-giving as spelled out by Chou En Lai in 1965 when visiting Conakry capital of Guinea in West Africa. They are: (a) that aid is not one-way but an act of mutual benefit; (b) that China never demands special privileges in a country where she is giving aid; (c) that there is no interest charge and payment on principal is optional; (d) that there is to be no dependence tie — either industrially or in terms of repayments; (e) that there should be no long gestation period — i.e., involvement in large investments that will not yield a return for many years; (f) that there should be no second best — the donor must apply the best techniques and resources to aid at its command; (g) that no mystique should be built up — the object

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states actually delimit or eliminate the range of alternatives considered appropriate or possible answers to given problems within any particular country. In the long run, political analysis by exposing the real causes of international and domestic wars, conflicts, and tensions should help create the environment for genuine and meaningful cooperation among all nations of the world. But, ultimately, only an appropriate scientifictechnological revolution in the Third World, based on a revolution in political, social and moral attitudes and on a real transfer of resources, on an unprecedented scale, from the overdeveloped countries of Europe and America can ensure the conditions for workable world peace and the reduction of worldwide poverty.

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1961 1970

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1968

"Does Tribalism Really Matter?", Transition (Kampala) VII (October), 18-22.

BAILEY, F. G .

1957 Caste and the Economic Frontier (Manchester: Manchester University Press). 1963 Politics and Social Change: Orissa in 1959 (Berkeley: University of California Press). 1969 "Parapolitical Systems", in Local Level Politics, edited by M. J. Swartz (Chicago: Aldine), 281-94. 1969 Stratagems and Spoils: A Social Anthropology of Politics (London: Oxford University Press). BALANDIER, G.

1970

Political Anthropology, translated from the French by A. M. Sheridan Smith (New York: Pantheon).

BANTON, MICHAEL, ed.

1966

The Social Anthropology of Complex Societies (London: Tavistock).

BARNES, J. A.

1954 Politics in a Changing Society (London: Oxford University Press). 1959 "Politics without Parties", Man LIV (I). BIENEN, HENRY

1967 1967

Tanzania: Party Transformation and Economic Development (Princeton: New Jersey: Princeton University Press). "What Does Political Development Mean in Africa?", World Politics XX (1), 128-41.

must be to pass on knowledge, so that when a project is over the recipient not only can maintain it but also reproduce it; (h) that there should be no privileged status for Chinese technicians, who must accept the same working conditions as those amongst whom they work.

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BROWN, PAULA

1951

"Patterns of Authority in West Africa", Africa XXI (4).

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1969

"Political Anthropology: The Analysis of the Symbolism of Power Relations", Man IV (June), 215-35.

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1969

"Anthropology and Political Science: Courtship or Marriage?", in Politics and the Social Sciences, edited by Seymour M. Lipset (London: Oxford University Press), 29-48.

COHEN, RONALD, a n d JOHN MIDDLETON,

1970

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EASTON, DAVID

1953 1969 1965 1965

Political System (New York: Knopf). "Political Anthropology", in Biennial Review of Anthropology, 1959, edited by Bernard J. Siegel (Stanford: Stanford University Press), 210-62. A Framework for Political Analysis (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: PrenticeHall). A Systems Analysis of Political Life (New York: John Wiley and Sons).

FALLERS, LLOYD

1963

"Political Sociology and the Anthropological Study of African Societies", Archives Europeennes de Sociologie (Paris) IV (2).

FORTES, MEYER, a n d E. E. EVANS-PRITCHARD,

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eds.

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FRIED, Μ. H.

1967

The Evolution of Political Society (New York: Random House).

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1969

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GOUBERT, PIERRE

1971

"Local History", Daedalus, Journal of the American Aacademy of the Arts and Sciences (Wi nter), 113-127.

GUTKIND, PETER C. W .

1969

"Tradition, Migration, Urbanization, Modernity, and Unemployment in Africa: The Roots of Instability", Canadian Journal of African. Studies (Montreal) III (Spring), 343-65.

GUTKIND, PETER C. W . ,

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The Passing of Tribal Man in Africa (Leiden, The Netherlands: E. J. Brill).

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KILSON, M.

1966

Political Change in a West African State: A Study of the Modernization Process in Sierra Leone (Cambridge: Harvard University Press).

KUHN, THOMAS S.

1970

The Structure of Scientific Revolutations, 2d ed., enl. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press).

KUPER, ADAM

1970

Kalahari Village Politics: An African Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

LEACH, EDMUND

1961

Pul Eliya, a Village in Ceylon: A Study of Land Tenure and Kinship (Cambridge : Cambridge University Press).

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LEWIS, W . ARTHUR

1965

Politics in West Africa (London).

LEYS, COLIN

1967 Politicians and Policies: An Essay on Politics in Acholi, (Nairobi, q.v.).

Uganda 1962-65

LIPSET, SEYMOUR MARTIN, ed.

1969 Politics and the Social Sciences (London: Oxford University Press). LOFCHIE, MICHAEL F.

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Μ AIR, LUCY P.

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Anthropology

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1969

"The Cultural Units of Africa: A Classificatory Problem", in Man in Africa, edited by Μ. T. Douglas and P. M. Kaberry (London: Tavistock), 3-13.

MIDDLETON, JOHN, a n d DAVID τ AIT, eds.

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1970 "National and Communal Partisanship: The Case of Bongouanou, Ivory Coast", in African Perspectives: Essays Presented to Thomas Hodgkin, edited by R. W. Johnson and C. H. Allen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). 1970 "Rhetoric of Centre-Periphery Relations", Journal of Modern African Studies VII (4), 617-36. STEVENSON, ROBERT F.

1968 Population and Political Systems in Tropical Africa (New York: Columbia University Press). SWARTZ, MARC J.

1970 "Area Studies, Theory, and Cross-Cultural Comparison", African Studies Review XIII (April), 63-67 SWARTZ, MARC J.,

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1969 "Anthropology and Political Development", in Politics and Change in Developing Countries: Studies in the Theory and Practice of Development, edited by Colin Leys (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 55-63. 1971 The African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town (New York: Columbia University Press). WEINGROD, ALEX

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Creating Political Order: The Party States of West Africa (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). 1968 "The Structure of Political Conflict in the New States of Tropical Africa", American Political Science Review LXII, 70-87.

Encapsulated Political Systems1

ONTGU

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INTRODUCTION Fried,2 Cohen,3 Vincent,4 and others have stressed recently the need for macro-sociological studies of politics in new states in the conviction that anthropological analyses of African or other kingdoms and indigenous states have in the past treated these polities as if they were sovereign and isolated and had little or no value for the understanding of contemporary political development and processes. In studying societies in both the old and new states, anthropologists now face the problems of methods and theory involved in their total-system analysis because the important total system today is not the "anthropological society" but the "world society".5 Yet, only a few anthropologists have brought their studies up 1

This essay is an expanded version (at the request of the Editor, Dr. Maxwell Owusu) of my article entitled "Relationships between Traditional Rulers and Government in Nigeria's Midwestern State", submitted for publication in Current Anthropology. This analysis is based on material obtained during my fieldwork in 1967 and 1968 and on my experience as a government administrative officer in the Midwestern State from 1963 to 1965.1 am grateful to the Federal Government of Nigeria for sponsoring this study and to the University of London for a grant from its Central Research Fund. 2 M. Fried, "The State", in InternationaI Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (New York: Macmillan and The Free Press, 1968). 3 Abner Cohen, "Political Anthropology: The Analysis of the Symbolism of Power Relations", Man 4 (2) (1969), 215-35. 4 J. Vincent, "Anthropology and Political Development", in Politics and Change in Developing Countries, ed. Colin Leys (Cambridge University Press, 1969), 35-63. 5 P. Worsley, "The End of Anthropology?", in Transactions of the Sixth World Congress of Sociology III (Evian, 1966), 121-29.

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A n Ethnographic M a p of the Midwestern State of Nigeria, 1966

to date, to involve themselves in the analysis of the linkages between "their" societies and the central, wider, systems of the new state. Lucy Mair undertook this exercise and showed aspects of the dynamics of social relations involving indigenous sociopolitical systems and actors in the emergent colonial societies. Although no attempt is made here to present a critique of Mair's work on colonial sociology, it may be observed that her work (see, for example: Mair 19636 and 19697) shows — 6 7

Lucy P. Mair, New Nations (London: Weidenfield and Nicolson, 1963). Lucy P. Mair, Anthropology and Social Change (London: The Athlone Press, 1969).

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in parts, it seems — a skilful defense of British colonial interests while presenting an ambivalence in attitude to the coexisting forces of tradition and modernity. Mair's work, however, serves as a warning to social anthropologists against the danger of treating social structures and indigenous states as closed systems. Although her work is confined largely to the colonial period, she has attempted to show the realism of the impingement of the wider, "national", authority and politics on "anthropological societies". On the basis of the results of Mair's type of analysis, many social anthropologists have come to accept the value in research of the concepts of encapsulating and encapsulated systems which help to describe the hybrid social systems of the new African states. Any new state can therefore be seen as having its own characteristic political culture, 8 which is made up of the mixture of whatever is accepted as constituting modernity on the one hand, and of the various surviving cultural elements of the component indigenous sociopolitical entities on the other. Of course, elements of tradition and modernity are found in all states. 9 This suggests that, despite universal tendencies, both the old and the new states of the world have their various, if peculiar, ways of carrying out their administrative and other political functions at their various stages of sociopolitical development. On becoming members of the new state, politicians and other aspirants to power are quick to see and immediately take advantage of the great opportunities now open to them for manoeuvering in various sociopolitical fields and arenas for personal, socioeconomic, and political gains. In many cases, this general struggle for power and privilege generates irresistible concern for the mobilization of the public at the local levels — the encapsulated units — for support and survival of the new and larger "external" political systems. The jockeying between "tradition" and modernity for power becomes more compelling in situations in which individuals seeking high economic and social status in the new states have very few alternatives, if any, to exploit for that purpose. The struggle for politico-economic power is intense. Once a particular party succeeds in gaining governmental con8 "The political culture of a society consists of the system of empirical beliefs, expressive symbols, and values which defines the situation in which political action takes place." S. Verba, "Conclusion: Comparative Political Culture", in Political Culture and Political Development, ed. Lucian W. Pye and Sidney Verba (Princeton University Press, 1965), 513. 9 On this point with reference to one advanced state (Britain), see S. Rothman, "Modernity and Tradition in Britain", in Studies in British Politics, ed. R. Rose (London: Macmillan and Company, 1966), 4-20.

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trol, any individual, group, or organization considered by the ruling party to be a threat to its position or programmes is liquidated to ensure the maintenance and continuity of its own power. In this essay, I discuss some aspects of the relationship between micro- and macro-sociopolitical systems in the Midwestern State of Nigeria prior to the military rule in 1966. In an important sense, the analysis could be regarded as an extension of Μ air's work, particularly her concern with the analysis and examination of continuities and modifications in tradition and in indigenous forms following colonial rule and political independence. Mair has herself given serious thought to some aspects of the problem in New Nations. I consider realistic her analysis and approach to the problem of understanding both the surviving forms of indigenous systems and the contemporary governmental and political structures and processes. Though my primary concern here is with the Midwestern State of Nigeria, the conclusions apply in essence to the other states in Nigeria — particularly to the Western State, which shared the same government with the Midwestern State until the latter was created in August, 1963. The rest of the essay is presented in two sections. In the first, I sketch the political development of the Midwestern State of Nigeria, stressing the nature and importance of the Chiefs' Law. In the second, I examine with case examples some of the main theoretical and practical issues involved in this development.

ASPECTS OF THE POLITICAL DEVELOPMENT AND THE CHIEFS' LAW 10 The Midwestern State was created on August 9, 1963, as the fourth state in Nigeria. The other three states then were the Eastern, the Western, and the Northern. Today the state is one of twelve created by a federal military government decree in May, 1967. The state has a territory of approximately 15,000 square miles and a 1963 population of 2.5 million comprising twelve major ethnic groups. 11 The Constitution of Midwestern Nigeria Act, 1964, provided for a Legislature consisting of the Governor, a House of Chiefs, and a House 10

Details about the constitutional developments in Nigeria, especially between 1945 and 1960, may be found in K. Ezera, Constitutional Developments in Nigeria (Cambridge University Press, 1960). 11 These are Bini, Ishan, Ibo, Akoko-Edo, Etsako, Ivbiosakon, and lneme (Benin Province); and Ijo, Itsekiri, Isoko, Urhobo, and Ukwani (Delta Province).

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of Assembly, which was responsible for making laws to govern the state within the Nigerian Federation. There were four categories of membership in the House of Chiefs: First, two particular kings, the Oba of Benin and the Olu of Warri, were specifically prescribed as ex officio members of the House. Also, as he deemed fit at any time, the state's Governor could prescribe that incumbents of any other kingships in the new state should become ex officio members. Second, there was provision for fifty-one chiefs and kings who were to be selected (provided that they were qualified under the provisions of the Act) by a procedure prescribed by the Legislature. Third, there was provision for Special Chiefs who were to be selected by the Governor on the advice of the Premier of the State. Fourth, there were four members selected, again, by the Governor on the advice of the Premier to represent groups such as immigrant populations who were otherwise not represented in the Legislature. Under the provisions of the Act, the Midwestern State's House of Chiefs consisted of sixty-one members by January, 1966, when civilian government in Nigeria was overthrown by a military coup d'etat. Except for the seats of the Oba of Benin, the Olu of Warri, and the Special Members, all ex officio, the Legislature determined the circumstances under which a seat in the House could become vacant. The tenure of office of a Special Member depended on the advice which the Premier gave to the Governor. For the purpose of the House of Chiefs, the Constitution defined a Chief (Section 5[4]) vaguely as "any person who is for the time being recognized as a Chief under any law in force in the Region". 12 The current Chiefs' Law in the Midwestern State was a carryover from the parent state, the Western State of Nigeria. In both states, the Chiefs' Law, effective from June, 1957, remained essentially in force till 1966, with modifications from time to time by their ministries of Local Government and Chieftaincy Affairs. This law defined a chief (Section 2) as "a person whose chieftaincy title is associated with a native community and includes a minor chief and a recognized chief". Thus the law recognized the various indigenous sociopolitical structures and their main political actors in the new Midwestern State although, by lumping the chiefs and kings together in one concept, it failed to distinguish clearly between the various hierarchies of political status; a king held the highest position of political pre-eminence in his society, while chieftaincy titles were conferred on subordinate individuals. A chieftaincy or kingship 12

See the Constitution of Midwestern Nigeria Act, 1964.

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was recognized only when Part II of the Chiefs' Law, which dealt with succession and with the provision of Declarations, had been applied to it. A declaration was an important encapsulating mechanism in the state; it was a written statement made by the chieftaincy committee of a local government council about the customary law and tradition regarding succession to a rotatory kingship or chieftaincy and approved by the new Midwestern State government. A chieftaincy committee consisted of the kings and spokesmen (chiefs) of the various indigenous states in a local government council area. Throughout the new Midwestern State, chieftaincy committees were set up under Section 5 of the Chiefs' Law mainly to intervene in, or forestall, disputes over the succession to high indigenous political offices. A declaration included the number and identity of "ruling houses" — that is, descent groups eligible by tradition to produce successors to kingships or chieftaincies in a recognized rotatory order. A declaration also specified the method of nomination of contestants and the number and identity of kingmakers. Thus, declarations were more or less the means whereby the new Midwestern State recognized kinship composition of indigenous states, and also consolidated the corporateness of both the smaller sectional and total systems of the indigenous states. The declarations, again, helped the process of encapsulating the lower level indigenous political systems and their succession laws into the higher level regional political system by providing information about the nature of indigenous polities. No declaration was approved unless the new Midwestern State government was satisfied that its contents had been explained to, and were accepted by, the people affected. The fact that a declaration contained the only recognized process of succession to a high indigenous office guaranteed some order and a high degree of continuity in indigenous sociopolitical systems. Where succession was by primogeniture, no declarations were made, although the new Midwestern State government recognized the continuity of such offices and their incumbents as well. Part IIIA of the Chiefs' Law made it possible for a "competent" authority — that is, either a prescribed authority or a local government council — to provide a declaration and to request the Minister of Local Government and Chieftaincy Affairs to create a chieftaincy or kingship. If such an action was taken, the minister then set up an enquiry to determine the acceptability of such a political position to the community concerned and later forwarded all the particulars to the Governor of the new Midwestern State, who, if satisfied, set up processes for the creation of such a chieftaincy/kingship. After the creation of the Midwestern State, a six month interim ad-

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ministration was set up at once. The first elections to the Legislature were held in February, 1964, with three political parties contesting for seats. The political parties were the National Convention of Nigerian Citizens (N.C.N.C.), the Midwest Democratic Front (M.D.F.), and the Action Group (A.G.). The M.D.F. won nine seats and became the opposition party while the N.C.N.C., which won fifty-five seats, formed the first representative government of the new state. The A.G. won one seat. This Parliament lasted until the military coup of January, 1966. Before it was dissolved and reconstituted by a military decree, the civilian government of the state created ten administrative divisions (increased to fourteen in April, 1967, under the military regime) and had thirty-two local government councils. An administrative officer was placed in charge of a division and was the local government adviser. He was also the local representative of the regional government — that is, of the Permanent Secretary, Ministry of Local Government and Chieftaincy Affairs, in the Midwestern State capital, Benin City. He was concerned with the affairs of the local government councils as well as with the kingdoms and other indigenous states within his jurisdiction. A local government council was more or less a grass roots parliament in which traditional members — that is, government-recognized kings and chiefs — sat with elected members to deliberate on matters and developments affecting their locality. Each kingdom or other indigenous state was thus absorbed and represented in a council through both the elected representatives from the various wards into which it was divided and the kings and chiefs who represented the totality of the indigenous state system. By this means, both modernity and the various traditions were combined in the local dynamics of social relations in the Midwestern State. The coexistence of the House of Chiefs and the House of Assembly — that is, of government-recognized kings and chiefs and of elected members of the Lower House in the State Parliament — could be regarded as an extension of the hybrid social systems found at the local levels. Another instance of the incursion of the Midwestern State government into indigenous social systems was through the Customary Courts, whose members were literate indigenes with exemplary character in the locality of the court concerned. Customary Court judges tried offences, which consisted mainly of matrimonial and land cases, by applying local traditional laws and customs, but they acted as directed by officials in the new Midwestern State judiciary. Thus, local judges appointed from the indigenous systems to serve on institutions created by the new Midwestern State had to look outside their own local systems, marrying tradition to modernity and receiving discipline and reward from the new overarching

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Midwestern State and the principal actors in it. Through the Customary Court system, the state government aimed at codifying customary legal proceedings to form the basis for the new state's customary law. The Governor's address to the first Parliament of the new Midwestern State included the statement that "in the field of chieftaincy matters, my Government is committed to a policy which ensures respect for the status and dignity of our traditional rulers and their participation in the working of the machinery of Government in the Region". 13 This statement was welcomed by the kings and chiefs, who felt relieved of the fear which they had entertained and expressed in the parent Western State Parliament in Ibadan in 1960 about the security, good will, and safeguards which Nigerian politicians would give them as traditional rulers at independence. 14 Soon after this, however, kings and chiefs became deeply upset and quite anxious as a result of the speeches of Government ministers and functionaries which shattered their growing sense of relative security. In 1964, to give one example of such speeches by members of the Government, a minister of state said in Parliament that "destiny" had given to his political party, the party in power, the opportunity of deciding issues of succession to, and retention of, kingships and chieftaincies in the new state, bearing in mind that, although anyone could be recognized as a king or chief according to tradition, it was to be noted that "for the purpose of the House of Chiefs, there were many chiefs". 15 This was an example of the use or misuse of the imprecise definition of the concept of "chief". Generally, the Government — that is, the ruling party — recognized more than one chief in any one indigenous state; it could also create more chieftaincies. The Government was therefore in a legal position to choose which chief or king should be in the Upper House. This choice was based mainly on whether or not a chief or king supported the political party controlling the State Government. Also, it was of little consequence to the Government of the new Midwestern State whether it was the king or his subordinate chief whom it chose from a particular indigenous society to be a member of the House of Chiefs. The fact that kings and chiefs now owed their positions to ruling parties became well understood by all the kings and chiefs in the new state. 13

Midwestern House of Chiefs Debates, Issue No. 1, 25/3/64 (Benin City). Western House of Chiefs Debates, Ibadan, 8th Session, J 960. Speech by the Öloja of Igbogbo, 14/3/60. 15 Midwestern House of Chiefs Debates, Benin City, 15/4/64. Speech by the Minister of Economic Development with reference to the Ovie (king) of Agbon.

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Indeed, one leading king in the House of Chiefs emphasized during debates that they could not, frankly, oppose the new State Government for each member of the House was selected by the N.C.N.C.-controlled Government. He therefore warned that no king or chief should ignore the Minister of Local Government and Chieftaincy Affairs, referred to metaphorically as "Fire". No king or chief should disclose his actual political party identity and, again, everyone was advised metaphorically to "hide your tail"; otherwise "the Minister of Local Government and Chieftaincy Affairs will roll it up and cut it off". 1 6 It became obvious, therefore, that the composition and tenure of the membership of the House of Chiefs were matters for the Government's discretion. The Government could appoint or remove a chief or king. It could also create any chieftaincy. For example, the new State Government created a chieftaincy in Agbon kingdom and called it the omorovie of Agbon (now abolished by the military government) simply because the N.C.N.C.-Govemment political party had a political supporter whom it wanted to reward with a membership of the House of Chiefs vice the rightful king, Ovie, who was accused of contributing to the succcss of an M.D.F. candidate in his kingdom. Similarly, hardly any king or chief in the new Midwestern State can forget the N.C.N.C.-inspired deposition and subsequent exile of the Olu of Warri, Erejuwa II, to Ogbesse in Benin Province in another part of the state in August, 1963, until his return to his throne by the military government of the Midwestern State in December, 1966. The Olus plight resulted from his personal and institutional conflict with certain N.C.N.C. party stalwarts within and outside the new state. In these as in similar cases throughout the new state, the Government sought to dislodge those incumbents who allegedly belonged to the "wrong" political party, opposed political party stalwarts, or obstructed the smooth working of Government institutions and organizations. This feature of the Government/chieftaincy relationship was not confined to the Midwestern State. Indeed, it was carried over from the parent state, the Western State of Nigeria, where the salary of an oba (king) was at one time reduced to only one penny a year for "insubordination", for being an "obstructionist" to Government programs, and where "in the House of Chiefs whose total membership is fifty-two, there is now only one member who is not a supporter of the Action Group — the 16

Midwestern House of Chiefs Debates, Benin City, 16/4/64. The king who spoke was a member of the former Western House of Chiefs, where this kind of tradition had built up.

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example of one great chief, the Alafin of Oyo, who was deposed in 1956 and could not be forgotten by any Chief in the Region". 17 The choice of a member of the House of Chiefs was significant. The Upper House was the highest place of honor and recognition for the indigenous political participants in the state. It was also the highest place through which traditional political actors and their systems were linked in a meaningful way to the new State Government. Through the House, the kings and chiefs were given meaningful and worthwhile functions which helped them to adapt their old roles to the demands of modernity. They functioned not to obstruct new State systems by a rigid emphasis on their parochial and primordial interests and a concern for their indigenous social systems; they functioned by deliberating and legislating on matters which affected the whole region and which were referred to them by the Government of Midwestern State. They were chosen not because of their roles, which nevertheless varied in their traditional social systems, but simply because they occupied the highest sociopolitical positions in their different encapsulated societies. The traditional roles which kings and chiefs played in their various sociocultural units, in respect of their statuses, were recognized and rewarded by the new state government at a lower level. For example, by the provision of the Midwestern State government's Financial Memorandum No. G.2, the local government councils remunerated kings and chiefs for their roles in "the social and religious life of the community" and for the performance of their "public traditional duties". To choose a chief in preference to the king, or to depose and replace a popularly appointed and accepted king with a new king favored and sponsored to the House of Chiefs by the new state government, was to insult and bring confusion into the indigenous society concerned. Such an act was usually the consequence of party politics and often ended in deep-seated factionalism and the breakdown of indigenous societies in the new state. The obvious and pertinent question to ask, then, is what was the source of power and authority of the new state government and what it manipulated to maintain its supremacy. The basis of legitimacy of the Midwestern State government was rational-legal and derived, in Max Weber's famous words, from a rationalization based on the acknowledged legality of the establishment of the new state. 18 On the other hand, the 17

Report of the Minorities Commission, a Daily Times (Nigeria) Special Reprint, August, 1958. 18 See M. Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, ed. Talcott Parsons (New York: The Free Press, 1966), 130, 138.

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power and authority of the now weakenecfindigenous kingship/chieftaincy in the new state were primarily based on the sanctity of the various surviving traditions of indigenous populations. Examining the Chiefs' Law critically, one finds that it offered wide discretionary powers and opportunities to the Governor, the Parliament, and the Minister of Local Government and Chieftaincy Affairs, who could now, as members of a ruling party, manipulate people and indigenous institutions for individual and party ends. It was the new state government alone that could recognize the succession of a king or chief; also, it was the government that could ratify a declaration about a chieftaincy or kingship. Such recognition was facilitated by the incumbent's support for the government political party; otherwise, recognition could at best be delayed. Again, the government alone could create new chieftaincies. This provision gave the new state government the opportunity to confer political patronage titles on favorites whenever and wherever it deemed it necessary to offset "recalcitrant" majorities or to replace traditionally legitimate but troublesome and unwanted kings and chiefs in certain communities with "obedient" ones. By the Chiefs' Law, the Governor-in-Council had the right to suspend or depose any king or chief whenever it was felt that such a political action would contribute to peace and order or good government in the new state. The Governor-inCouncil also decided on whether or not to deport a king or chief, giving any reasons for such acts. 19 The 1964 constitution of the Midwestern State stated that the Governor, acting as advised by the Premier, could prescribe more ex officio members for the House of Chiefs and could choose any chief with some community support as an ordinary or special member of the House of Chiefs. The government could also bypass a traditional king to make a subordinate chief a member of the House of Chiefs. The government was considered right by the law to do this because, as already shown, any recognized chief or king was eligible for appointment to the House. Also, the new state legislature could depose any chief or king under circumstances which it determined. The circumstances of the government's power to manipulate the appointment, succession, and deposition of kings and chiefs are again evident when we consider the economic and the educational background of kings and chiefs in the Midwestern State. Only a few of the sixty-one members of the House of Chiefs had sizable independent incomes. Only 19

Such reasons were usually explained in terms of pcace and order and of good government.

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ten of the members had reached the secondary school level of education; the majority could not grasp the implications of a government bill. Having no other source from which to obtain money through which to raise or maintain their social status in a changing system, the kings and chiefs appreciated the fact that they had to seek a position in Parliament and that, to do this, they had to support the government of the day. Support by traditional rulers for the new state government had other implications. It meant that the government did not encounter embarrassing local opposition or face obstructionist tendencies from influential or powerful indigenous leaders and local notables. The government thus always had its way in all things and, although a king or chief might find legitimacy for his activities in tradition, there was the public realization that actual power and resources, which were needed to sustain such a traditional position, came from outside the indigenous system. This meant that in periods of crisis and conflicts involving indigenous leaders and the new state officials, local participants in both traditional and modern arenas recognized the impotence of the traditional role players. Yet such a support for the new state systems was a necessary means for maintaining the cohesiveness of the indigenous societies. The fact that both the new state government and traditional rulers shared common political party beliefs and ideology constituted a stake of each in the welfare of the other and contributed to peaceful coexistence of tradition and modernity. Nevertheless, traditional rulers could not be overenthusiastic in their support for a particular government party because of the fear of possible victimization should there be a change of government. This fear was, however, largely theoretical because of the tradition or tendency of ruling parties to remain in power once elected. The tradition of support which was expected from traditional rulers by the government party can be regarded as a handover from the British colonial regime. Just as the British colonial government expected kings and chiefs or native authorities to ensure its success among their people, so did the Midwestern State government expect the same type of rulers to promote its interests. In both cases, the kings and chiefs had to cooperate or face the consequences, possibly deposition or exile. Thus, between 1960 and 1966, it was still not clear what the traditional rulers were, in fact, supposed to do — that is, whether simply to play their circumscribed traditional governmental and political roles or to participate actively in party politics in the new state. Their principal problem was how to maintain a compromise between the two sets of roles and expectations. It must, therefore, be said that the tendency of the new state government to have its way and maintain its continuity had its roots in the British

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indirect rule system by which, under the Native Authority Ordinance (1943), a native authority or a member of a native authority, traditional king/chief or not, was removed from office if found to be inefficient or uncompromising, as determined by the British colonial government administrators. Also, the Appointment and Deposition of Chiefs Ordinance (1930) applied to those kings and chiefs who were native authorities or members of a native authority but who could be deposed under circumstances determined by the British colonial government. Such a deposition meant that the incumbent ceased to be a chief or king. 20 Hence, under the British colonial rule, the kings and chiefs had either to serve the British colonial government faithfully and unrelaxingly or face summary dismissal and deposition. As soon as it was voted into power, the new state government took various measures to consolidate its position, including attempts to win more sympathy and public involvement in its programmes. It tried to create confidence by giving the public visible evidence of the benefits they received from the government by undertaking development projects — roads, buildings, bridges, schools, cinemas, water supply, hospitals, markets, and so on — limited, however, by its meagre annual budgets. It did all these to fulfill some of its election promises, but more with a view to winning the next election. The government party had comparatively much advantage over the opposition party, for it employed all the resources available to a political party as well as to government to "liquidate" or "buy" over opposition members in the bid to ensure that its way to power was clear in a subsequent election. The discussion so far shows that, in its ardent desire to retain its position, the Midwestern State government manipulated both tradition and modernity. In this connection, it should be shown how individuals or the government manipulated the two analytically distinct but interdependent sets of social relationships for their own ends in pre-1966 Midwestern Nigeria. Analysis of the political subsystem would, as I hope to demonstrate, throw new light on the problem of how "new agencies and motives are impinging on a pre-existing pattern of roles and statuses and on an older and still tenacious set of values". 21 Political party leaders in the new state were persuaded by their local 20

C.S.0.26/2.17005, Vol. III. Letter WP. 17005/397 of 16./1/49 from H. P. Wethereil, Ag. Chief Secretary to the Governor, to the Secretary, Western Provinces (Ibadan: The National Archives). 21 D. Forde, "Anthropology and the Development of African Studies", Africa 37 (4) (1967), 403.

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agents or compelled by events to incorporate some traditional local political leaders, at least temporarily, in a party's organizational framework. Thereby, indigenous political actors were drawn into party politics as a means of facilitating the dissemination of news and of easing party organization and programmes. Political party meetings were arranged at different levels in any constituency through party officials and attended by the party men and women in the towns and villages. Each political party in the state was arranged in a pyramid, with its headquarters in the state capital linked through political party divisions and through the constituency to the kingdoms and indigenous states. The constituency arrangement in respect of indigenous societies in the new state was based mainly on population characteristics, particularly the size of population, and had no uniform pattern. In some cases, one indigenous state, such as Benin kingdom, consisted of several constituencies — in this case, thirteen. In other instances, one constituency, such as Urhobo Central IV, embraced the four Urhobo states of Olomu, Okparabe, Arhavwarien, and Ewu. In still other instances, a constituency coincided with the boundaries of one kingdom — for example, Agbon kingdom, which formed Urhobo West I constituency. Under this constituency and political party organization, messages and information were relayed by agents at various levels between the remotest village in any indigenous state and the party headquarters in the Midwestern State capital. In the case of the N.C.N.C. and the A.G., which were truly national political parties, there were influences from organs and personalities from outside the Midwestern State. The local political party leader introduced family heads, kings, and chiefs to visiting members of his party in Parliament. This recognition was often welcome and regarded as an asset utilizable in patronage situations, politics being one welcome opportunity for quick social mobility in the new state. These prospects for higher social and economic positions conditioned the aspirations of a large number of politicians and determined their allegiance to a political party. This feature created a condition in which politico-economic leaders fairly easily manipulated traditional social systems to sustain their personal positions in the new Midwestern State political system. To this end, parliamentarians and parliamentary candidates respected the traditional kings and chiefs, more or less in the expectation that the latter could influence their kinsmen or townsmen to support their political parties. 22 Politicians worked 22

Party politicians did this, even if they realized that decisions about voting, for instance, and allegiance to political parties were governed by many other factors.

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on the theory that a government incorporating and favoring — or at least seen to be favoring — the kings, chiefs, and the indigenous social systems to which the majority of people were still attached, was the most acceptable one. Political party activities made great impact on indigenous societies, particularly at elections, when vote-seekers representing the three main political parties virtually split each indigenous society into pockets of power relations and into local groups manoeuvering one another and looking outside the indigenous system for the supporting power for their local activities. Any indigenous political leader who was also a member of a political party, particularly the political party controlling the state government, mobilized followers from both the traditional and modern sectors of the society to consolidate his position. Since the whole state was divided according to the number of political parties, there were groups in all the indigenous systems which were linked to one another through their political party activities and allegiances. Thus political parties constituted a mechanism for educating and integrating the various indigenous societies in the new state. Yet, party politics created enemies and was a source of social disruption and factionalism in the indigenous societies. Also, it created problems for the cohesiveness and exclusivity of each indigenous society in the new state. When a political party failed to win its expected support and sympathy, the local king, chiefs, and elders were treated as scapegoats and were penalized through threats of, or actual, removal from their positions of power and privilege in the indigenous political systems. The realization of the possibility of deposition or penalization of an otherwise eligible and duly appointed king or chief is vital when considering the ease with which leading (especially government party) politicians mobilized the chieftaincy and other traditional social institutions for their own ends. A king or chief who supported the ruling party in the new state government had a better, if not the only, chance of survival in the new state. In practice, therefore, all recognized kings and chiefs in the new state supported the government political party. The above analysis suggests an interdependence between the traditional political system and the new political system created by the establishment of the Midwestern State and their principal actors. Yet, this interdependence cannot be regarded as leading to a situation in which the principal actors — chiefs and kings on the one hand and party politicians on the other — had equal power. Their relationship, in practice, was one of near-dependence of the former on the latter, the indigenous leaders being now paradoxically powerless.

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The Midwestern State government strengthened the indigenous political structures through approved declarations. 23 Government support in this respect acted not only as an encouragement for traditional rulers to activate their indigenous political systems but also made it possible for the politicians of the new state to obtain "traditional" chieftaincy titles and to "respect" and consciously manipulate aspects of their indigenous sociopolitical systems as a mechanism for making their new state political positions acceptable on the local levels. A politician used such dual assets to advantage when attending the king's council as a "chief" and ensuring that his personal political ambition as well as the new state government position were not jeopardized at local meetings. A politician in the government of the new state who was not a traditional chief also manipulated his kinship, friendship, or other types of social relationships to establish close ties with the king and his councillors, and on this basis exercised pressure on the indigenous political actors personally or through a pressure group. The aim here was the same — that is, to ensure local support for himself and for the Midwestern State government. In turn, indigenous political leaders tended to trust and to rely on the politicians in the regional government, either because the latter were also traditional chiefs and were part of the indigenous council and social system or because they were notable citizens through whom access to the "benevolent" new Midwestern State government was possible. What was significant here was that actors, adopting new tactics from time to time in both the traditional and modern arenas, were paradoxically equally involved in an adaptive and accommodative process which ensured that both sets of systems and actors could coexist without each radically threatening the position of the other. 24

CONCLUSION In 1967, Daryll Forde observed that, in contemporary African societies, "the 'present' still encapsulates deeply held values generated in the 'past'" and that the social anthropologist "does not see new modes of 23

This point suggests one possible contradiction in government processes in the new state: the political arm of government tended to weaken by manipulating the kingship/ chieftaincy institution more or less in the same breath as the administrative arm tended to consolidate it to some extent, particularly through declarations. I regard government as an inclusive concept having four analytically distinct but interdependent components: political, executive, administrative, and judicial. 24 On this point, also see C. Geertz, "The Integrative Revolution: Primordial Sentiments and Civil Politics in New States", in Old Societies and New States, ed. Clifford Geertz (New York: The Free Press, 1963), 155.

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regulation and vehicles of authority only as a blueprint for a new world, but as expressions of new forces operating on an existing society through which policymakers, both internal as well as external to it, are providing new means which will be put to old as well as new uses." 25 Bailey recently expanded the concept of encapsulation, discussing aspects of the interaction between the sociocultural elements of the "encapsulating" and the "encapsulated" societies. 26 It was in realization of this development that Vincent stressed that there are "continuities both of process and, in part, of content, suggesting the relevance of pre-state forms of organization to the political development of modernizing nations". 27 The Midwestern State of Nigeria, with the various indigenous sociocultural systems which it encapsulates, has been presented in this essay as demonstrating these features through government manipulation of elements of two analytically distinct but interdependent coexisting phases of tradition and modernity to sustain, even to legitimize, its position. I have limited my discussion to only one aspect of those various spheres in which the new state government impinges on and mobilizes the traditional sociopolitical institutions and "anthropological societies" as a technique of facilitating its interests. The pre-1966 Midwestern State government in Nigeria exploited the flexibility and the loopholes of the Chiefs' Law and of the constitution and it used various tactics to control the state resources to retain power. It regarded a strong opposition as an avoidable obstacle to social development. Although all parliamentarians and political pressure groups had their say, apparently to minimize any unnecessary or destructive opposition and to eliminate other obstacles, the new state government had its way when engaged in what it regarded as the urgent task of economic and sociopolitical development. The kind of data and analysis presented here follows the issues raised by Forde, Bailey, Vincent, and others and stresses the theoretical point recently made by Cohen that "the anthropologist who studies small groups within the contemporary state ... must deliberately formulate his problems in such a way as to make reference to the state a necessary part of his analysis". 28 As I have attempted to show in this essay, every indigenous state in Midwestern Nigeria, as in all other states of Nigeria, is a very complex society with various kinds of power and authority deriving from numerous sources. The traditional preserves of social 25

Forde, "Anthropology and the Development of African Studies", 403. F. G. Bailey, Stratagems and Spoils (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1969), 144-85. 27 Vincent, "Anthropology and Political Development", 59. 28 Cohen, "Political Anthropology: The Analysis of the Symbolism of Power Relations", 231. 20

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anthropology, the ward, the village, and the kingdom, are now involved in new organizational strategies and multiple alliances and relationships and cannot avoid the consequences of their encapsulation in the new state.

BIBLIOGRAPHY BAILEY, F. G.

1969

Stratagems and Spoils (Oxford: Basil Blackwell).

COHEN, ABNER

1969

"Political Anthropology: The Analysis of the Symbolism of Power Relations", Man IV (2), 215-35.

EZERA, Κ.

1960

Constitutional Developments in Nigeria (Cambridge University Press).

FIRTH, R.

1964

Essays on Social Organization and Values (London: Athlone Press).

FORDE, D.

1967

"Anthropology and the Development of African Studies", Africa XXXVII (4), 389-406.

FRIED, M.

1968

"The State", International Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences (New York: Macmillan and The Free Press).

GEERTZ, c .

1963

"The Integrative Revolution: Primordial Sentiments and Civil Politics in New States", in Old Societies and New States, edited by C. Geertz (New York: The Free Press), 105-57. Local Government Manual (Ibadan: Government Printer). Μ AIR, LUCY P.

1958 1963 1969

"African Chiefs Today", Africa XXVIII (3) (July), 195-205. New Nations (London: Weidenfield and Nicolson). Anthropology and Social Change (London: The Athlone Press).

OTITE, K. J. O.

1969

"The Political Organization of the Urhobo of the Midwestern State of Nigeria", Ph.D. Dissertation (University of London).

ROTHMAN, s .

1966

"Modernity and Tradition in Britain", in Studies in British Politics, edited by R. Rose (London: Macmillan and Company), 4-20.

VAN DEN BERGHE, P. L., ed.

1965

Africa: Social Problems of Change and Conflict (San Francisco: Chandler Publishing Co.).

VERBA, s .

1965

"Conclusion: Comparative Political Culture", in Political Culture and Political Development, edited by Lucian W. Pye and Sidney Verba (Princeton University Press), 512-60.

VINCENT, J.

1969

"Anthropology and Political Development", in Politics and Change in Developing Countries, edited by Colin Leys (Cambridge University Press).

WEBER, M.

1966

The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, (New York: The Free Press).

edited by Talcott Parsons

WORSLEY, P.

"The End of Anthropology?", Transactions of the Sixth Sociology III, 121-29 (Evian).

World Congress of

Are the Poor Politically Dangerous? Some Thoughts on Urbanism, Urbanites, and Political Consciousness1

PETER

C. W.

GUTKIND

It is often assumed, I think incorrectly, that political consciousness and participation increase primarily with industrialization and urbanization. But such a proposition cannot account for the allegedly massive participation in political affairs in such predominantly agrarian economies as present-day China, India, Pakistan, Cuba, and North Vietnam. At the same time, it is also correct to observe that since the onset of the industrial revolution, which for the first time drew rural labor into the rapidly growing cities in the now highly industrialized nations, and in the more recent migrations to the towns in the low-income countries of the world (the so-called underdeveloped nations), the processes of politicization have involved an ever larger number of citizens in political activities, both formal and informal. Particularly since the end of World War II, 1

This paper, in which I naively trespass into fields in which I was not trained, concentrates on one aspect of urbanism in the New Nations which has so far received little attention. The political behavior of urbanites in the New Nations is a topic which ought to be of interest to anthropologists if for no other reason but to help them develop new lines of inquiry — a perspective which Professor Lucy Mair has always welcomed and to which much of her lucid writing has been devoted. My paper is clearly ideological. It also reflects, rather too clearly, the difficulties every writer experiences when trying to set out an interpretation along ideological guidelines. It is all too easy to be caught in a morass of contradictions and unsubstantiated assertions. I hope that I have avoided the worst of these pitfalls. While I am alone wholly responsible for my own contradictions and confusions, I did benefit greatly from discussions with Dr. B. J. Dudley, Mr. Gavin Williams, Dr. O. F. Onoge, Dr. A. Hussain, Mr. O. Oni, and Dr. F. Olu Okediji, all presently at Ibadan University, Nigeria. I also owe a debt to Professor R. F. Salisbury, my colleague at McGill University, with whom I have frequently discussed the relevance of ideology to anthropology.

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political consciousness and participation, fostered by exposure to new media, have increased rapidly on a worldwide scale, particularly among those, be they resident in urban or rural areas, whose past involvement was marginal or indifferent. For a large number of people, this political consciousness, strong in some nations and weak in others, has been translated into involvement with, or voting support for, those parties and \

pressure groups which represent strongly opposed ideologies. Thus, in the United States, ex-Governor George Wallace gathered almost ten million votes on a clearly racial and right-wing platform, while in India the massive Congress Party has progressively lost its vast following in favor of a greater appeal by both extreme left- and right-wing movements. For some time now, political consciousness and involvement have spelled the doom of the politically middle-of-the-road ideologies — those favored by the liberals. In addition, we are witnessing the birth of a large number of radical pressure groups whose members believe that traditional political perspectives and parties no longer serve the needs of society. This polarization, which can only be analyzed and explained in a very broad context, is often manifest in a high degree of frustration, resentfulness, and politically motivated violence2 such as the now familiar protests, demonstrations, riots, urban and rural guerrilla warfare, assassination, kidnapping, police violence, repressive legislation, military intervention, and the doubts cast by many governments on the political and economic consequences of minimal control over trade unions or, in the rich nations, the runaway welfare state. It is this polarization toward the extremes of political ideologies which has exposed hitherto uninvolved or indifferent sections of the population to political, economic, and social questions at local, regional, national, and international levels. What we are witnessing is a new political consciousness and extensive political socialization, if not always active political involvement, of an increasing number of people drawn from highly diverse segments of the population. This is particularly so in the "modernizing" nations. 3 Of course, how widespread and intense public involvement is will vary not only from country to country but within each national unit. Such variation is clearly determined by a wide variety of circumstances at the local, national, and international levels. Not all issues or events will reveal clear political polarization or a high degree of political consciousness. Much depends on the issues and events themselves, how they are 2

K. Ivo and R. L. Feierabend, "Aggressive Behavior within Politics: 1849-1962: A Cross-national Study", Journal of Conflict Resolution X ( 3 ) (1966), 249-71. 3 D . Apter, The Politics of Modernization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966); P. Worsley, The Third World (London: Weidenfeld andNicolson, 1964).

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perceived and conceptualized, to what individuals and what groups they pose a threat or a gain in political and economic power; how the issues and events are treated by a competitive national press, by radio, television, the political leaders, the professionals, students, and "intelligentsia"; what is the "official" position of the government and how do foreign governments react. Furthermore, few events and issues are without antecedents, so that political responses and behavior must be seen in the light of previous events and issues and reactions to these. Of course, analyses of the political behavior of the masses, the ideologies they support, and the assumptions made about their attitudes, beliefs, and actions, are strongly influenced by narrow elitist 4 conceptions held by those who occupy elevated and powerful positions. Thus, political consciousness and sophistication are usually related to a high level of educational achievement and various other socioeconomic and political factors. Urban man, and the elite is generally urban rooted, is said to be more sophisticated politically than rural and agricultural people. Hence the factory worker is viewed as politically more volatile than the farmer. The urban worker is, might be, or can become politically dangerous while the masses — the farmers and peasantry of the Third World — are passive followers. The political leaders, the elite argue, must be drawn from a small segment of the society — the educated intellectuals who are the fathers of progress and the keepers of the collective conscience. Thus, for the vast majority of the citizens of the world, political consciousness is activated whenever the masses are asked to engage in the ritual of voting, a procedure enshrined in a constitution or used whenever the ruling elite is inclined to allow for the exercise of this democratic right. When this ritual is over, the "losers" are asked to accept the rules of the game and assume the role of a creative "opposition". Implied in this is that issues and problems have been well debated and the solutions put forward by the majority, the "winners" (who are, in fact, manipulated by a small but powerful minority of active politicians), have been adopted as rational and creative. 5 In small pre-industrial societies, the process is much the same although the ritual of voting is A

There is no satisfactory definition of this term. I define elites, quite simply, as men of wealth, influence, and power. I think of them as a "middle" or even "upper" class who have only recently established themselves in the context of change and transformation. At what point a person is wealthy, influential, and powerful will vary from country to country. Furthermore, while there is a "traditional" elite, who may not have wealth but influence and power in the traditional sectors of society, I restrict the use of the term to the "modern" elite, whose wealth, influence, and power are rooted in contemporary economic, political, professional, and intellectual life. 5 F. G. Bailey, Stratagems and Spoils (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1969).

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replaced by the ritual of prolonged discussion which culminates in the extremely subtle achievement of arriving at a consensus. In such societies it is argued, I think falsely, there are neither "losers" nor "victors", hence they are said to be politically more "stable"; while larger and more complex societies exchange temporary stability for prolonged periods of instability. This is due to the fact that complex societies generate a high degree of political diversity both ideologically and structurally. The assumption is that as complexity of the national fabric increases, so does the range of political postures and behavior. However, in the Western world the assumption is also made that this diversity can be contained by means of acceptable modes of expression. Most of these modes have evolved over a considerable period of time and each generation has learned the rules of the game. Thus it is argued, even with an increasing population and an increasing diversity of views, there is no basic reason why political stability and consensus cannot be achieved. This is so because each generation in turn has a "chance" to either alter the rules or to institute new rules which are said to reflect new demands and new aspirations. To lower the voting age is one such simple example; to incorporate those previously denied the vote on grounds of sex, race, or religion would illustrate the same point. Furthermore, the more sensitive political leaders will, in the long run, respond to pressures from those segments of any papulation which have been deprived educationally and economically. Political parties are sensitive, both positively and negatively, to demographic and socioeconomic changes and will, usually, adjust their political messages to reflect such changes both at the regional and national levels. Changes in the distribution of the population — i.e. extensive migration from rural to urban areas — will call for changes in electoral boundaries, while the flexing of the political muscles of the oppressed, the disenfranchised, and migrant groups forces political leaders to broaden the base of their public support. Thus, in the modern world, perhaps the most significant new political force which has made its presence felt is the community of the poor, those who are struggling to get off the lowest steps of the economic ladder, those whose consciousness has reached the stage of rejecting the political and economic slot allotted to them by various types of political dispensations. The present community of the poor is by no means homogeneous. Perhaps the only background they have in common is that they are either the product of traditional and small-scale sociocultural systems which are undergoing a basic transformation, slowly or by revolutionary effort, with the result that a large number of people have lost their conventional anchorage, or they are the children of the industrial revolution, of a

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progressively more sophisticated technology (of which one aspect is the health revolution), or of various political systems which have either paid scant attention to them or, worse, exploited them for the benefit of a minority. At present, the poor are as readily identified in the developed industrial world as they are only too visible in the poor world. Thus, America, with her millions of poor, is as "underdeveloped" as India with her tens of millions of desperately poor farmers or those Latin American countries with urban populations confined to gigantic slum areas. While by far the larger percentage of of the poor of the world are concentrated in rural areas (in which environmental, economic, and political circumstances heavily contribute to their poverty), during the last twenty-five years the movement to the towns and cities has been considerable and appears to be accelerating annually, particularly in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. It is this migration, rather than a sharply rising birth rate among the urban population, which accounts for the startling annual increases of urban populations which over much of the Third World now run at between 5 and 15 per cent annually. While Africa is the least urbanized of the continents (the criterion being the percentage of the population resident in towns of 20,000 and above), it is probably the most rapidly urbanizing continent, with the possible exception of parts of Oceania. 6 This rapid increase of urban population of the less developed nations, and the political activism of the economically depressed urbanites in the industrial world, have been the source of ...widespread anxiety among both foreign observers and the elite in the developing nations themselves that the swelling masses of urban poor will prove politically destabilizing. That is, they are expected to provide mass support for radical parties of the right or left (although the left is regarded as more probable), or to take to the streets, spontaneously or in response to agitation, so often and so violently as to cripple orderly administration and perhaps topple governments. 7 Miss Joan Nelson, who has recently given some thought to this matter in relation to data primarily from Latin America, concludes that ...such anxiety is ill-founded. Unorganized labor, the lower strata of the urban working classes, are usually politically passive. There is little evidence that they 6

W. A. Hance, Population, Migration, and Urbanization in Africa (New York: Columbia University Press, 1970); A. L. Mabogunje, "Urbanization", in The African Experience, vol. 1, Essays, ed. J. N. Paden and E. W. Soja (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1970), 331-58. 7 J. M. Nelson, Migrants, Urban Poverty, and Instability in Developing Countries ( = Occasional Papers in Inter-National Affairs!!) (Center for International Affairs, Harvard University, 1969), 1.

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are generally resentful and frustrated, much less that they are likely to express such frustrations in the form of disruptive political behavior. 8 In this paper I shall attempt to put forward some views and propositions partially in support of and partially in opposition to the above thesis. 1. Much depends on how we define political destabilization in the New Nations, and f r o m what baseline we operate. We must ask: was the society politically stable or unstable prior to the arrival of the migrants in the city? Surely the answer is that colonial systems are inherently unstable because they are fundamentally exploitative of the rural and urban populations alike. Hence we are dealing not just with destabilization but with the basic conditions which have produced instability in the New Nations. Thus we ought to expose the operation of a continuous process rather than the sudden appearance of destabilizing forces. Destabilization might, therefore, be defined as political actions which increase and intensify an existing instability. However, agitation, riots, violence, and the toppling of governments are not invariably related to the activities of the urban poor. Hence we must ask further questions. 2. Why is it assumed that destabilization emanates from the reactions of the unsettled migrants and the urban poor rather than from the rich and the political and economic elites which have so firmly established themselves in all the poor Third World nations? Who, we might ask, most often fathers the coups d'etat in Africa or Latin America, the urban poor or various types of elites — i.e. local political leaders (often assisted by external interests) and the military? If the poor rcact sharply, it is due to the fact that they live in highly unstable political systems. The poor need opportunities. Hence they desire political equality and stability. The poor only bite back when they are bitten. The deplorable conditions under which they live do not seem to stimulate them to rebel. Their energies, it has been suggested, are mostly devoted to the daily struggle for existence, a cosy illusion used to explain their generally passive political role. Peasants do as they are told; urbanites seek their salvation by retreating into ethnic and voluntary associations, slum improvement associations (as in Latin America), or church groups. 3. What are the issues and events which activate the poor, how educated and politically sophisticated do the urban poor have to be, and what leadership do they require (usually supplied by the non-poor) before 8

Ibid., 2.

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they engage in acts which are politically destabilizing — i.e. intensify instability? Is destabilization a cumulative process (creeping instability) which reaches its climax by stages? If so, the main force behind rebellion by the poor is not that of the availability of leadership, although this is important, but the pressures generated by the deteriorating and unstable economic and social conditions. If this is so, then the source of instability is firmly rooted in the total national system and not in urbanism alone. 4. If destabilization is rooted in basic conditions of instability, is it a cumulative process that invariably leads to violence and the toppling of governments? What are the stages involved? Or does it operate by fits and spurts? Is this " m o v e m e n t " related to a wider framework of political transformation and the evolution of ideologies? What triggers off the conversion of passivity into action by the urban poor? 5. Is political destabilization invariably related to the acceptance of radical ideologies before a passive "lower stratum" can become an active collectivity with clearly defined objectives and cadres of leadership? 6. Is an apocalyptic view of society the prerequisite for political action? Or does the latter more often result from reactions to locally-rooted problems? This might be termed reactive ideology. In contrast, an apocalyptic ideology seeks to transform radically the basic structure of society, while the former seeks merely to modify it — i.e. to obtain a greater share of the cake, or to integrate minority interests with those of the politically and economically dominant group. A reactive ideology by the poor is not invariably one which seeks to put an end to their exploitation by the rich; an apocalyptic one docs seek this objective. Space limitation and lack of basic data preclude a detailed discussion of all the views and propositions just enumerated. I shall therefore concentrate on the relationship of the urban poor, in a broad national context, to some of the points raised. Urbanism in the Third World, as a style of life and functions, can develop in two directions. One, it can take on progressively the same characteristics and the same functions as urbanism in the Western industrial world. Two, Third World urbanism could turn out to be significantly different from that of Western urbanism. 9 Either possibility is, or will be, determined by the nature of the relationships — political, 9

A. W. Southall, Trends in Third World Urbanization: A Point of View and a Factor in the Relation between Anthropology and Sociology, Conference on Anthropological Research in Cities, University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, June 8-13, 1970.

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economic, and ideological — between the rich world and the poor world. To date, this relationship has been one of dependency and subordination by the poor vis-ä-vis the rich. The Third World nations are 'clients" of either the communist or the non-communist world. While some of the New Nations profess to be politically neutral and non-aligned, they are, in practice, economically wholly dependent on exports to, and purchases from, the rich industrial nations. As such, their economic and political "development" is not only constrained but to a large extent controlled by agents and interests external to them. 10 In this process the rich nations are assisted by comprador politicians, business tycoons, bankers, landlords, and professionals — including a rather large number of "intellectuals" who, while professing liberality and critical attitudes, have skillfully and systematically consolidated their elitist role in the New Nations. 11 The consequences of this unequal relationship between the poor and the rich nations, and the economic and political inequality between the elitist few and the destitute masses, are manifest in the deterioration of race relations at the international level and in a progressive crystallization and rigidity of the social structure within the poorer nations, such as serious constraints on upward economic mobility and clear signs of stratification of an almost caste-like nature. 12 Hence the masses of the poor in the New Nations turn to ethnic, communal, language, and religious associations 13 (and occasionally to rebellion) which father their own particular types of political consciousness, motivations, and action patterns. While at times, in response to particular events and issues, the elites have made alliances with the poor (across class, ethnic, communal, language, and religious divisions), these are generally short-lived. 10

P. A. Baran, The Political Economy of Growth (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1957); A. G. Frank, Capitalism and Underdevelopment in Latin America: Historical Studies of Chile and Brazil (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1967); A. G. Frank, "Sociology of Development and Underdevelopment of Sociology", Catalyst 3 (Summer 1967a), 20-73. 11 U. Asika, "The Uses of Literacy: Notes towards a Definition of the Nigerian Intellectual", Nigerian Opinion, Part 1, Vol. 3 (1) (January 1967), 152-55; Part 2, Vol. 3 (1) (February 1967), 165-67; B. J. Dudley, "Failures of the Political Class", Nigerian Opinion 5 (11-12) (November-December 1969), 477-81; O. Nduka, "The Anatomy of 'Rationalization'", Nigerian Opinion 7 (1) (January 1971), 7-12. 12 A. Whiteford, Two Cities of Latin America: A Comparative Description of Social Classes (New York: Doubleday, 1964); S. Amin, "Development and Structural Changes: The African Experience, 1950-1970", Journal of International Affairs 24 (2) (1970), 203-23. 13 N. Cohn, The Pursuit of the Millennium (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1961); E. D a Cunha, Rebellion in the Back lands (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1944); V. Lanternari, The Religion of the Oppressed (London: MacGibbon and Kee, 1963); B. G. M. Sundkler, Bantu Prophets in South Africa (London: Oxford University Press, 1961).

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If "development" and "growth" are complex processes which are largely controlled by external agencies (i.e. by the rich nations), urbanization and urbanism ought to be analyzed in this particular but broad framework. Briefly, we can then suggest that migrants and urbanites (those of longer urban residence and the urban born) are tied into economic and political systems which strongly reflect this dependency of the New Nations. Not only are the growth patterns of the urban areas, their demographic make-up and their social and ethnic composition, a reflection of their colonial and neocolonial dependency but, more significantly, the urban poor (and the rural destitute) are the most visible "debris" of non-development and non-modernization. They are the very foundations on which rest the efforts to establish a class system for the long and cruel exploitation of the masses by the powerful elites. Under such conditions, development is a hoax which at best will achieve no more than a takeoff into sustained poverty. One way to disguise this grim future for urbanite and ruralite alike is to preach doctrines of socialism (the "manipulative" populism described by Saul 14 ) which, if efforts at implementation are made, are either sabotaged by an alliance of civil servants, professionals and intellectuals, or rapidly disposed of by an alliance of right-wing military and external agents. Left-wing coups, while they do occur, as in Libya recently, have difficulties in consolidating their objectives. Thus urbanites, and the struggling agricultural people, are encapsulated in economic and political systems which promote not merely acts leading to destabilization but, even without such acts, are chronically unstable. Thus my first point is that to look to the migrants and the urban poor as a major challenge to stability in Third World nations is to project on them — and at present they have more to lose by violence than the elites — the role of potential saboteurs responsible for the failures of modernization and economic development. I am not saying that the poor cannot, or will not, father or support radical political movements and political action, but merely wish to emphasize that political instability must be treated in a broader context. Likewise, political consciousness of the urbanites does not spring exclusively from conditions of poverty, uprootedness, and frustrations, but is directly fostered by the basic instability of the economic and political systems in which they are trapped. Political consciousness, like economic and political change, unfolds slowly. While a short-term reactive kind of consciousness, directed against 14

J. S. Saul, "Africa", in Populism: Its Meanings and National Characteristics, Ionescu and E. Gellner (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1969), 145.

ed. G.

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local problems and issues, such as the "tax riots" in the Western State of Nigeria in recent years, can be created by political leaders or even emerge spontaneously; an apocalyptic vision of a better future for the poor is linked to more than a sense of frustration and a condemnation of exploitation. Skilled and sustained leadership 15 is required to create clearly understood common goals. However, such leadership is not readily available; yet, when it does emerge, either from the ranks of the elite or the ranks of the poor, it is frequently removed by repressive government action or converted into modest liberal gestures. Viewed in this framework, political consciousness of the apocalyptic sort appears to be reached by stages, often after a series of false starts. Furthermore, the socialization, experiences, and hopes of the poor — and, even more emphatically, of the rich — are still strongly influenced by colonial and neocolonial ideologies. Nor should we forget that radicalism and, in particular, various ideologies of radicalism, as distinct from spontaneous radical action, is a rather sophisticated measure of political consciousness and action. What we appear to lack at the moment is an analytically refined concept of what political consciousness is which incorporates both local-level reformism and the apocalyptic ideology of total transformation. Furthermore, this refinement should take into account that political consciousness does not commence with migration and urban residence. Demonstrations, demands, and violence supported by peasants and farmers are, after all, as much of an indication of discontent as the urbanite shows when he takes to the streets. The rural poor, particularly farm and plantation workers, are exposed to economic deprivation which is different only in degree compared to the conditions under which the urban poor exist. 16 Earlier in this paper I suggested that urbanization and urbanism in the Third World can develop in two directions. While prophecy is fatal, it is my impression that present trends seem to indicate that many features of urbanization and urbanism in Africa, Asia, and Latin America will in future differ very sharply from those we have come to associate with the industrial world — both historically and in contemporary times, although many cities and towns around the world are in very serious (financial) 15

R. Levine, "Political Socialization and Culture Change", in Old Societies and New Stales, ed. C. Geertz (New York: Free Press, 1963), 280-303; idem, Political Leadership in Africa: Post-Independence Generational Conflict in Upper Volta, Senegal, Niger, Dahomey and the Central African Republic, Hoover Institution (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1967). 16 G. Soares, "The Political Sociology of Uneven Development in Brazil", in Revolution in Brazil, ed. I. L. Horowitz (New York: Dutton, 1964).

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difficulties. While the governments of the new nations aspire to build modern cities and towns, as showpieces of the nation, 17 the bulk of the urban population — the unemployed, the poor, and those at the lowest economic levels — have little prospect of becoming participants in the benefits of the urban revolution which has gripped the underdeveloped countries. This massive urban population, which is growing more rapidly in Africa than elsewhere, is already sharply differentiated between the few rich, the small "middle class", and the masses of the struggling poor who seek a modest foothold. 18 Although the urban poor are there to stay, they are daily being pushed further and further to the very fringes of urban and industrial development. As such, they are being forced to accept a wholly marginal and subordinate position as producers and consumers of wealth. Although many migrants and the poor explain that they have increased their chances of employment and upward mobility by moving into the town, 19 in practice what benefits town life offers are appropriated by the elites and the better-off workers. Thus the Third World nations reveal a particular feature of transformation: rapid urbanization with only a very modest degree of industrialization. The dilemmas of a much needed transformation are compounded by a rapid increase of the population, a worldwide technological revolution (the impact of which in terms of its import into the underdeveloped nations is far-reaching and has been underestimated), hence vast unemployment and the education explosion which, in its wider and deeper influence, is not confined to the small percentage of the population able to make use of educational facilities. Thus the massive drift to the towns has trapped a very large number of people in a procrustean environment which is indicative of the sharp economic, social, and political divisions which have appeared in virtually all the New Nations. Most governments of these nations have accorded a low level of priority to keep up, and even less to expand, urban services which are usually funded from wealth created in the rural areas. In part, this is due to very limited financial and skilled manpower resources and in part to the questionable assumption that massive migration to the towns is a sign of economic transformation and expansion, and that the problems created by urbanization can be contained by investment in industrial and commercial development. 17

P. Marris, Family and Social Change in an African City (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1961), vi i. 18 P. C. W. Gutkind, "The Sociopolitical and Economic Foundations of Social Problems in African Urban Areas: An Exploratory Conceptual Overview", Civilisations 22 (1) (1972), 18-34. 19 Whiteford, Two Cities of Latin America, 120.

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A political transformation, based on an ideology and the intent to achieve social equality, must accompany such developments. 20 Thus the second point worth noting is that urbanization and urbanism in the poor countries of the world are developments which reflect both an inevitable demographic transformation and a negative relationship to modernization (although even the urban poor consider themselves, in many respects, "modern men" — an attitude of mind which needs further clarification). The more underdeveloped a country is, the more likely that its rate of urban growth is rapid. 21 Under such conditions, occupational opportunities, not to mention occupational mobility, are very limited, with the evident result that the urban population, particularly the urban poor, find themselves thrown back on their own resources, which are often efficiently organized, sometimes equally shared (as among the Rastafarians in Kingston, Jamaica), and always jealously guarded. Under such conditions, the nature of political socialization and consciousness is closely related to the extent of economic and political contact with the "outside" world. 22 To date, contact between the urban poor and the established economic and political elite is not only limited but grows ever less frequent as stratification crystallizes. When it does take place, at which time it involves a small percentage of the poor, the latter serve the rich as the peasants serve the feudal lords in repressive agrarian economies. Because trade union influence is still weak at the lowest level of the urban economy, the relationship between the workers and the masters is wholly unequal but for government legislation setting minimum wage rates which are all too readily set aside by the employer, who can tap an unlimited labor pool and need not fear prosecution under the law. Such conditions appear to foster attitudes of cynicism, resignation, and deep suspicion of promises made by leaders who lay before the urban poor reformist or radical policies designed to solicit and hold their support. Indeed, appeals to support radical policies may at times be rejected by the urban poor (and perhaps by the rural poor as well) on 20

These objectives are reflected in the now famous Arusha Declaration made in Tanzania in February 1967. See: The Arusha Declaration and TANU's Policy of Socialism and Self-Reliance (Dar es Salaam, 1967). 21 A. L. Mabogunje, Urbanization in Nigeria (London: University of London Press, 1968); idem, "Urbanization in Nigeria — a Constraint on Economic Development", Economic Development and Cultural Change 13 (4), Part 1 (July 1965), 413-38. 22 P. C. W. Gutkind, "The Energy of Despair: Social Organization of the Unemployed in Two African Cities, Lagos and Nairobi", Civilizations 17 (3) (1967), 186-214 and 17 (4) (1967), 380-405; idem, "The Poor in Urban Africa: A Prologue to Modernization, Conflict and the Unfinished Revolution", in Power, Poverty and Urban Policy, ed. W. Bloomberg and H. J. Schmandt (Beverly Hills: Sage Publication, 1968), 355-96.

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the ground that their implementation might deprive them of gaining the same advantages held by the rich. Thus in July 1966, when I interviewed men in search of employment in Nairobi, Kenya, who had waited patiently outside a building site, several concluded that the "leaders of the political parties who speak to us" were merely "thieves who wanted our money" (dues), while others supported the statement that they did not share the views of those leaders "who condemn the life of the rich to which we also aspire", adding that all the leaders were fools because they thought that "we don't think the way we like". One man of about twentythree years of age, who had been totally unemployed for a little over eight months, expressed the view, which received much verbal support from those standing close to him, that "although we are all poor and cannot eat every day, we can become like the money people if we fight". At that point, a young man standing back a little entered the discussion, saying that the people "who hate us most, and whom we want to fight, are the leaders who cheat us", adding with great gusto that only those who "suffer like we do can understand what we want in the future". I later learned that this young man was a secondary school drop-out who had himself attempted to organize some unemployed men at the Nairobi Employment Exchange. His modest efforts had brought him little reward other than to be questioned by the police. Later yet, I learned that those whom he had attempted to organize into an Association of Unemployed Citizens of Kenya had turned against him on the ground that his ideas would have made "our life even harder because he told us that we must fight the rich" but the "rich can give us work". 2 3 While such expressions might support the view that the urban poor do indeed reject radical economic and political postures, alternative explanations might lead us to different conclusions. Much depends not only on the distinctions made between reformist ideologies and radical ones, but also on what issues are raised, by whom they are raised, and how they are presented. While ideologies which call for a radical transformation might be rejected either because they are viewed with a sceptical and cynical attitude, it being felt that Utopian goals are unobtainable, or because they imply a rejection of materialism, reformist policies designed to ameliorate economic inequities and local problems — i.e. personal hardship — appear to receive a better reception. Thus, a third point worth making is that the rejection of radical political and economic ideologies is not based exclusively on a lack of leadership, education, or political sophistication, although these are important con23

P. C. VV. Gutkind, unpublished fieldnotes, Nairobi, August 1966.

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siderations if not invariably essential prerequisites, but also on the perception by the urban poor (be they migrants or urbanites of longer residence) that they are trapped in unstable political and economic systems which lack direction and in which personal effort, clientship, brokerage, and manipulations are likely to achieve upward mobility faster than collective action. However, this interpretation does not exclude the possibility that specific circumstances and events can coalesce into a modest, but usually non-sustaining, populist sentiment. Given a set of favorable conditions, which are generally not predictable, the urban poor can and do take to the streets, and can and do topple governments as Dorothy Nelkin has recently described. 24 This rather pragmatic approach to transformation clearly reveals a particular type of political consciousness which does not support the view that the urban poor are politically passive or that they cannot be radicalized. What is clear is that urbanization without industrial and commercial development creates a vast gap between aspirations and actual mobility. While the alleged conditions for political consciousness are widespread, because the conditions under which the urban poor exist are deplorable, the basis for a collective consciousness — i.e. class consciousness — which generates a sustained and particular political outlook, is still in the making. It is interesting to note in this regard that those organizations which foster political and class consciousness on a collective basis, such as political parties and trade unions, are at present undergoing subtle but clear changes. This is a point to which I shall return later. Although urban poor have common experiences, they also appear to be sceptical of collective action solving their problems. Helen Safa, writing about the poor in Puerto Rico, suggests that: Friendships and pull are seen [by the urban poor] as the principal paths to social mobility. This is a natural outgrowth of a highly competitive society where survival depends upon establishing a wide network of associates, superiors and equals, to whom the poor can turn in an emergency or manipulate to their social advantage. Individual mobility is emphasized at the expense of group solidarity. The poor strongly believe that nothing can be gained from collective action. 25 Thus, urban experiences, and the perceptions and interpretations of what is taking place in the society as a whole, appear to be more instrumental in political socialization than any radical political appeal based on an ideology of exploitation which casts the poor as the victims of the rich. 24

D . Nelkin, "The Economic and Social Setting of Military Takeovers in Africa", Journal of Asian and African Studies 2 (3-4) (July-October 1967), 230-44. 25 Η. I. Safa, "The Poor Are Like Everyone Else, Oscar", Psychology Today 4 (4) (September 1970), 30.

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Dangerous?

Taking this observation further, Helen Safa concludes: Protest would require the Puerto Rican poor to recognize the conditions in the larger society that contribute to poverty in Puerto Rico, such as colonialism, a monopolistic agriculture and industrialization, and continued economic and political dominance by the elite. The power of the elite is not challenged now because the poor assume that the elite are endowed with a natural superiority and are therefore entitled to greater prestige and wealth. In this perspective, the only escape from poverty is for the poor to model themselves after members of the elite in order to be accepted in their ranks. 26

Political consciousness, it is often assumed, implies a consciousness of, and support for, radical policies. It seems to exclude the view that a locally-based reactive ideology — i.e. that small reformist changes are viewed as real change and progress—can have a major appeal. Once they are drawn into the town, the poor appear to conclude that their best chances of upward mobility are to use the system within the terms in which it is constituted, although Joan Nelson does make a strong case when she distinguishes between the recently arrived migrant and those of longer residence who may hold regular and more skilled work; at least, the voting record of the latter category (in Latin America) does support the view that its members are prepared to give their support to more radical political ideologies. 27 In short, a fourth point to note is that an apocalyptic ideology which seeks a total transformation of the social order, rather than a policy to give the poor a larger slice of the cake, does not at this stage commend itself to collective understanding and support. The aspirations and achievements desired by the urban poor (perhaps in contrast to their rural counterparts among whom populist movements appear to be more readily rooted) must be analyzed in the context of the colonial models in which they, their parents, and their kin and their friends have grown up. 28 These models emphasize individual initiative and achievement, as refined by the colonial and comprador elites. Indeed, as urban exposure and experience increase, satisfaction and identification with these models appear to be more marked, although in more recent times an industrial climate has developed in certain Third World countries which has given rise to new perspectives and movements among industrial workers. Strikes and various forms of industrial action are on the increase. 29 The work 26

ibid.. 32.

27

Nelson, Migrants,

Urban Poverty, and Instability in Developing

Countries.

28

F. Fanon, L'an V de la revolution algerienne (Paris: Masp6ro, 1961); idem, Black Skins, White Masks (New York: Grove Press, 1967). 29

G. Pfefferman, Industrial Labor in the Republic of Senegal (New York: Praeger,

1968).

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by Epstein on the Zambian Copperbelt, in the mid-1950's, revealed clearly the rejection of traditional authority structures, in workermanagement relations, in favor of those more suitable in an industrial setting. 30 Earlier on, I indicated that those organizations most closely related to the urbanite, such as political parties, trade unions, and some ethnic and voluntary organizations, are undergoing a subtle but clear change. 31 In part, this is due to the fact that there is a change in leadership, and in part to the growing chasm between urban workers and the elites, not to mention the ever more serious predicaments faced by the urban unemployed. 32 On the leadership side, the older trade union leaders, the "labor aristocracy", are being replaced, very gradually, by young men who are drawn from the ranks. Likewise, many of the leaders of African political parties, who came to power in the immediate pre-independence period and have now been in office for at least ten years, are slowly making way for other, if not always more capable, leaders. Such leaders always have supported, and continue to support, reformist policies with minimum results for the vast bulk of the population which put them into power. In Third World nations generally, these leaders, at various levels, have wasted little time in consolidating their hold and influence and in spreading their tentacles as widely as possible, to make alliances in order to neutralize opposition and to determine economic, political, and social policies in their favor. In their actions they have been abetted, at times discreetly and at times publicly and enthusiastically, by various segments of the elites ranging from small businessmen to professional cadres and "intellectuals". The actions and policies of this "kleptocracy" have produced barren political ideas guided by expediency and a self-ordained pragmatism which has the whole-hearted blessing of the intellectuals. 33 But in the process these leaders have set in motion a modest reaction by the "have nots" which has resulted in the polarization we referred to earlier. It is this polarization which, at the moment, has given birth to a 30

A. L. Epstein, Politics in an Urban African Community (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1958). 31 I. Davies, Social Mobility and Political Change (London: Macmillan, 1970); idem, African Trade Unions(Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1966). 32 For an extensive bibliography on unemployment in Africa and other underdeveloped countries, see: P. C. W. Gutkind, "Bibliography on Unemployment", Manpower and Unemployment Research in Africa — a Newsletter 1 (2) (November 1968) and successive issues. 33 S. Andreski, The African Predicament: A Study in the Pathology of Modernization (London: Michael Joseph, 1968); V. G. Kiernan, "Notes on the Intelligentsia", in The Socialist Register 1969, ed. R. Miliband and J. Saville (London: The Merlin Press, 1969), 55-84.

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new, but not necessarily sustaining, political consciousness and, occasionally, to new leaders. 34 These leaders, still uncertain about the measure of their support and the kind of policies they should propagate, are attempting to assess the objectives and aspirations voiced by those who feel that they have been ignored by local and national leaders. As leadersto-be, they still lack the skills of leadership. The views of these leaders, sustained as they are at the moment by a modest ground swell of urban and rural discontent, hover uneasily between real reformism — i.e. elimination of exploitation — and policies designed to achieve a more far-reaching transformation. Their uncertainty is a reflection of the fact that they are basically unschooled ideologically and also that they recognize that the present power elite is still deeply entrenched both locally and in its contacts beyond the boundaries of the nation. Indeed, many of them appear to be very conscious of the fact that their own modest power rests on concessions provided by the elite in power. Such an observation should stimulate research on various aspects of these new leaders. Above all, we need to take a fresh look at the so-called "working class" in the New Nations, at their "class" behavior, their attitudes, and their political consciousness. 35 Thus, the fifth point we must make is that the political consciousness of the urbanite is also related to changes taking place at the level of urban-rooted associations, particularly trade unions, their composition, and leadership. In Africa, for example, various groups of "have nots" are now asking for "our rights", for a greater social equality and greater opportunities. Whether these demands, voiced primarily by the lower levels of the urban community, spring from a new political consciousness or from a greater sense of confidence in their potential power in society, is a matter which requires much further study. Above all, we need to find out whether their demands are set out in terms of short-range objectives or whether they have partaken of an apocalyptic vision of society. In short, what kind of leader will have their trust and sustaining support? At the root of these questions lie various propositions about class behavior and class consciousness. The fundamental political and socioeconomic structure of the New Nations is such that a class analysis of political consciousness, and of populism as one of its manifestations, is now a very viable approach. 36 34

The "turnover" of leaders is rather considerable, particularly when repeated military interventions bring forth waves of new politicians. However, in the context of this paper we mean by new leaders those who have risen from the grass roots, such as trade union leaders, and those who come forward on radical and socialist platforms. 35 Davies, Social Mobility and Political Change. 36 G. Ionesco and E. Gellner, eds., Populism: Its Meanings and National Characteristics (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1970). Saul, "Africa", 122-50.

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The conditions which will most certainly be revealed by such research will be depressing, although not unexpected, but to ignore such an analysis is to reject the reality of the forces which are clearly at work. As yet we have very limited data which can be used to predict how, and on what issues, the urban poor will react politically — radically or otherwise. What conditions, experiences, and events will close the ranks of the poor in a show of solidarity? What are the conditions and events which prevent this solidarity? What little data we have so far seem to suggest that the poor set modest occupational targets for themselves and, further, that the bulk of the urban poor appear willing and determined to use the same technique!» as the elites to gain ascendancy — i.e. to construct networks based on clientage and patronage. At the same time, it would be a serious mistake to underrate the aspirations of the urban poor or the pressures which are building up and to assume that a recognition by them of their predicament will be translated into simple and modest demands. In Latin America in particular, the urban poor have found refuge in various types of slum and squatter settlements which they are developing into complex communities. 37 In India, on the other hand, the urban poor are rapidly being politicized by very active and radical political movements. 38 Nevertheless, the political consciousness of the urban poor appears to rest on the conviction, which I consider to be an illusion, that upward mobility is possible. Despite a cynical and sceptical view toward leaders and parties, a personal sense of optimism is not unusual among them. Thus, surveys in Lagos and Nairobi revealed that many of the urban resident unemployed believed that prospects for their children were a little better than for themselves. 39 Several studies in the slum areas of Latin America have also supported this observation. Joan Nelson observes in this regard: Faith in the future may make present deprivation less bitter. And even if one judges one's personal prospects as bleak, belief that the system is open may dull the edge of resentment. The myth of open opportunity prevents conversion of individual misfortune into social injustice. Many of the urban poor undoubtedly are discontented, but it is not clear that this dissatisfaction is the cumulative, driving resentment postulated in the model.40 37 W. Mangin, "Latin American Squatter Settlements: A Problem and a Solution", Latin American Research Review 2 (3) (1967), 65-98; W. Mangin and J. C. Turner, "The Barriada Movement", Progressive Architecture 49 (May 1968), 154-62. 38 M. Weiner, "Violence and Politics in Calcutta", Journal of Asian Studies 20 (3) (May 1961), 275-81; idem, "Urbanization and Political Protest", Civilizations 17 (1-2) (1967), 44-52. 39 Gutkind, unpublished fieldnotes, 1966. 40 Nelson, Migrants, Urban Poverty, and Instability in Developing Countries, 61-62.

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Whether deteriorating urban conditions, or the destitution of the ruralite, will father clearer expressions of politicization and radicalization is a matter of much present speculation. Much will depend on how, and by what particular groups, discontent will be spread; whether ethnic, language, cultural, district, and regional differences can be overcome. Past research in the New Nations has identified certain basic units for research, usually the tribe or the nation, but this is an orientation which we should question. In the process, we have missed some important features of changc and transformation. We need to ask ourselves: what are the most basic political groupings at present? Are these identified with ethnic groups, nations, or various new groups which cut across more traditional structures? What might be of equal importance are those groupings which reflect new national structures, or the "ascending interests" which Blanksten has identified. 41 What are the determinants which produce new clusters such as socioeconomic and political "classes"? Thus, the sixth point we might make is that political consciousness of the urban poor springs from their perceptions of how they view their chances of upward economic and social mobility — chances which I view to be as limited now as they were in colonial times. That frustration and resentment are on the increase should not be doubted by anyone who has not cut himself off, deliberately, from observing that change and transformation are taking place — although Gurr suggests that the frustration-agression hypothesis needs modification. 4 3 What the exact dynamic is behind the transformation has been variously interpreted, although I would support the view that it is the penetration of a cash economy into pre-industrial societies. There are those who feel that frustration rises and falls in relation to particular events, conditions, policies, and leadership. Others suggest that resentment is gradually being converted into self-sustaining radical movements which heighten political consciousness and father not only a radical social transformation but also violence to achieve this end. The myth of political apathy explodes as governments topple like ninepins, particularly in Africa and Latin America. Whichever view is correct, that of the liberal-reformistdemocrat or the Marxist historical-determinist, neither education, political sophistication, nor articulate leadership is likely to be as vital 41

G . I. Blanksten, "Transference of Social and Political Loyalties", in Industrialization and Socicty, ed. B. F. Hoselitz and W . II. Moore (Paris: U n e s c o , M o u t o n , 1963), 175-96. 42 For a modification of the frustration-aggression hypothesis, see: T. Gurr, "Psychological Determinants of Civil Violence", World Politics 20 (2) (January 1968), 24578); idem, "Urban Disorder: Perspectives from the Comparative Study of Civil Strife," American Behavioral Scientist 11 (March 1968), 50-55.

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as the resentment and frustrations spawned among the poor as they become aware that they are encapsulated in unstable and exploitative political and economic systems that have now unfolded over much of the Third World. These political systems have revealed serious structural constraints on mobility because the leaders have shown their unwillingness to achieve a greater measure of social justice which alone can lead to more broadly based economic transformation — although the rich world is likely to prevent genuine modernization. In this sense, the political leaders of the New Nations have shown not only their contempt for the poor but have also revealed their incompetence as leaders, even though the obstacles they must overcome are prodigious. Above all, they have indicated that they are determined to live with and revitalize the colonial model of exploitation. 4 3 We should not live with the hope that the political consciousness of the poor will invariably find constitutional channels of expression. After all, the radical right is not inclined in that direction either, nor are those of liberal dispensation prepared to allow the fabric of a society to be destroyed. Nor should we accept the view that religious escapism by the poor, particularly in the non-secular Third World nations, is evidence that their fundamental needs are met in ways different from those we accept for ourselves. One reason why we do not understand the nature of political consciousness of the poor is that we live with the elitist perspective that political thought is essentially the preserve of the rich — that somehow the poor are apolitical (they are also more concerned with practical things, they are more emotional, sexually more unrestrained, and hence — naturally — more prone to primitive violence), 44 and that their political needs are satisfied simply by the occasional raising of wages and fringe benefits. Besides, the elites argue, the trickle-down effects allow for their marginal participation in economic development and in the political process. While this caricature may not always apply to every industrial nation, among Third World nations the political participation by the poor is generally restricted to the empty ritual of voting and the right of followership. Nor should we pay much attention to the proposition that the poor are politically apathetic because they are preoccupied with their daily struggle — a fashionable and highly elitist point of view. The urban poor of Calcutta, said to be among the most depressed urbanites in the world, daily translate their suffering into 43

Nduka, "The Anatomy of'Rationalization'". D. Matza, "The Disreputable Poor", in Social Structure and Social Mobility in Economic Development, ed. N. Smelser and S. M. Lipset (Chicago: Aldine, 1966), 31039. 44

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demonstrations, violence, and general mayhem. 45 Periods of quiescence are followed by sudden flare-ups. When this takes place, all too many observers have no clear explanations to offer, having set aside historical perspectives which could help them analyze and explain such manifestations. On the other hand, the poor may be politically passive because they lack leaders or because they have lost confidence in the policies and activities of governments and the legitimacy of their authority. It is this which might help to explain why, despite their scepticism, the poor are searching for new leaders who offer solutions many of which are based on the premise that only extra-constitutional actions are likely to produce results. Whether the radical left has in this regard partaken of the theology of violence is a matter beyond the scope of this paper. But the fact cannot be ignored that these extra-constitutional actions are hardly new in political life. The poor, and their leaders, have certainly learned from so-called "democratic" governments which engage in repression in the name of constitutionality. It is, of course, possible that the longer the poor remain in town (and as the destitution of the rural poor increases) the greater the likelihood of a heightened consciousness and political radicalization. Studies by Boissevain,46 Dorjahn, 4 7 Goldrich, 48 Mangin, 49 Simpson, 50 and Weiner 51 attest to this possibility. It appears to be more likely that it will be the urban born, and their children, whose political outlook and actions will not conform to the model of political passivity; however, it is as yet too early to detect a fundamental trend. Voting behavior in Third World nations is only one measure to be taken into account. 52 Nor should it 45

Weiner, "Violence and Politics in Calcutta", "Urbanization and Political Protest". J. Boissevain, "Poverty and Politics in a Sicilian Agro-town", Internationa! Archives of Ethnography 50 (1966), 198-236. 47 V. R. Dorjahn, "The Extent and Nature of Political Knowledge in a Sierra Leone Town", Journal of Asian and African Studies 3 (3-4) (July-October 1968), 203-15. 48 D . Goldrich, "Peasants' Sons in City Schools: An Inquiry into the Politics of Urbanization in Panama and Costa Rica", Human Organization 23 (4) (1964), 328-33. 49 W. Mangin, "Poverty and Politics in Cities of Latin America", in Power, Poverty and Urban Policy, eds. W. Bloomberg and H. Schmandt (Beverly Hills: Sage Publications, 1968), 397-432. 50 G. E. Simpson, "Political Cultism in West Kingston", Social and Economic Studies 4 (2) (June 1955), 133-49. 51 Weiner, "Violence and Politics in Calcutta", "Urbanization and Political Protest". 52 G. Soares and R. L. Hamblin, "Socio-economic Variables and Voting for the Radical Left; Chile, 1952", American Political Science Review 61 (4) (December 1967), 1053-65; Indian Institute of Public Opinion, "An All-Indian Survey of Urban Political Opinion", Public Opinion Surveys 10 (114) (March 1965); Nelson, Migrants, Urban Poverty, and Instability in Developing Countries; G. Germani, "Social and Political 4S

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be assumed that the mere existence of political parties with a radical platform is an indication that radical ideas have taken root — an interpretation which is supported by the poor showing of the Nigerian Socialist Workers and Farmers Party, a Marxist-oriented group whose candidates have all repeatedly lost their deposits. 53 While the issues in the mid-^öO's in Nigeria were not those of radicalism or otherwise, the rejection of these candidates by urban workers, to whom the party appeal was directed, is an indication that more time is needed to lay the foundations for a commitment to, and an understanding of, the objectives of radicalism. At the same time, I consider it a mistake to conclude that recent migrants are politically passive merely because they are economically marginal. Research which I conducted in Lagos and Nairobi in 1966 among unemployed men, who had totally failed at that time to gain access to economic opportunity, revealed that some of them had made efforts to organize themselves into a political pressure group and that a large number of them were willing to follow their leaders who called for demonstrations outside ministerial offices.54 A study of the Nigerian press, for example, between about 1962 and the present, reveals a large number of occasions when unemployed men have joined together to make their voices heard. The fact is that unemployed men become politically involved in radical action, a fact documented by Nelkin, 55 although they are often recent migrants and economically wholly marginal. Few urbanites, of whatever status, remain politically uninvolvcd. But urbanism alone does not account for a heightened political consciousness and more direct political involvement. The single cause and effect relationship between urbanization, urbanism, and political activism must be replaced with a more holistic view which takes into account the many facets of change and transformation at both the local and the national levels. In this much broader context, virtually all aspects of the complexity of change have a bearing on political attitudes and behavior. Indeed, it is the primacy of politics, and its naked manifestation of power, which is the dynamic and dialectic of change. Only in such a context can we account for various forms of political consciousness. Urbanism itself is

Consequences of Mobility", in Social Structure and Mobility in Economic Development, eds. N. Smelser and S. M. Lipset (Chicago: Aldine, 1966), 364-94. 83 F. A. O. Schwarz, Nigeria, the Tribes, the Nation, or the Race — the Politics of Independence (Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, 1965); R. L. Sklar, Nigerian Political Parties (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963). 54 Gutkind, "The Poor in Urban Africa", 1968. 55 Nelkin, "The Economic and Social Setting of Military Takeovers in Africa".

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as much a political manifestation as it is economic and technological. Wherever the people of Third World nations try to seek their living, be it in urban or rural areas, whether they are poor or otherwise, they are part of unstable political and economic systems — systems which have failed to meet, and may not meet in the immediate future, most of the basic needs (primarily to create employment opportunities) of the vast majority of the people. 56 Hence a seventh point worth further consideration is that the political outlook and actions adopted by the urban poor are at present diffuse and eclectic; they arc not directly related to, or dependent on, either membership in political parties, urbanism as a style of life, or a high degree of political socialization or consciousness. The actions of the urban poor spring from a broader base and their activism, at present, is more often rcactive and situational than ideological. The concept of the ideological and political "struggle" has yet to take root, particularly in Africa — although in incipient form it has done so in some Latin American and Asian countries. Nor can we predict precisely when the actions of the poor, and those of the farmers, will be more firmly rooted in an ideological posture. Inasmuch as basic needs arc not met, radicalization of the masses becomes the only means by which they can seek not merely economic justice but also personal self-expression. To recognize that the urban poor are at present passively integrated merely reveals the fact that they are politically dominated and, more often, politically repressed. To suggest further that the urban poor will be politically disruptive and violent, presumably for no good reason, is a proposition designed to create fears and the image of the urban mob. Such approaches are designed to conceal from us that political and economic instability are directly related to the barrenness of elitist development policies which have guided the New Nations thus far. It would, therefore, be wiser if wc rccognized that political consciousness is not merely a constant in human affairs but also that it can find expression in the mystery of quiescence and passivity. This is part of the historical process which unfolds as much by stages as by fits and spurts, by sudden struggles as well as by a gradual building up of pressures. However, whether classical reformism has been rejected by politically conscious workers in favor of a class-conflict model is a proposition ύ6

K. Buchanan, "The Third World — Its Emergence and Contours", New Left Review 18 (January-February 1963), 3-23; idem, "Profiles of the Third World", Pacific Viewpoint 5 (2) (September 1964), 97-126; V. Shelepin, "Africa: Why the Instability?", New Times ( M o s c o w ) 52 (December 1968), 21-24.

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which needs to be analytically refined and then tested. 57 While the colonial situation was politically and economically structured as one of masters and servants, the present ruling elites see themselves as representative of national interests — and usually as "socialist" as well. They generally preach the doctrine that only a non-class basis of development can achieve social equality and political and national stability. To achieve these objectives, they also preach the gospel of personal discipline, selfdenial, austerity for the poor, and the subordination of the farmers and workers to the common good. Otonti Nduka, writing in a recent issue of Nigerian Opinion, hammers home this last point when he writes: The writers of the [Nigerian] Second National Development Plan 1970-74 are merely pulling the wool over the eyes of the unsuspecting when they advise the mass of the people to wait until a large "national cake" is baked before they can expect a sizeable share of it. But what is at issue is not the distribution of a nonexistent cake but the equitable distribution of the loaves of bread that are available. Furthermore, the fact still remains that while the mythical cake is being baked the privileged class continue to eat "imported cake" at the expense of the community. It is this pattern of distribution which needs to be critically re-examined. 58

Because the elites have fathered a self-justified model of development (in most respects the same as the colonial model), which they are prepared to defend and which has made them the reference group for the masses, they have succeeded, thus far, in many of the New Nations to persuade and coerce the workers and farmers to look up to them, to obey them most of the time, and to believe in their reformist intentions. This elite, when not paying lip service to socialism, are generally strongly opposed to relating economic and political transformation to ideological guidelines. Turning again to N d u k a on this issue, he observes: Although some pundits affect to fight shy of... [ideological] considerations, wrongly believing that such considerations are the stock-in-trade of Marxists, Communists, and their fellow travellers, they least suspect, perhaps, that the ideological foundations of the capitalist system we are operating are clear enough for those who can see such things. 59

The authoritarianism of the power elite, their view that they know what is good for the masses is, of course, rooted in an essentially capitalist structure which is based on the exploitation of farmers and workers, a strategy which is tempered, occasionally, by short-lived political allian57

"The Class Struggle in Africa", Africa, Latin America, Asia Revolution 1 (9) (January 1964), 23-47. 58 "The Anatomy of 'Rationalization'", 10-11. See also: '"National Cake' Talk Should Stop — Governor", Daily Sketch, 2 March 1971, pp. 1 and 8. 59 Nduka, "The Anatomy of'Rationalization'", 8.

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?

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ces with either or both segments as dictated by a pragmatic expediency. If this is the correct perspective on the current Third World scene, it would not seem too far-fetched to suggest that many of the New Nations have laid the foundations for an evolving fascism which has its roots in the liberal-reformist-capitalistic-military complex which seems to dominate some of the New Nations at present. 60 In this regard, it is worth pressing for more penetrating questions to be asked regarding the possibilities of fascism in the New Nations, particularly in Africa and Asia: fascism in Latin America is hardly a new phenomenon. Late industrialization has brought into being a rather ruthless comprador class of small-scale industrialists and businessmen who are usually emphatically opposed to socialist doctrines although they cry out for state subsidies. They build their enterprises on the exploitation of urban and rural labor; they are, most often, opposed to trade union activities. Unemployment is viewed as beneficial to the economy, and starvation does not stir their conscience. The governing organs of the state are infiltrated by them and their powers are converted into instruments for repression of liberalism, radicalism, dissent generally, and economic and political corruption. Yet law and order are seen as indispensable conditions of economic development. This entrepreneurial class, whose activities are frequently supported by first-generation intellectuals, particularly economists, who still put forward immutable laws which invariably work in favor of the rich, casts itself in the role of true nationalists and saviors. Hence it is usually chauvinistic — an outlook which is always on the borderline of fascism. 61 How the urban and rural masses will fit into this matrix, or how exactly they have already been incorporated into it, is a matter which will require a great deal of further research, although a very good start has been made by Baran, Buchanan, Moore, and Frank among others. 62 Their work clearly exposes the operation of the model set out above. Thus, everywhere, modest industrial growth and other economic developments have preceded a much more pressing political transformation which is essential to erase colonial and capitalist models of exploitation and the mental imperialism of the elites. The farmers in particular have β0

M. Murray, "Militarism in Africa", New Left Review 38 (July-August 1966), 3559; B. Moore, Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World (Boston: Beacon Press, 1966). 81 Moore, Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy. 62 Baran, The Political Economy of Growth; Buchanan, "The Third World — Its Emergence and Contours", "Profiles of the Third World"; Frank, Capitalism and Underdevelopment in Latin America, "Sociology of Development and Underdevelopment of Sociology"; Moore, Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy.

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been coaxed and cajoled into producing more local food and cash crops, while a large slice of the revenue obtained from the latter is used to finance the extravagant tastes of the elites. Economic development policies are based on the essential exploitation, with some state participation, of natural resources and, in particular, on a low-wage economy whereby farmers and urban workers are made to carry the burden. Minerals and oil, while a potential economic and political asset vis-d-vis the industrial nations, are either sold at bargain prices, mortgaged for high priced imports, or otherwise squandered in defiance of the needs of the nation as a whole, such as modest constraints, if any, on the export of profit. Wholly foreign-owned companies flout the laws of their hosts in cooperation with indigenous exploiters. It is in this context that we must analyze the evolution and transformation of political consciousness. Whether the urban workers and farmers understand the rationale behind their exploitation is a matter for much further study. However, what is significant is that urban workers in many of the New Nations are now expressing considerable dissatisfaction with their terms of employment and their trade union leadership, with government incomes and wages policies, and with the high level of conspicuous consumption by the privileged few. 63 Hence, industrial unrest is now significantly on the increase in Africa, India, and Pakistan and most of Latin America. In Nigeria, for example, a major trade union leader has recently suggested that there is no reason why a government by and for the workers should not take over after the Nigerian military have handed over to a civilian regime. How realistic this suggestion is has recently been debated in the Nigerian press. 64 We should not, however, engage in wish-fulfillment. Revolution, to seek a total social transformation, is not just around the corner. Nor should we forget that to make a revolution requires conviction, leadership, great sacrifices, and even greater resources. The poor may have the first three of these in abundance, but the resources in both financial and military terms are held tightly by the elites, and they know it! However, what ultimately seems to matter most is how the poor perceive their predicament at the personal level — that of themselves and their close kin. Whatever their aspirations, fanciful or realistic, there are political and economic structures which rise like giant hurdles before them, and there are leaders who stand in their way. The poor may not seek an egalitarian society, but they certainly seek one which is just in law, honest in oppor63

Pfefferman, Industrial Labour in the Republic of Senegal. O. Akaragun, "Can Nigerian Workers Ever Be in Power?", Daily Times (Lagos), 1 March 1971, p. 7.

64

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Dangerous?

Ill

tunities, and reasonably fair in the distribution of wealth. Perhaps the poor have always been too wise to seek Utopia, yet they will always reject the unjust society; they will always also reject the oppressive society. They must, because the two always go together. If they do not do so, it would be tantamount to accepting slavery for themselves and slavery for their unborn children. No man or woman can be asked to commit such suicide — to sacrifice himself for the few who feel that they are ordained to rule. 65 The economically deprived nations find themselves in the grip of a vise which is tightening year by year, internal rivalries will reveal the intensity of the class struggle, although its exact form in Africa, Asia, and Latin America may not, initially, follow the standard model. Thus, stability is not only unobtainable, but to attempt to achieve it merely creates new crises and contradictions. The objectives are not those of stability and integration, but simply those of justice and equality of opportunity. Unrest and frustration will continue to prevail until such a time as the masses of the poor are given convincing evidence that their exploitation has come to an end. It is this, and this alone, which is father to whatever political consciousness exists today among the poor and the oppressed. Thus I must end on an apocalyptic prediction: the power elite everywhere, although they control the world's modern and often destructive technology, and despite their deep sense of confidence that they can handle any challenges from below, from the farmers and the urban workers, will be overthrown, for they have planted the seeds of their own destruction. 06

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"Can Nigerian Workers Ever Be in Power?", Daily Times (Lagos, 1 March).

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BARAN, P. A.

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The Political Economy of Growth (New York: Monthly Review Press).

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BOISSEVAIN, J.

1966

"Poverty and Politics in a Sicilian Agro-town", International Archives of Ethnography 50, 198-236.

BUCHANAN, K.

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"The Third World — Its Emergence and Contours", New Left Review 18 (January-February), 3-23. "Profiles of the Third World", Pacific Viewpoint 5 (2) (September), 97-126.

COHN, Ν.

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DAVIES, I.

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Social Mobility and Political Change (London: Macmillan).

EPSTEIN, A. L.

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Politics in an Urban African Community (Manchester: Manchester University Press).

FANON, F.

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The Wretched of the Earth (London: MacGibbon and Kee).

FRANK, A. G .

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Capitalism and Underdevelopment in Latin America: Historical Studies of Chile and Brazil (New York: Monthly Review Press).

GUTKIND, p . c . w .

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"The Energy of Despair: Social Organization of the Unemployed in Two African Cities, Lagos and Nairobi", Civilizations 17 (3), 186-214 and 17(4), 380-405. "The Poor in Urban Africa: A Prologue to Modernization Conflict and the Unfinished Revolution", in Power, Poverty and Urban Policy, edited by W. Bloomberg and H. J. Schmandt (Beverly Hills: Sage Publication), 355-96. "The Sociopolitical and Economic Foundations of Social Problems in African Urban Areas: An Exploratory Conceptual Overview", Civilizations 22 (1), 18-34.

HANICE, W . A.

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Population Migration University Press).

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Industrialization and Society (Paris; Unesco, Mouton).

LANTERNARI, V.

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The Religion of the Oppressed (London: MacGibbon and Kee).

MABOGUNJE, A. L.

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Urbanization in Nigeria (London: University of London Press).

MARCUSE, M.

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One-Dimensional Man: Studies in the Ideology of Advanced Industrial (Boston: Beacon Press).

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MARRIS, P.

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Family and Social Change in an African City (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul).

MOORE, B.

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Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World (Boston: Beacon Press).

MURRAY, M.

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"Militarism in Africa", New Left Review 38 (July-August), 35-59.

N D U K A , O.

1971

"The Anatomy of'Rationalization'", Nigerian Opinion 7(1), 7-12.

NELKIN, D.

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"The Economic and Social Setting of Military Takeovers in Africa", Journal of Asian and African Studies 2 (3-4) (July-October), 230-44.

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1968 Industrial Labour in the Republic of Senegal (New York: Praeger). SAUL, J. s.

1969 "Africa", in Populism: Its Meanings and National Characteristics, edited by G. Ionescu and E. Gellner (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson). SHELEPIN, V.

1968 "Africa: Why the Instability?", New Times (Moscow) 52 (December), 21-24. SIMPSON, G. E.

1955 "Political Cultism in West Kingston", Social and Economic Studies 4 (2), (June), 133-49. SMELSER, N. AND S. M. LIPSET,

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1966 Social Structure and Mobility in Economic Development (Chicago: Aldine). SUNDKLER, B. G. M.

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Bantu Prophets in South Africa (London: Oxford University Press).

WORSLEY, P.

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The Third World (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson).

Room for Manoeuvre: The Political Role of Small Towns in East Africa

JOAN

VINCENT

In this paper I set out to explore some of the characteristics of small town politics in Eastern Africa. 1 I do not thereby imply that small towns and their politics can be understood in isolation. On the contrary, I isolate analytically the distinctive features of small town politics only to show how their empirical relations to the politics of the capital and the countryside may be explored further. I argue, then, that the politics of small towns and their distinctive political features can be understood only in terms of the role which these towns play in linking the capital to the countryside. I also argue that the contemporary politics of African nations can most effectively be studied in small towns. For both technical and theoretical reasons, the small town is important in East African political ethnography. 2 Geographers frequently classify urban settlement on the basis of population size. They distinguish between the megalopolis, whose popu1

This is a revised and expanded version of a paper presented at the meetings of the American Anthropological Association held at San Diego, California, November 21, 1970.1 would like to thank my colleague, Clive Kessler, for his comments upon this draft. 2 This paper is exploratory in that it is based essentially upon fieldwork in Teso District, Uganda, in 1966-67 and 1970 and upon reading the few studies of East African small towns available to me. I find my precedent in the writings of Meyer Fortes, who considers that "results have handsomely vindicated the procedure of testing, amending and adding to the generalizations which make up the body of social anthropological theory by intensive study of one society at a time". Meyer Fortes, "Analysis and Description in Social Anthropology", Advancement of Science 10 (1953), 190-201. Hypotheses are thus derived from studies of single societies and the range of their validity is then tested by comparison with other such studies.

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lation exceeds eight million, and cities; and between municipalities of between ten and forty thousand heads, towns of between five hundred and ten thousand, and villages in which fewer than five hundred persons reside. Writing of urban settlement in sub-Saharan Africa, Southall delineated two types of town, Types A and B. The former are characterized by an ethnically homogeneous population and a long history of settlement, while the latter are non-traditional towns with heterogeneous and largely immigrant populations in industrial employment. 3 Less familiar is the small administrative or trading center which Middleton designates Type C. This clearly falls at the lower end of the geographer's scale with a population in excess of five hundred but usually of less than four thousand. In one short paragraph, Middleton noted: These provide the main loci for the dissemination of external influence to the rural areas, and it is in them that their members have relationships with those of their kind and neighbors who are not classed as elites or evolues.4 This observation serves as my point of departure: my purpose is to specify and elaborate upon those political features and functions of small town politics which Middleton alludes to without further analysis. Typologies of towns have been notoriously misleading and configurational modes of classification especially have not served us well. It is not the aim of this essay to set forth a continuum of urban forms; attention is directed instead to political situations and processes of political change. Nevertheless, a single structural characteristic underlies the comparisons implicit in this study. Explicitly stated, this structural characteristic is the different form that ethnic heterogeneity may take in different political (in this case, political and urban) matrices. It is no accident that structured ethnicity underlies any delineation of the Type C town. British colonial administrative concern over the role of non-African traders in the rural districts of East Africa was responsible for the promulgation of Trading Centers and Minor Townships in the first place. Three administrative categories of urban settlement were broadly recognized: the Trading Center, the Township, and the Municipality. 5 Non-Africans were not allowed to trade in the open countryside, nor were they permitted to occupy Crown Land outside the boun3

A. Southall, Social Change in Modern Africa (London: Oxford University Press for I.A.I., 1961). 4 J. Middleton, The Lugbara of Uganda (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1965), 33. 5 This is the Ugandan terminology. Categorization is, at various times, slightly different in Kenya and Tanzania.

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daries of a Trading Center or Township without a valid license or lease issued by the Governor. In practice, such licenses were rarely given. In all districts, most of the land was Crown Land held according to the African customary law of the locality. Land within urban centers was occupied on leasehold under direct Government jurisdiction. Ethnic heterogeneity was, accordingly, the one fundamental component of all Type C towns. Most small traders were well established before 1914 and have been "rigidly regulated by law" 6 ever since. The administrative towns also necessarily contained a European sector, enjoying the highest status and direct and immediate political power. To my knowledge, only four published ethnographic accounts of Type C towns in East Africa have any degree of specificity. Kahama Township and Mangola Chini, a gazetted Trading Center, both in mainland Tanzania, have been the subject of short essays.7 Mto wa Mbu, an agricultural settlement near Arusha (also in Tanzania) and Gondo, a polyethnic Trading Center in Teso (Eastern Uganda) have been the subject of longer studies. 8 Small towns have, however, appeared tangentially in the opening descriptive pages of many a tribal monograph, as, for example, in Wagner's The Bantu of North Kavirondo, Volume I, where the small town of Kakamega is fleetingly described. 9 All too often, it comes as a surprise to a reader later to discover the presence and political significance of small towns within a tribal area as its ethnographer turns from the structural analysis of "the tribe" to a more descriptive, journalistic, and slighter account of "alien elements". Middleton's own work on the Lugbara provides a striking example of this. 10 For the most part, anthropologists have worked either in large towns 6

A. E. Larimore, The Alien Town: Patterns of Settlement in Busoga, Uganda. An Essay in Cultural Geography (Chicago: University of Chicago, Department of Geography Research Paper N o . 55, 1959), 104. 7 R. Abrahams, "Kahama Township", in Social Change in Modern Africa, ed. A. Southall (London: Oxford University Press for I.A.I., 1961); N . Ishige, "On Swahilization", Kyoto University African Studies 3 (1969). 8 W. E. Arens, "Mto wa Mgu: A Study of a Multi-tribal Community in Rural Tanzania" (Ph. D . dissertation, University of Virginia, 1970); J. Vincent, "Status and Leadership in an African Community", (Ph. D . dissertation, Columbia University, 1968). 9 G. Wagner, The Bantu of North Kavirondo (London: Oxford University Press, 1949), 1,10-11. 10 J. Middleton, "The Political System of the Lugbara", in Tribes Without Rulers, eds. J. Middleton and D. Tait (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1958); J. Middleton, "The Lugbara", in East African Chiefs, ed. A. I. Richards (London: Faber and Faber, 1960); Middleton, The Lugbara of Uganda; cf. J. Middleton, "Trade and Markets among the Lugbara of Uganda", in Markets in Africa, eds. P. Bohannan and G. Dalton (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1962).

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or cities in Africa such as Bamako (Meillassoux), Lagos (Marris), Kampala (Gutkind, Southall), Jinja (Sofer), Monrovia (Fraenkel), Ndola (Mitchell), Freetown (Banton), Stanleyville (Pons), Luanshya (Epstein), Jos (Plotnicov), Leopoldville (La Fontaine), Lusaka (Boswell), Larteh (Brokensha), Agona-Swedru (Owusu), East London (Hunter, Mayer), Durban (Kuper), and Cape Town (Wilson, Mafeje), allι of which have populations of over ten thousand, or else in rural areas. It may be worth noting that in his comments on Epstein's essay on urbanization and social change in Africa, Gutkind refers to the neglect of the study of small towns by anthropologists and other social scientists. 11 Gutkind observes that "we have tended to concentrate on large urban areas at the expense of the smaller centers and townships. ... Particularly in West Africa, where there are many small towns and even more small townships under 5,000 in population, much interesting work on the lines of the Lunsar (Sierra Leone) study must be undertaken." 1 2 The political importance of the small town in the developing nations of Africa has never been clearly stated although many of the major institutions of formal political organization in contemporary states — political parties, trade unions, and local level bureaucracies — are not only to be found, but fulfill many important functions within the boundaries of the small town. Moreover, we find in the small town situations in which we may most appositely study "the interstitial, the supplementary, and the parallel structures in complex society and to expose their relation to [these] major overarching institutions". 13 These relations are often full of conflict since parapolitical structures — ethnic associations and veterans' organizations, for example — "fight battles with ... larger structures". 14 Yet the situational analysis of political interaction which the small town setting ideally affords is not enough. At the ideographic level, the situational analysis of events must be complemented by structural studies; the empirical reality we attempt to analyze may be viewed as one of structured flux. It is toward this aspect of small town politics, rather than to questions of formal political structure, that this essay is directed. 11

A. L. Epstein, "Urbanization and Social Change in Africa", Current Anthropology 8 (4) (October 1967), 275-84. 12 P. C. W. Gutkind, "Comments" on A. L. Epstein's "Urbanization and Social Change in Africa", Current Anthropology 8 (4) (October 1967), 285. 13 E. Wolf, "Kinship, Friendship and Patron-Client Relations in Complex Societies", in The Social Anthropology of Complex Societies, ed. Michael Banton (London: Tavistock, 1966), 2. 14 F. G. Bailey, "Parapolitical Systems", in Local-Level Politics, ed. M. Swartz (Chicago: Aldine Publishing Co., 1968), 281.

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THE SOCIAL COMPOSITION O F THE SMALL TOWN It would perhaps be well to describe the Type C town a little more before turning our attention specifically towards its political dimension. Too often the sociological and, more narrowly, the political dimensions of a unit of study are too soon and too arbitrarily divorced from their spatial and temporal settings. One geographer's description of the twenty-one small Trading Centers of Busoga District in Uganda 15 would seem apt for East Africa generally. In Busoga, each of the two largest trading centers in 1958 contained over a hundred Asian-owned dukas (madukas 'stores'); the next five had between twenty and sixty; the remaining fourteen all had fewer than twenty dukas. Government service establishments were primarily confined to post offices (often in stores or ginneries), telephone exchanges, and police posts in the larger centers. The government also contributed to the construction and maintenance of schools, an African market place (which seems to be included in all township plans although it is rarely constructed), and, sometimes, a dispensary. Today, cooperative branches and community development centers are to be found in most small towns as well. Water supplies, sanitation, and watchmen services are usually organized by the commercial community. Churches (unlike mosques, which are community-managed) are built and run by outside agencies, as are local branches of commercial banks. Private enterprise provides petrol pumps, filling stations, vehicle repair sheds, furniture-making, and, sometimes, small cinemas. Township Authorities are responsible for the internal government of the larger townships; the smaller trading centers are administratively part of the parish in which they lie, although they share certain legislation with the gazetted townships. In the past, the internal management of the townships and trading centers lay predominantly in the hands of "alien" communities but this has changed. It is no longer valid to make a distinction between "Indian Trading Centers" and "African Trading Centers", as Larimore did in 1959. Most up-country small towns came into being around a trading post set up in the first three decades of this century. In a short while, tracks began to converge upon the place and its crossroads appearance developed. As the administration advanced and economic innovations were introduced into the national economy, the small town began to take on its present form. Such evidence as there is suggests that in its commercial 15

A. E. Larimore, The Alien Town.

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dimension (the scale of its marketing and the very goods sold by retailers as well as, to a lesser extent, the ethnic composition of the commercial class) there has been very little change since 1914. Beside the main store sprang up others, attracting tailors and shoemakers to their stores for a wage or small rents. At first these craftsmen tended to be Asians, often poor or newly arrived kinsmen; later, Swahili-speaking itinerants would take their place, or local Africans, promoted perhaps from domestic porterage or work as nursemaids. Nearby the itinerant peanut seller or vendor with his tray would set up business in the shade of the tin-roofed stores. As more Asians moved in, fortress-like dwellings, their walls nearly touching, were constructed for their extended families, usually along one side of the road. Petrol pumps, tearooms or hotels (serving non-African foods and beverages as well as local African ones), and shops specializing in the sale of cloth, bicycle parts, tin basins, and cheap china, began to cluster. Beneath a tree nearby, a wayside barber would set up his chair and mirror, women traders would spread their cloth counters on the ground, on which to build their pyramids of peas and millet, a few bars of soap, small packets of tea, combs, and loose cigarettes. All these items were purchased in small amounts from Asian wholesalers whose vans, or the bicycles of their African subdistributors, would begin to visit the small town regularly. When the Administration or the Mission moved in upon the small town, it was usually at a short distance from the dukas, the State and the Church racing, as it were, for the balmiest hill in the locality. If the boma were established before the trading center, as was sometimes the case, traders similarly set up their shops at a distance — a disquieting matter for early European administrators since, in their eyes, each step of the distance made control more difficult and the exploitation of the "innocent and gullible natives" more possible. Only later did town planners advocate, and with varying success enforce, the spatial segregation of Europeans, Asians, and Africans. Gradually, as the population of the small town grew, the gap between the (European) boma and the (Asian) dukas was bridged by a ribbon of development along the road that linked them. Immigrant and local African carpenters, pot makers, bicycle repairers, tinsmiths, and sellers of medicine established roadside home industries to capture passing traffic. In time, "hotels" and lodging houses began to cluster on the roads at the edge of town at that point where Crown Land under African tenure met the township boundary (within which all building was government-controlled). These thatched huts or tin-roofed shacks, built on the land of indigenous entrepreneurs, were rented by the day, week, or month to single men, migrants, and travellers.

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Each development within the small town's history provided fresh occasions for entrepreneurial decision-making and political manoeuvering. These often involved ethnic considerations, especially on the part of the administration. A predominant characteristic of small town development, as contrasted with that of large towns and municipalities, would appear to have been the opportunity that it gave to local Africans to operate in two coexisting political arenas, that of the countryside and that of the parish. Advancement lay in the skilled manipulation of the roles of both tribesman and townsman. 16 How such opportunities for role definition shaped citizenship in contemporary East African states will be apparent later.

THE POLITICAL FIELD O F THE SMALL TOWN The small town provides a microcosmopolitan urban environment in a culturally homogeneous rural setting. Since the majority of the African actors in the small town political arena still come from such a rural environment, its formative, constraining, and challenging nature must be considered. The structure of the small-scale society that makes up the umland of the small town has been clearly set out as an ideal type in the writings of Gluckman, 17 Firth, 18 Mair, 19 and Bailey.20 Society is kin-structured: the individual belongs to a group larger than the elementary family which provides his reference group for most domestic, familial, social, economic, political, and ritual activities. Neighbors are most commonly kinsmen and roles are multiplex or many-stranded. Kin relations are less permissive than in more complex societies and there is less variation in kin behavior. Social interaction is comparatively stable: "the field of people's relationships is confined, both physically because of the difficulties of travel, and socially in that the same persons and groups cooperate for all the important purposes of life." 21 The essential charac16

J. Vincent, African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971), 77. 17 M. Gluckman, The Judicial Process among the Barotse (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1955), 18-20. 18 R. Firth, Two Studies of Kinship in London (London: University of London, Athlone Press, 1956). 19 L. P. Mair, An Introduction to Social Anthropology (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), 13-14. 20 F. G. Bailey, Politics and Social Change: Orissa in 1959 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1963), 219-21. 21 L. P. Mair, An Introduction to Social Anthropology, 13.

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teristics of small-scale society are its simple technology and its comparative lack of freedom of choice ("room for manoeuvre" 2 2 ) for the individual. Where social relations are multiplex, there are more constraints upon individual action. Gluckman argues that "multiplex membership of diverse groups and in diverse relationships is an important source of quarrels and conflict; but it is equally the basis of internal cohesion." 2 3 The basic sociological principles that organize rural life are descent, locality, and occupation. Government is largely in the hands of outsiders (the administration's chiefs are rarely appointed to their home areas) and politics consists of competing to remain equal 2 4 in a stable, harmonious, egalitarian small-scale society. A tendency to deny the analytic utility of a distinction between society and polity, 2 5 and to disregard the importance of colonial over-rule, a degree of kinship determinism, and a view of the political structure as a social control mechanism, led until recently to a neglect of the political dimensions of small-scale society. Revaluations of the classic Tallensi 26 and Nuer, 2 7 along with the work of Barth and Bailey outside of Africa, have now directed attention more toward the political entrepreneur in such communities, to the politics of kinship, to factionalism, to the mustering of support groups, to dyadic relations, to action-sets and coalitions, and to the political importance of rural networks, especially in national electoral politics. We have begun to look less at social control and more at political power, less at authority and more at confrontation, less at integration and more at competition and conflict. The political structure of smallscale society begins to emerge as one in which (1) political relations are multiplex; (2) everyone is an insider; (3) there are only groups, not categories, within the local political arena; (4) network relations and horizontal politics make all equally vulnerable. None is immune from pressure by virtue of high office or superior position and the network that ego is able to articulate is equally subject to manipulation by others within it so that he may become, by turns, both its central controller and its victim; 22

L. P. Mair, "How Small-scale Societies Change", in Penguin Survey of the Social Sciences, ed. J. Gould (Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1965). 33 M. Gluckman, Custom and Conflict in Africa (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1967), 20. 24 F. G. Bailey, Gifts and Poison: The Politics of Reputation (New York: Schocken, 1971), 19. 25 S. F. Nadel, The Foundations of Social Anthropology (London: Cohen and West, 1951), 187; E. R, Leach, Political Systems of Highland Burma (London: G. Bell, 1954), 36 P. Worsley, "The Kinship System of the Tallensi: A Revaluation", Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 86 (1956), 37-75. 37 K. Gough, "Nuer Kinship: A Revaluation", in The Translation of Culture, ed. T. Beidelman (London: Tavistock, 1971), 79-122.

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(5) levelling mechanisms operate so that the powerful occupy only precariously the plateau of prestige within the community, and each political generation pursues the struggle anew; (6) political competition is directed toward success in other fields such as social prestige or economic advantage, rather than toward political office or power per se\ and (7) geographical mobility is necessary to opt out of the system since no one within can remain uninvolved. Finally, it becomes less and less easy to characterize the politics of small-scale society in any way apart from its wider political field. Here space permits but one illustration; others will emerge less directly. The politics of agriculture may be said to be the weft and warp of the fabric of small-scale political society. Especially important is the politics of labor mobilization which provides the very nucleus of competition for power and prestige in rural communities. The plateau of prestige itself may be a precarious one since levelling mechanisms operate upon the condottieri28 but, more importantly, the political competition of Big Men spills over to affect all who arc within their communities. By and large, the Big Men, successful entrepreneurs with power but not office, and the poor, the patrons and the clients, remain in the rural areas — relatively illiterate and conservative, re-enacting and reinforcing the simple economy which demands an investment of labor rather than capital, and which builds and cements political and economic ties through kinship and marriage. Although the Big Man himself, as the initiator of an expanding domestic group-cum-agricultural enterprise, remains in the countryside (where he may possibly also be a middleman in local operations of other kinds as well), he is generally able to educate his sons, at least, further than most men in the village and, perhaps, to marry his daughters to wealthy officials or Big Men elsewhere. He may himself tangentially operate from his rural base in the wider political arena beyond the parish but, as Leach has shown for Pul Eliya, the developing countries are characterized by "a curiously lopsided type of mobility". 2 9 It was for his sons, not him, to succeed in the small town arena where those local branches of national institutions arc to be found which provide the essential steppingstones to greater political heights. The link between father and son, 3 0 38

Β. T. Van Velzcn, "The Condottieri and the Levellers", paper read at the 1970 meeting of the American Anthropological Association, San Diego. 29 E. R. Leach, Pul Eliya, a Village in Ceylon (London: Cambridge University Press, 1961), 30. 30 Or, in the G o n d o case, between mother's brother and sister's son, and between a man and his daughter's husband.

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between the countryside and the small town, may well be articulated with larger-scale political organizations. The patron among the peasantry and the young broker together have mobilized the vote banks of the countryside in a manner not yet sketched for Africa but familiar to us from the work of Bailey and Epstein on the Indian political scene. In the course of time, we see in microcosm the emergence of class in contemporary Africa as these men of local power invest their gains in the education of their children, of whom, although only some may rise to regional and national prominence, all begin to take on the colorings of class awareness as opposed to the parochial shades of the umland and the peasantry. The small town thus affords a setting in which to observe the detailed processes of embourgeoisement in contemporary East Africa. As he moves into the small town, the countryman begins to operate within the situation as it develops and changes rather than according to the patterns and norms that have regulated his behavior in the village where he is seen and known, commented upon, and acted upon daily. In the small town, he may begin to gain an identity apart from that furnished by his family and kin group, and his new-found individualism may be sustained without its threatening the authority or security of those whom he considers his own moral community, especially his elders and close kin. In summary, then, the political competition for resources that occurs in the rural areas, where cohorts of Big Men, men of the same life experience, 31 seek to control the affairs of the parish, and the spillover effects of this competition upon the unsuccessful and excluded, are integrally related to the politics of the small town. The small town lies at the center of local community fields in which economic development brings about increased geographical mobility and an expanding range of choice. The single-stranded relationships of the town add another dimension to the multiplex relationships of the countryside for the man who moves in both worlds. The unit of inquiry, then, is clearly the political field32 of the small town within its umland. The Type C town and its catchment area together constitute a political unit of some significance — a unit more strategic, I would suggest, for the analysis of contemporary African political life than either the nation or any of its component parts, whether they be institutions, associations, or ethnic groups. The political field of the small town does not necessarily 31

J. Vincent, African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town, 198-212. E. Peters, "Some Structural Aspects of the Feud among the Camel-herding Bedouin of Cyrenaica", Africa 37 (1967), 261. 32

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coincide with the formal political structure of the administration, the party, or the electoral constituency and, indeed, it is their overlapping that provides the very stuff of politics for the actors who reside within it.

POLITICS WITHIN THE SMALL TOWN POLITICAL ARENA In an exploratory essay of this nature it would be impossible to present systematically the nature of political interaction within the small town. Instead I choose to concentrate upon five basic themes: the politics of patronage, informal politics, elites, wandering men, and pacemakers and ethnic politics.

The politics of patronage

Owing partly to a lack of close local administration, partly to seasonal fluctuations, and partly to its cultural heterogeneity, an ephemeral "no-man's-land" quality pervades the small town. For the dispersed and divided local residents of the hinterland, the small town provides a neutral zone of interaction. This interaction is, by and large, either domestic or commercial, with little of a social dimension in between; relations tend to be individualistic and dyadic in nature. Small town politics are therefore those of individual entrepreneurship on the one hand and exploitation on the other. To put it differently, the politics of the small town are not the politics of cooperative agriculture (although a farm base within his support group is of inestimable value to the small town politician) but the politics of competitive patronage. Political patronage takes on many forms, but predominant in the small town political exchange in contemporary East Africa is access to education beyond the primary school level and to paid government employment. Both of these, as we have seen, the countryman can best obtain in small towns. In a study of Acholi politics, Leys has pointed out that the 7,000 local and central government employees in Acholi District, a number representing only 0.48 per cent of the population, earned nearly 60 per cent of the cash income of the district, each individual earning about 100 pounds sterling a year. Compared with those who had no employment, "these were the truly rich of Acholi", for the income of the ordinary family would amount to less than forty pounds a year. 33 Control over access to the salariat is a strong weapon in small town politics. 33

C. Leys, Politicians and Policies (International Publications Service, 1967), 15.

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In situations such as these, political relations tend to be dyadic, a network of patron-client relations linking those in power with the powerless. The eighteenth century English gentry provide us with one model of this type of politics. Carl Lande has elaborated upon it in his analysis of leaders, factions, and parties in the Philippines. 34 Within the small town itself, the main political actors are those who have resided there for a length of time and who have established bases from which to compete against each other. Around them is a larger pool of dependents whose participation in politics is only marginal. While the established residents have acquired multiplex relationships with each other and operate dense networks, the ties between these core group members and the "newcomers" — immigrants from the surrounding countryside, itinerant artisans, office incumbents — are dyadic and single-stranded.

Informal

politics

Within the urban structure of small towns, what Bierstedt has termed "the unorganized political community" 3 5 prevails. Anthropologists still grope toward the analysis of such informally organized political situations in which alignments are based upon individual contracts, where dyadic relations dominate and where quasi-groups, factions, and coalitions provide the building blocks of political association. The segmentary politics with which we are more familiar — in which an individual belongs to a corporate group (in both senses of the word "belongs") and politics takes on a systemic form, based upon exclusive and exhaustive groups — are singularly lacking in the small town. Yet, as we move more toward observing regularities and away from simply inquiring into rules, we begin to perceive the nature of the organization that does, indeed, underlie the political community of the small town. The more ephemeral politicking that results from the increased mobility of individuals and their greater room for manoeuvre is sometimes more crucial to analysis than formal and informal political associations and office-holding, which, of course, also exist. Power, it has been suggested, "is most important where it reigns, uninstitutionalized, in the interstices between associa34

C. H. Lande, Leaders, Factions and Parties: The Structure of Philippine Politics (New Haven: Southeast Asia Studies, Yale University, 1965); idem, "Networks and Groups in Southeast Asia", paper presented at a meeting of the Political Development Seminar, New York, March 1970. 35 R. Bierstedt, "An Analysis of Social Power", American Sociological Review 15 (1950), 734.

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tions" 36 and Bierstedt, in philosophical vein, goes on to speak of the locus of power lying "in the community itself". But it is the very absence of any homogeneous, consensual, and moral "political community" (certainly in the sense that De Grazia, 37 Dyson-Hudson, 38 or Schapera 39 use the term) that characterizes the small town. There power has its locus in the aggregate of individuals itself — i.e. in the sheer force of numbers aligned in political support groups, which is itself a function of the resources controlled by their leaders. A perception of the predominance of "unstructured" politics within interstitial domains has led some observers to describe contemporary African states as "almost institutionless arenas". 40 Although we would perhaps prefer to shift our attention from structure to situation, observing regularities where rules are absent, unwritten or broken, this focus on "institutionless arenas" is a useful one. The need to inquire into the politics of non-groups, factions, quasi-groups, action-sets, interest coalitions and cliques, and into the mobilization of egocentric networks for political ends makes the small town setting technically a strategic one for political anthropology. The recent applications of network analysis to urban Africa 41 would appear to bear out this contention. Yet there seems a danger that the anthropological study of African towns in this vein may become so bogged down in ever-narrower refinements of vocabulary, technique, and quantification that there will remain nothing specifically African or specifically urban about their politics. Perhaps this is as it should be. On the other hand, a greater regard for the context of the situation, both with respect to the larger power structures (in which race, ethnicity, and the force of arms all play their part) and with respect to time and place, would enhance these studies. So also would closer attention to the political content of the dyadic relations that make up the analysis.

Elites The uninstitutionalized power structures of the small town, in which the 36

Ibid. S. De Grazia, The Political Community: A Study of Anomie (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1948). 38 N. Dyson-Hudson, Karimojong Politics (London: Oxford University Press, 1966). 39 I. Schapera, Government and Politics in Tribal Societies (London: Watts, 1956). 40 A. R. Zolberg, "The Structure of Political Conflict in the New States of Tropical Africa", American Political Science Review 62 (1) (March 1968), 70. 41 J. C. Mitchell, ed., Social Networks in Urban Situations (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1969). 37

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power-holders are ephemeral while their niches endure, shrinking and expanding "as times change", may be approached through their elites, taking this term to mean, in Southall's words, "those with influence but not yet power or legitimate authority". 42 As we have seen, the growth in personnel in the small town over the years is accompanied by the gradual embourgeoisement of some — countrymen, tribesmen, and peasants—as they operate within the small town to escape the constraints, and to reinvest the privileges, of small-scale rural society. Since they are not always holders of established office, their hold on power is transitory and there comes about in the small town, to adopt Pareto's term, "a circulation of elites". It is they who shape the local institutions and give local color to nationally organized schools, missions, and local government bureaucracies by their impact, indirect as it is, upon them. "The biggest contribution that anthropologists can make to elite studies", in Southall's view, "is to ensure that elites are studied in their local, subordinate and sectional as well as their central forms, and in their becoming as well as their establishment, concentrating most on their multiple role-playing networks." 4 3 This is not the place in which to elaborate upon the composition of the Janus-faced elites 44 of small towns but their political function is clear. Among such small, intimate groups of individuals, some operate the multiple role playing networks of the umland, while others (perhaps the younger and more mobile members) operate single-stranded links to the centers of power beyond the small town, the district headquarters or the regional capitals. Together they provide a bulwark against uncontrolled exploitation from outside and give to the small town much of its slight sense of community. They thus constitute "a strategic elite". 45 Studies carried out by American rural sociologists have attuned us to recognize the categories of "local influentials" and "cosmopolitans". Within the political arena of the African small town we may inquire more closely into the relationships between these two types that sustain the successful operation of an elite body. I have attempted this in the case of polyethnic Gondo, but without further 42

A. Southall, "The Concept of Elites and their Formation in Uganda", in The New Elites of Tropical Africa, ed. P. Lloyd (London: Oxford University Press for I.A.I., 1966), 344. 43 A. Southall, "The Concept of Elites and their Formation in Uganda", 347. 44 Small town elites require "an outward face as well as an inward pose" since they must serve to define group interests in relation to the society beyond the boundaries of the small town as well as function as a group which sets standards and, to some extent, sustains values within the community. J. Vincent, African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town, 231-55. 45 J. Vincent, African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town.

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field inquiries the description of interaction there cannot be extended to other small Type C towns in East Africa. Hhwever, it should be noted, in passing, that data for polyethnic Mto wa Mbu would appear to bear out the fact that ethnicity itself is not inevitably a determinant of political interaction in the small town, 46 and that, where politics is couched in the idiom of ethnicity, situational factors need to be sought.

The wandering men

Small towns are both microcosms of national citizenship and breeding grounds of rural discontent. They provide the political arena of both the "spiralist", successful in manipulating the system, and the disaffected.47 In rural settings, as we have seen, ascribed or narrowly defined political roles and levelling mechanisms both operate to accommodate conflict and hold back change. The paths of both rural spiralist and malcontent thus converge upon the town. It is beginning to appear that those who leave the countryside for the cities and large towns of East Africa are not from the most impoverished groups in rural society. Although not so well documented for East Africa as for Latin America, migrants to the large cities may use small towns as way-stations while en route, over the course of several years, from the remoter rural areas to the capital city. In the small towns, many have their first experience of wage employment, acquire trading and professional skills, and indeed escape — or begin better to manipulate — the kinship reciprocities of the countryside. Fluctuations in industrial development and employment patterns account for such moves in Uganda and something of the sort — a movement between mines, sisal estates, and small towns — also seems to take place in Tanzania. Elsewhere in Africa it has been suggested that "moving around ... is largely a reaction to the general atmosphere of social change, especially to the process of occupational and class differentiation that is going on.... Labor, enterprise, and skill are now marketable in their own right anywhere in the country.... People feel that there is little risk in moving about, especially 48

W. E. Arens, "Mto wa Mbu". J. Vincent, "Anthropology and Political Development", in Politics and Change in Developing Countries: Studies in the Theory and Practice of Development, ed. C. Leys (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 35-63. The essence of spiralism is captured in Bacon's observation "on Great Place" when he writes: "All rising to great place is by a winding stair" (J. Vincent: African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town, 5-6). 47

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if, as appears to be the case with the most mobile elements, their earning capacity is low." 48 The extent to which the economic infrastructure of East Africa, and especially its marketing system, calls for the itinerancy of wandering artisans (surely akin to the "labouring men" of Hobsbawm's pre-industrial England) 49 is not known. Large-scale industrial and plantation migration »

has been the subject of research but little is known about the movement to and forth that occurs throughout the countryside generally. Yet such a condition is, presumably, the other side of the coin of rural underemployment that one reads so much about. From the stoep of any duka an observer may watch the wandering men in the streets of the small town. They are employed in occasional labor, seasonal in their movements, each individual at that point in the development of his domestic group or at that phase in his own life cycle when he may most advantageously take part in a circuit of labor mobility. This has become established over time so that, with semi-skills, the countryman can supplement the living to be had from the land and from rarely acquired wage labor there, with periodic work in the small town. Such groups of wandering men are politically significant in the affairs of both countryside and town. In some respects they enforce conservative values. Some among their number may be hired to sanction an upstart, brought in to burn the thatch or hamstring the cattle of a peasant farmer prospering beyond his fellows. Men with grievances cannot direct violent action against fellow members of the communities in which they live, but they can usually afford to hire the services of small-town nomads. There is also a more positive side to the contribution of the wandering men. As they move from small town to small town, learning to operate in one cultural setting after another, hearing one language after another, they acquire a sense of the content and bounds of the nation that surpasses that of the localized peasant. More importantly, they acquire the smattering of the lingua franca and of English that permits transethnic communication. In Tanzania, the existence of Swahili as a lingua franca would appear to have had significant political consequences since "towns are the loci of what can be called Swahili political culture and the 'strangers' in both the towns and throughout the countryside are the carriers of this political culture. They may be from the dominant tribe in the district, but their absorption of certain values and styles sets them apart 48

M. Fortes, R. W. Steel, and P. Ady, "Ashanti Survey 1945-46: An Experiment in Social Research", Geographical Journal (London) CX (1947), 164. 49 E. J. Hobsbawm, Labouring Men: Studies in the History of Labour (New York: Basic Books, 1964).

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from their fellows." 50 In Eastern Uganda, to stand on the sidelines of a football pitch in the small town, listening to supporters urge on their teams in Swahili, was to capture something of this supracultural political message of the wandering men — the brokers, as it were, of the proletarian national culture. It may not be insignificant that this proletarian culture is shared by the military and the police rather than by the elite politicians of the capital. 51

Pacemakers and ethnic politics

The small town in East Africa provides us with a focus for the study of the problems of interaction between national culture groups, as Obrebski calls them, 52 national institutions, and peasant society. The Swahili speakers of up-country Tanzania are political pacemakers, and this concept, as Morris has shown, 53 is of more general utility. Morris wrote of the Ismailis among the Indian communities of East Africa but, indeed, every small town — made up as it is of an ethnically mixed population in diverse occupations, with different cultural heritages and different experiences of "modernization" — has its pacemakers. These are the "admirable men" 5 4 against whose advancement that of all others may be measured. In aggregate, they may be seen to operate as an interest group in the national arena and as a reference group for rivalrous emulation in the local. It is, perhaps, necessary to distinguish pacemakers from brokers, hingemen, or gatekeepers who, as individuals, link their own groups with the outside world. Whereas brokerage is, in the long run, a mechanism of greater equality between groups within the small town, pacemaking groups, by their actions, generally produce greater and greater differentiation. Pacemaking groups are characterized first by their success with the authorities; secondly, by their achievements in economic life; and, thirdly, by their efficient mobilization and organization. 55 The existence of 50

H. Bienen, Tanzania: Party Transformation and Economic Development (enl. edit., 1970; Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press), 42. 51 J. Vincent, "Administrative Development in Teso District", in Uganda Districts Handbook, ed. E. Bundy and M. W. Wozei (in press). 52 J. Obrebski, "The Sociology of Rising Nations", International Social Science Bulletin 3 (1951), 238. 53 H. S. Morris, The Indians in Uganda (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1968). 54 L. Fallers, "Political Sociology and the Anthropological Study of African Polities", Archives europeennes de sociologie (Paris), 4 (2) (1963), 311-29. 55 H. S. Morris, The Indians in Uganda, 34.

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such groups tends to deflect any trends toward the integration of occupational or municipal interests since less successful individuals attribute the success of the pacemaking group to their corporate ethnic solidarity rather than to any organizational skills. During the colonial era, the Asians were certainly the commercial pacemakers of East Africa and, as one English-speaking African said of the Asians in Teso, "they are a very tribal people". Community power studies, whether of small towns in the United States or in Africa, have demonstrated — both in their content and in the ambivalence of their analysts — that the integrative aspect of politics is both instrumental and symbolic. In the Type C township, the instrumental dimension of political organization takes the form of maintaining the peace, regulating economic activity, and promoting the welfare of the client-citizens: these are purposive politics directed toward specific goals and they are largely in the hands of central and local government officials, elected councillors, and, broadly speaking, the salariat of the small town, with whom we are little concerned in this essay. The symbolic dimension of politics is activity expressly intended to foster confidence in the community and attachment to it. 5 6 In small town Africa it sometimes appears as if the instrumental and symbolic aspects of politics are formally attached to separate domains, community organization being markedly instrumental, the symbolism attached to national and party loyalties. Only the informal politics of ethnicity — and ethnic groups are instrumental groups par excellence — appear to bring the two together. The more general lack of consonance between the symbolic and the instrumental in small town politics may be seen as a manifestation of the rapidity of political change. Alternatively, it may be viewed as evidence of the inevitable contradictions in all politics in all places at all times. In either case, and for reasons related to the nature of ethnicity itself, ethnic politics is best subjected to processual analysis. The most important questions to be asked initially are not the how and why of ethnicity (as Geertz 5 7 does, suggesting that its "latency" may be taken for granted), but the where and when. There are, as yet, too few studies of polyethnic small towns in East Africa to make any general observations on the saliency of ethnicity, but we may again draw upon the findings of G o n d o and Mto wa Mbu to bring out one contrast — a contrast that concerns ethnic groups per se as opposed to immigrant groups of alien origin. 56

D . W. Minar and S. A. Greer (compilers), The Concept of Community (Chicago: Aldine Publishing Co., 1969), 223. 57 C. Geertz, ed., Old Societies and New States (Glencoe, 111.: The Free Press and London: Collier, Macmillan, 1963).

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In Gondo, the Asians, and, to a lesser extent, Bahima (Banyankole) operated as ethnic groups within a community that prided itself upon its polyethnic, non-tribalistic ethos. The Baganda within the township were only so singled out during times of national crises. Similarly, in Mto wa Mbu, the Chagga stand out clearly as a pacemaking group within the settlement and, presumably, politicize their ethnicity when it serves them so to do, although "tribal identity" is, by and large, unimportant in political interaction there. 58 In the small town, certain men of certain ethnic groups may at times choose tactically to define their interests and pursue their ends in terms of ethnic goals and privileges, but immigrant groups of alien origin appear invariably to take on the character of pacemaking groups, distinctive and — usually — resented. There is great scope here for the analysis of "relative deprivation and social justice" 59 within the whole context of ethnic status and reference group behavior in small towns. The role of the immigrant group, the "stranger", 60 is not the same in the small town as in the cities, where most observations have been made. In the larger urban centers, economically differentiated stranger communities are to be found. Where immigrant and stranger groups can exploit economic opportunities for which the skills of the native residents have not prepared them (as, for example, in the case of the Asians in East Africa, Igbo in Northern Nigeria, Baganda in Teso, and Chagga in up-country Tanzania), they tend to remain more exclusive than when they enter the economy at the lowest level to sell their labor in the wage market. As skilled traders and civil servants, strangers tend to form ethnically distinct and discrete associations; as working men they may often find it in their interest to merge their ethnic differences with those of the host group. In the early days, as we have seen, administrative policies distinguished indigenous Africans from aliens in shaping the small towns of East Africa. The lowest level (at which most Africans remained during the colonial period) was less divided into communal groups than was the middle stratum of Asians and "commercial Whites", which was generally internally divided and separated from the masses. It lies in the nature of 58

Arens, "Mto wa Mbu". W. G. Runciman, Relative Deprivation and Social Justice: A Study of Attitudes to Social Inequality in Twentieth Century England (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1965). 60 G. Simmel, "The Stranger", in The Sociology of Georg Simmel, ed. Κ. H. Wolff (Glencoe, 111.: The Free Press, 1950); L. Fallers, "Comment on 'The Lebanese in West Africa'", Comparative Studies in Society and History 4 (1961-62), 334-36; E. P. Skinner, "Strangers in West African Societies", Africa 23(4) (1963). 59

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the power pyramid that this should have been the most communally divided sector of the plural society for it is those in the corridors of power, not those who wait at the gates, who squabble most among themselves for the distribution of the spoils. The post-colonial economy still requires middlemen and, as "commercials" and the Asians leave, ethnic articulation becomes advantageous among those Africans who now take their place. They are the contemporary upwardly mobile group against whom others measure themselves and feel deprived. Hence, when political change occurs, "status reversal" and political restratification take place. 61 It seems likely that a greater sense of relative deprivation pervades the small town than is ever the case in the countryside, where ethnic interaction is more removed and categorization more stereotyped. As he moves from the categorical stereotyping of the rural areas to the more subtle definition and redefinition of ethnicity in the microcosmopolitan situation, the man from the bush practices in an extended manner the skills of ethnic interaction, acquiring at the same time that sense of deprivation couched in the ethnic idiom that characterizes the small town. His envy and resentment carry him into the political arena as leaders mobilize followers such as he for their internal competition. One of the features of a pacemaking group is that its members have more widespread kin structures than have local residents, which may be articulated with economic interests. Not only may they, therefore, have a more substantial economic base, but this base is less vulnerable to the onslaughts of local competitors. Alternatively, the skills and knowledge acquired in a "home" area may give outsiders an advantage over the residents of the small town umland. There is for such pacemakers more "room for manoeuvre" in a very real geographical sense, and this may be converted into political coin. It is not always ethnicity that ties together a pace-making group. Just as cohesive and envied, or more, may be the civil servants who frequently come from other districts, who are provided with housing, and who come together, regardless of ethnicity, as common strangers. These "commis", to use the term of Francophone Africa, frequently act as the modern, Westernized pacemakers of the small town. The smaller the town, the more likely are they to seek out each other as social companions. Not speaking the tongue of the district, not having a common language, they are the group that sustains the use of English in daily interaction. They provide the reference group especially for local primary schoolteachers, 61

J. S. Coleman and C. G. Rösberg, Jr., eds., Political Parties and National tion in Tropical Africa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966), 682.

Integra-

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clerks, and minor government officials in the small town. They are crucial mediators between central and local government officials both in their formal, bureaucratic, salaried capacities and in social, thus less formal, intercourse. Frequently, in small towns, they will be without their families since their children remain to be educated in the schools of their home areas where there will be no language difficulties for them. As individuals, the "commis" are thrown together even more as strangers without kin tics, and so are even more visible as a group apart. Several studies have described the internal organization of alien communities in large cities but, as Freedman points out, what is of even greater interest is "the light they throw on the societies of which they are a part". 6 2 By and large, there may be more tolerance for cultural diversity in the small town than in the city. Indeed, the distinctiveness of polyethnicity itself may be appreciated, and even urged, as consciously echoing and contributing to the national political culture. There are at least two reasons for this toleration. First, there is, on the whole, no lack of fundamental resources since, in the environs of the small town, property may still be acquired and employment found. Indeed, the offer of roof and land is the patron's bargaining counter in the acquisition of immigrant clients. Secondly, alien immigrants are tolerated in small towns because they fill only limited ecological niches. For them, there is no room for expansion and they become no threat to the natives of the town. 6 3 In concluding this section, I can merely note in passing the violence that marks the recognition of social injustice in many developing countries, including East Africa. Pacemaking groups, whether they be ethnically defined or the "commis", are vulnerable to what one journalist, writing of Bangla Desh, has called "cephalicide". Any consideration of relative deprivation and felt resentment against such visible groups as evolues, intellectuals, and strangers must be related to a study of the avenues of mobility open to the masses such as I have been sketching here. Not least among these, in the developing nation, are the police force and the army, both of which are, of course, in situations of violence, the critical arbiters of political events.

T H E M A R G I N A L I T Y O F SMALL T O W N POLITICS The small town that appears so peripheral to national politics may well 62

M. Freedman, "Jews, Chinese, and Some Others", British Journal of X (1) (1959), 61. 63 J. Vincent, African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town, 160-65.

Sociology

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be of vital importance in the structuring of regional politics. In this concluding section, I look at the politics of the marches, as it were, and the role of small towns in center-periphery relations involving regional development, secession, radical peasant movements, and similar phenomena. While capital cities are usually located in areas which are populated predominantly by one tribe, small towns have grown historically as polyethnic trading centers dominated by no one group. The location of the city has frequently given advantage in the race for political and economic advancement to one region or one group at the expense of others; and a violent resentment of this fact has been a feature of post-independence politics. The small town, on the other hand, is an embedded society, its politics encapsulated, as we have seen, in those of the countryside and district, and violent hostilities toward outsiders are rare. Strategically placed between the masses of the countryside and the city politicians, small town men are nevertheless marginal men in a political sense. They hover on the edges of the national culture in that they are literate and have as their models the Westernized political and commercial elites of the capital, but their social distance is rigorously maintained by those in power at the center. Peasants, as a whole, are clearly marginal in the sense that the participation of the peasant in the general social system has been that of "a dependent powerless element, disposed of by the »

decisions of others, isolated by illiteracy from the circuit of ideas current in the society, rudimentary transport systems and cultural difference, and contractually inferior in his market relations ... whatever his local situation may be, one of his obvious economic functions in the national systems has been that of providing a labor reserve". 64 But, strategically placed between the masses of the countryside and the city politician, small town men have historically played a crucial role in political frontiership. It is with this in mind that we can see how political scientists, debating whether pre-independence nationalism had its roots in the cities or in the countryside, have been talking past each other. Thomas Hodgkin first set out the important role of African towns in fostering the nationalistic spirit of resistance to colonial overrule, largely using West African data to support his argument. More recently in African studies there has been a searching out of grass-root radicalism. 65 Most recently of all, writers 64

J. Obrebski, "The Sociology of Rising Nations". J. Lonsdale, "Rural Resistance and Mass Political Mobilization amongst the Luo of Western Kenya", paper delivered at the Conference of the East African Academy, September, 1965; J. Saul, "Africa", in Populism, its Meanings and National Characteristics, ed. G. Ionescu and E. Gellner (New York: Macmillan, 1969), 122-52; M. Kilson, 85

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have begun to see the catalystic nature of interaction between small town and countryside, as in the case of Kenya, where "local clan leaders, African traders and Nairobi politicians and the 'mass'" 66 came together to engage in politics. Few social scientists are as explicit as Bienen, whom I have already cited as considering the political role of small towns, although Barrington Moore has placed the argument in a more general setting. "The chief social basis of radicalism", he notes, "has been the peasants and the smaller artisans of the towns." 67 Such small artisans were the subject of my study of a local cooperative organization in Uganda where I noted how these small townsmen were working their way out of their local communities into a wider arena. 68 My emphasis in that essay, as in this, was upon the passing of time, for it was after the failure of these spiralists in the larger political arena that they readdressed themselves to local issues once again. Within the wider national arena and in the post-independence era, the importance of social and geographical mobility to counter moves back to parochialisms and regionalisms cannot be overstressed. As we have seen, it is in the small towns — the political frontiers between the parochial and the national — that discontents are felt, expressed, articulated, and, under certain conditions, mobilized. Political scientists have shifted their interests from the capital cities and national politicians to local-level politics in the past few years. Yet the dichotomies and polarities that have emerged serve only as pebbles slung in their intellectual debate. What is of crucial significance is the interrelatedness of the political actors they discern, and the functional importance of the small town politicians between the State and the masses. Especially important in this respect, we are beginning to realize, are those small towns which lie on the frontiers of regions which may be historically, culturally, or economically distinct. Here small town political fields are far more significant for the study of political integration and alienation than are any cultural units such as tribes or ethnic groups. The uneven economic development which took place in the colonial territories of Africa accounts more for the contemporary political alignments than any tribal particularisms. When we move away from the study of holistic units — tribes, communities, states — toward the study of problems, we find that the small town has, in fact, often emerged at Political Change in a West African State: A Study of Modernization Process in Sierra Leone (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1966). " Saul, "Africa", 128. β7 Barrington Moore, Jr., The Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World (Boston: Beacon Press, 1959), 505. 68 J. Vincent, "Local Cooperatives and Parochial Politics in Uganda".

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those Very points where the issues we unravel as being of relevance for our "problem" have converged. Their advantage for study lies in their sociogeographic aspect. Type C towns are not merely interstitial nodes in the political structures of developing nations; they also lie at the heart of anthropology's concern to relate those artificially segregated polarities of micro- and macro-levels. The small town for the anthropologist is equivalent to the ecologist's square yard of turf. They are small enough to permit the observation of behavior within egocentric networks brought into play by changing political issues; they are compact enough to permit contextual (i.e. historical and ecological) analyses of the urban scene within its societal field in a manner which lends itself to monographic presentation; and yet, at the same time, they open up wider vistas, as I have tried to indicate here. Let us, in conclusion, face the problem of whether there are not "more important" things than the small town for the anthropologist to study in East Africa today. I have marshalled some of the arguments concerning the technical advantages, but what of the theoretical value of such studies in furthering our analyses of contemporary African political life? Several African states have, since independence, moved further towards centripetal politics than was ever the case in colonial times when district and local government autonomy was fostered. The centralization of government has, in many cases, been accompanied by the centralization of its vulnerability, as any structuralist would predict. 69 It is significant, then, that despite bloodshed and the overthrow of governments at the center, the nation remains a nation, the citizen a citizen, and the small town administrators rarely falter in their spraying programmes, their community development schemes, and their local revenue collection. Life in small towns appears to go on relatively undisturbed even amidst revolutionary changes at the center. To take surely the most extreme case, Pons returned to Kisangani (Stanleyville) in July, 1967, to find that after fourteen years — spanning the Simba rebellion of 1964, the mutiny of Katangese gendarmes in 1966, and the operations of white mercenaries in the service of the Mobutu government — the chaos, disorganization, and far-reaching changes in the official control of the town had not been accompanied by any disruption or even marked social change at the grass-root level.70 Perhaps it is the political ideology of the nation state that encourages 69

M. G. Smith, "A Structural Approach to Comparative Politics", in Varieties of Political Theory (Englewood Cliffs, N e w Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1966). 70 V. Pons, Stanleyville: An African Urban Community under Belgian Administration (Oxford University Press, for I.A.I., London, 1969), xxiv.

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most Western social scientists to view its political structure as a wheel in which spokes reach out from the hub of its capital city to peripheral communities. This is the "penetration" view, the center-periphery model of national politics — but horizontal as well as hierarchical relations shape political structures. As Zolberg has pointed out, many so-called "national" institutions today operate in an environment not coterminous with the nation-state territorially defined, 71 and it may well be that it is, indeed, the local level political institutions that, in effect, keep the State in being. Lucy Mair, with Uganda in mind, has reminded us that it is parochialism on our part to assume that "an independent country cannot be administered, as France largely is, by local agents of its central government". 72 Yet, on the whole, any intellectual trend which looks for the significance of the cross-hatching of smaller and smaller groups has little in common with those perceptions of political change in Africa currently held by either nationalist politicians or by developmentallyminded political scientists. Perhaps it is the Uganda experience that lends itself to academic poujadism.

CONCLUSION We would appear to have moved far in our consideration of small town politics and this was, indeed, my intent. It is inherent in the very nature of small town politics that they cannot be isolated from the historical processes which underlie national — and international — affairs. It is, of course, necessary to draw our analytic boundaries somewhere. But, by focusing upon the political fields of the small town, I am suggesting, it is possible to draw them less arbitrarily than when we centered our attention upon the community, the tribe, or the state. In the small town, many fields overlap; action in the social field carries the analysis in one direction, action in the economic field carries it in another. Taking the political interaction in the sociogeographic context of the small town as the focus of our interest, we are carried logically in our investigations wherever the answers to our questions lie — whether this be to the Vatican, the International Labor Organization in Geneva, or the battlefields of Indo-China. Although my focus in this paper has been upon the role of the small 71

A. R. Zolberg, "The Structure of Political Conflict in the N e w States of Tropical Africa", The American Political Science Review 62 (1) (March, 1968). 72 L. P. Mair, Review of D . Low, "Buganda and British Overrule", Africa 30(4) (1960) 409.

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town in the developing nations of East Africa, it would be remiss indeed not to observe the artificiality of such boundaries. The political context of the small town is not the national arena alone but, more importantly, in many cases, the political setting of the Third World. Recent tensions between Uganda and Tanzania remind us that, with the spread of the transistor radio, rural and township areas especially are open to the propaganda and cultural dissemination not only of their own capital cities but of the nations beyond their own boundaries. Men in the small towns of Zanzibar were hearing of events in their small island from the radio stations of Cairo, Peking, London, and Washington as well as Raha Leo on the eve of the revolution in 1963. When we consider the marginality and relative deprivation of the residents of small-town Africa, we must remember, indeed, that these are citizens of nations that are the poor partners in an affluent international set. "The most important single factor in the alterations of rural life and social structure", it has been suggested, "laying down new conditions in which peasants make their decisions, [is] the expansion of the core of the great industrial societies." 73 In this essay I have urged that the scholarly neglect of small towns be remedied and that anthropologists in particular should undertake a closer study of them. The relevance of such micro-studies for an assessment of politics in the African setting lies in the more intensive probing into particular dynamics which it permits, dynamics which are of broad general significance. As Bailey observes, at one level the anthropologist is discussing "specific communities (even specific people in them) at a specific period. But to do this and nothing else is to fail. Our interest is primarily in problems. We want to raise problems which far transcend ... [particular localized communities] ... in the middle of the twentieth century because they are questions which can be asked about change and development in many parts of the world, at all periods in history." 74 It is in the neglected small towns of contemporary Africa, I contend, that we may best study some of the most important political problems of the world today.

73

A. Pearse, "Metropolis and Peasant: The Expansion of the Urban-industrial Complex and the Changing Rural Structure", in Peasants and Peasant Societies, ed. T. Shanin (Baltimore: Penguin Education, 1971), 70. 74 F. G. Bailey, Gifts and Poison, 27.

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1963 Politics and Social Change: Orissa in 1959 (Berkeley: University of California Press). 1968 "Parapolitical Systems", in Local-Level Politics, edited by M. Swartz (Chicago : Aldine Publishing Co.). 1971 Gifts and Poison: The Politics of Reputation (New York: Schocken). BIENEN, Η.

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Minor Prophets and Yombe Cultural Dynamics

GEORGE

BOND

The twentieth century has seen the rapid proliferation of Christian prophetic movements and Separatist churches in Central and Southern Africa. Such religious phenomena were not traditional, indigenous African expressions, but arose under the disruptive conditions created by colonial rule and by the intensive evangelical activities of Christian missions. The most noted Christian prophetic movements in Africa have been those initiated by such major prophets as Kimbangu of the lower Congo, Shembe of South Africa, and Alice "Lenshina" Mulenga of Zambia. These major prophets were important not only as local spiritual figures but also as the founders of multi-ethnic congregations among both rural and urban Africans. Their ethical prophecies transcended the confines of their local human and social geography. It is the political rather than the religious aspect of these movements which has received the most attention. Balandier considers the movements to be "at the origin of nationalisms which are still unsophisticated but unequivocal in their expression".1 Hodgkin observes that "the interest of the 'Zionist' Churches ... lies in the fact that they are associated with the personality of a particular prophet, and derive much of their force and appeal from the apocalyptic hopes of a total reconstruction of society which he inspires".2 He views prophetic movements as a "primitive phase in the development 1

G. Balandier, 'Messianism and Nationalism in Black Africa", in Africa: Social Problems of Change and Conflict, ed. P. L. Van Den Berghe (San Francisco: Chandler Publishing Company, 1965), 443. 2 T. Hodgkin, Nationalism in Colonial Africa (London: Frederick Muller, Ltd., 1960), 99.

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of nationalism". 3 Sundkler has also stressed their political nature. In South Africa he saw them as providing one of the primary legitimate outlets for African political leadership and social expression within the restrictive framework of the color bar. 4 Thus, these movements have been considered primarily as providing channels for expressing nationalist political protest. But there is more to African prophetic movements than their political aspect. This may best be observed by looking at minor prophets, those persons whose prophecies were more exemplary than ethical, 5 more medicinal than spiritual, and which were less messianic in their orientation and appeal. The movements which sprang up around such minor prophets did not inspire attempts at the total reconstruction of society, nor did they lead to the founding of enduring congregations. The minor exemplary prophets whom I shall consider in this paper did not (or were not able to) command the obedience of those who sought their services, and they were concerned more with spiritual or ritual healing than with founding of new churches. At no time did these prophets consider themselves to be messiahs sent to deliver the Africans from European rule, nor did their followers regard them as such. Their appeal lay in the fact that, unlike the Christian missionaries, they did not deny indigenous religious forms but combined them with elements of Christian belief. I would argue that the significance of these minor prophetic movements is that they were local experiments with new forms of social and religious expressions. They were part of the experimental processes of African societies, and provided a means by which local populations could attempt to reconcile indigenous African and Christian beliefs and practices. Such minor prophetic movements were intimately linked with processes generating social change, and formed part of the cultural dynamics of particular African societies. Yet, while they were part of the changing reality of African social and religious life, they also provided for the continuation of indigenous beliefs and practices. They were temporary, transitional forms which made possible, on the one hand, the continuation of African religious elements and, on the other hand, embodied and diffused elements of Christianity. Though individual minor prophets came and went, the Christian prophetic experience has persisted as a recognized social and religious occurrence. In this paper I intend to look at minor prophet movements in terms 3

Ibid., 144. Β. G. Μ. Sundkler, Bantu Prophets in South Africa (London: Oxford University Press, 1964), 297. 5 M. Weber, The Sociology of Religion (London: Methuen and Co., Ltd., 1965), 55 4

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of process. My principal concern is with how these movements introduced variation within the cultural process of a particular African people, the Yombe of Northern Zambia, and at the same time, allowed for the persistence of indigenous social and religious forms. Minor Yombe prophets based their prophecies on Christian spirits and they were the ones who primarily disseminated and popularized Christian beliefs in the countryside. Yet, at the same time, their activities did not disrupt the ancestor cult or eliminate witchcraft beliefs; like the "traditional" diviner, they considered ancestors and witches important reasons for misfortunes. The beliefs and doctrines of Yombe prophets constituted a new syncretistic form, one which bridged the gap between the ancestor cult and Christianity. As a third form they synthesized elements of the two and provided for the continuation of the one and the diffusion of modified forms of the other. They insulated the ancestor cult against the potentially disruptive aspects of Christian beliefs and practices as embodied in the Free Church of Scotland, the primary Christian mission in this region of Northern Zambia and Malawi. An indication that the minor prophet was not a phenomenon of one period is that since the 1930's there have been at least ten Yombe prophets, an average of three a decade, as well as one local congregation of a major prophetic movement, the Lumpa church founded by Alice "Lenshina". At any given period, the influence of some prophets was waning while others were beginning their vocation and rise to prominence. Thus, for more than three decades the Yombe experience with prophetic movements has remained unbroken. Because of the marked similarities in the features of Yombe prophecies, I intend to discuss only two prophets, Lamec Chilongo, the first Yombe prophet, and his classificatory son, Winston, an example of a contemporary one. The rise and fall of these two prophets may best be understood in terms of the context of Yombe society.

THE YOMBE The Yombe, a Bantu-speaking people, are sparsely distributed over an area of some 625 square miles in Isoka District in the Northern Province of Zambia. They are a small branch of the Tumbuka peoples, most of whom live in the Northern Province of Malawi, and number 11,000, or 14 percent of the total population of the district. The chiefdom is economically undeveloped and there are few opportunities for local wage employment. For more than fifty years, Yombe men have engaged in

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labor migration and at any one time from 25 to 35 percent of the men are absent from the chiefdom. The form of government is that of a central authority with the chief (or king) as the head of the chiefdom made up of spatially defined units, or villages, each under a headman. Although the chief appoints headmen, he may not dismiss them without the approval and consent of the royal clan council. The royal council consists of the prominent men of the six branches of the royal Wowo clan, and though it delegates much of its authority to the chief, it reserves the right to review his decisions on such matters as chiefdom citizenship and village boundaries. In its own right the royal clan is a powerful political force and in the past it was the main arena of chiefdom politics. In 1936 the British government imposed the Native Administration system of government in Northern Rhodesia. The Yombe chief became a minor civil authority in the colonial administration with a staff and an advisory body, the Chief's council, consisting of village headmen and other prominent men of the chiefdom. These changes secured the secular authority and preeminence of the chief, but they were not intended to, nor did they, control the effects of Christianity on the ritual status of the chief. Before the latter part of the 1920's, the chief had been at the center of the chiefdom's ancestor cult and on such occasions as planting, harvesting, and other major events in the life of the chiefdom he had offerings made at the graves of former chiefs. The performance of his rites set into motion similar ones throughout the chiefdom. Once he had made his offerings, village headmen made theirs and, in their turn, the heads of agnatic descent groups performed rites to their ancestors. The orderly sequential performance of these rites not only expressed the structure of chiefdom authority, but also linked the village and lineage-based cults into a single framework and made the chiefdom the basis of a religious community. In 1927, John Wowo, a practicing Christian, became the chief. He was the first Yombe to be converted to Christianity and to receive religious and educational training at Livingstonia, the Free Church of Scotland mission in Malawi. Once installed, he built a church in the capital and drew his advisers from the growing number of local Free Church members and Livingstonia graduates. The local Free Church became an important base of his political and religious support and his capital became the center of Christian activity. Its members were expected to abandon polygamy and to relinquish beliefs in the powers of ancestors, witches, and diviners. Rites, once attached to the chiefdom ancestor cult and

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performed on occasions such as harvest time and planting, were displaced by Christian rites performed by the Reverend of the Free Church and its elders. The chiefdom ancestor cult, which was anchored in the chieftainship, was cut free of its moorings. The chiefdom was no longer the basis of a religious community and the chiefdom cult fragmented into its constituent units. Village and lineage cults were no longer linked into an encompassing ritual framework based on the performance of chiefdom rites. Because large numbers of Yombe did not belong to the Free Church, it could not replace the chiefdom cult. Though the chief and members of his ruling clique were Free Church members, most Yombe were not. Village and lineage cults remained the central context for worship. DIVINERS AND SPIRIT ILLNESS By the late 1920's the Yombe had been exposed to Christianity for more than thirty years, but most retained their traditional beliefs and practices. Central elements of the traditional religious framework were a belief in a high distant God, Leza, and in the immediate powers of ancestors (pi. viwanda; s. ciwandd). Ancestors stood between man and God and were sources of both well-being and misfortunes. The Yombe also held a firm belief in witchcraft, and used the services of diviners when troubles befell them. Diviners were not considered to be possessed by spirits but to derive their knowledge from special medicines and mechanical devices. Their contact with the spirits of the dead was not direct but was mediated through material objects. Yombe beliefs in spirit illnesses provided the framework in which local Christian prophets were rooted. Foreign spirits were thought to be able to enter a person and cause illness. The spirits were of two kinds, clean and unclean, and it was the task of the diviner to establish which had possessed a person. Cimbusa and cirombo were illnesses caused by possession by unclean alien spirits which could be treated directly by a diviner. Ncimi was an illness caused by a clean spirit which was concerned with the welfare of the whole community. The concern of those afflicted with ncimi was not with individual misfortunes but with breaches in customary practices and beliefs that might have consequences for the village and the chiefdom. They were thought to be able to predict major disasters and to suggest how they might be avoided. Persons afflicted with ncimi were held in high esteem and treated with respect. It is significant that, with the advent of Christianity, Christian prophets were known as ncimi, although the source of their affliction was Christian spirits.

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LAMEC: THE FIRST YOMBE PROPHET Beliefs in spirit illnesses provided the context for Yombe acceptance of possession by Christian spirits. Christian prophets did not, however, begin to arise in Yombe society until after some thirty years of intensive exposure to Christian beliefs and the disruption of the chiefdom ancestor cult. Two years after John Wowo became chief and Free Church congregations were established in the chiefdom, Lamec Chilongo began to demonstrate those features which characterize the initial phases of the African Christian prophetic experience. Lamec, the first Yombe prophet, grew up in the northeastern region of the chiefdom and it is not surprising that his and other Yombe prophetic movements developed there. The northeast is the region in which the Polomombo branch of the royal Wowo clan has its central village, Kalinda. In the early 1900's, Polomombo claimed one of its members as Chief and Kalinda as the capital. But the British government did not recognize the claim, and subsequent chiefs have been selected from southern branches of the royal Wowo clan. Since that time the Polomombo Wowo have not been integrated fully into the political life of the chiefdom. They have attempted to use prophetic and other social movements to reassert their political influence in the northeast. Christianity was late in coming to this area. In the early 1900's it was brought by such evangelists as John Wowo and his brother, Jeremiah. During this period, John founded a school which was closed when he became Chief in 1927. For at least thirty years this region remained without a school, and even today it is considered one of the least developed areas of the chiefdom. The rise of early Yombe prophets is primarily the story of Lamec Chilongo. Lamec, who was originally from the village of Chidulika, moved to Kalinda when a branch of the Free Church was established there. He and his kinsmen were among the most active members, but in 1927 he was suspended for marrying a second wife. His suspension did not affect his religious zeal and he continued to be a regular church attender. He began to have strange dreams in which angels came to him and told him that he must not drink beer, dance, nor eat sima (the staple food). According to the accounts given to me, Lamec's dreams became more frequent and intense, until finally he became mentally unbalanced and fled into the bush. Search parties looked for him but failed to find him. Some people say that he remained in the bush for forty days and then returned to Kalinda of his own accord. He told the villagers that Christ had taken him to heaven. There he saw a brilliant light, which Christ

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said was God, Chiuta. Jesus then taught him the use of medicines, about the troubles of man and their causes, how to pray, and the purpose of hymns. He told Lamec that although he was dead he would be returned to earth to preach the word of God and carry out His works. He gave him a stick as a remembrance of His crucifixion. Lamec's experience exemplifies the initial phases of African prophecies — spirit visitation in dreams, death and the wilderness, and, finally, resurrection. These phases of the prophetic experience are also described by Sundkler for South Africa 6 and Anderson for the Lower Congo. 7 Proof of the prophetic experience and the newly acquired powers of the prophet is demonstrated by immediate cures. When Lamec returned from the bush, he summoned the people of Kalinda and told them to bring the sick before him. He asked the villagers to sing Free Church hymns to open his thoughts to Christ, who would tell him how to perform cures. As villagers sang, Lamec told the persons what their illnesses were and gave them medicine. The sick were cured. News spread rapidly, and the people from all parts of the chiefdom and even other chiefdoms came to Lamec with their troubles. He became known as the spirit, Muzimu. Because Christian prophetism was not a traditional form of religious expression, those who claimed to be prophets imposed prohibitions on themselves, adopted special paraphernalia (for example, crucifixion sticks), and used Christian hymns to define their new social status. Lamec's self-imposed restrictions on such things as eating sima, drinking alcoholic beverages, and dancing appear as minor prohibitions. But they helped to establish his sanctity, to set him apart from other men and the mundane concerns of this world. They prepared him to receive the new Christian spirits. The special paraphernalia symbolized his experiences, his death and rebirth, and his contact with Christian spiritual forces. The Free Church hymns were believed to open Lamec's mind to the supernatural world so that he could receive the messages of Christian spirits, Jesus or angels. Yombe prophets believe that if the hymns are not sung their prophetic powers will be impaired. One prophet told me that the hymns sung by his choir were like the engine of a motor car — they gave him power to receive the word of Christ. In Kalinda, Lamec and his followers built a physical structure, a church, which was patterned on the central church of the local Free Church in the capital, Muyombe. Most villagers and those of neighboring villages 6

Sundkler, Bantu Prophets in South Africa. E. Anderson, "Messianic Popular Movements in the Lower Congo", Ethnographia Upsaliensia XIV. 7

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became his followers and joined his choir. An indication of the effect of his movement in Kalinda was that by 1931 members of the Kalinda Free Church congregation had dwindled from eighteen to three. The three who remained in the church were not only the local church elders but also Lamec's affines, who chose to retain their posts rather than follow their brother-in-law. Kalinda, then, was at the center of the new movement and from it the movement spread to other villages. As the popularity of the movement grew, it took on a rudimentary structure. There was a choir, of which the nucleus consisted of local villagers augmented by the afflicted and their relatives who had to sing for their cures and for those of others. From his loyal adherents Lamec selected disciples, men from Kalinda, whose duties were to dig roots for medical purposes, to deal with the afflicted when they arrived, to bring them before Lamec, and then to give them medicines. The disciples also led the choir, offered prayers, preached, and accompanied Lamec when he toured the chiefdom. Lamec's prominence rivaled that of the chief. Although Lamec saw people every day, in imitation of the Free Church he set aside Sunday mornings and Wednesday afternoons for prayer. On Sunday mornings he and his disciples prayed and preached sermons. He concluded the service by leading his followers through Kalinda dancing the cihenela, a slow, swaying dance that he created to indicate the joy to be found in "Christianity". The cihenela is still danced by members of local Separatist churches. After the dance, Lamec spent the remainder of the day and the night dealing with misfortunes. The stylistic features of Lamec's performance were similar to those of other Christian prophets. Kimbangu's performance, for example, included such features as quaking and headshaking and the use of songs, music, and dancing to attain the state required to deal with the troubles of his followers.8 Lamec behaved in a similar fashion and required the same type of setting to attain the proper spiritual state. When his choir sang, he entered into trance-like states and his head shook to and fro as he received messages from Jesus. After a few moments of spiritual communication he would stop the singing and tell the person what afflicted him, the cause, and how to remedy his troubles. Lamec's movement persisted for approximately ten years, and then began to disintegrate for three main reasons. Firstly, Lamec overestimated Yombe belief in his prophetic powers; secondly, his movement met with increasing opposition from the chief and the southern branches of 8

Ibid., 6.

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the royal Wowo clan; and thirdly, his disciples began to break with him to become prophets themselves, providing him with competition and his followers with alternatives. In 1927, the new Christian chief recognized local Free Church congregations, condemned ancestor worship, and disbanded the chiefdom ancestor cult. The movement that developed around Lamec, one may suggest, formed a potential basis for religious reintegration and served as a vehicle for the resurgence of Polomombo influence in the northeastern region of the chiefdom. Thus, it was a threat to the chief and the southern royal branches. Although the chief wanted to suppress it, he waited for the right occasion. The occasion arose when Lamec overestimated his spiritual powers in an unsuccessful attempt to raise the dead. While Lamec was on tour, his brother's wife died and was buried. When Lamec heard of this he hurried home and had her disentombed. Although he prayed over the body, the woman was in fact dead. His act was a serious breach of Yombe custom and when the chief heard about it, he summoned Lamec to the capital. The chief also invited members of the southern branch of the royal clan to share in his plans and witness the outcome. He hid money in his house and, when Lamec arrived with his disciples, they were told that if they found it they could keep it but, if they could not, he would have them beaten and driven from the capital. From the chief's account, spirits possessed them, but to no avail, for the money was not found. Thus, they were beaten and driven from the capital. After Lamec's failure to raise the dead and his beating, his religious influence declined. Some disciples left him to establish themselves as prophets or diviners. His followers dwindled, leaving only the hard core of believers. In the early 1940's the final blow came when Lamec attempted to reproduce the virgin birth with his own daughter. He made his intention known to his followers, giving as a reason that it had been revealed to him that he did not have long to live. After having sexual intercourse with his virgin daughter, he said a new Christ would be born, but the child was born dead. Yombe moral beliefs concerning incest, cisoni, took sway, and the remainder of his following left him. In less than two years he was dead — having wasted away, Yombe say, because of the illness of cisoni. He had placed himself outside the moral order of both the ancestor cult and Christianity. His act was considered incest of a striking kind. The indigenous beliefs relating to it were asserted and he was thought to be in an impure or dangerous condition, one from which he could not apparently be retrieved by the purification rites of cisoni. His spiritual

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condition was expressed in physical terms and for the duration of his wasting illness he lived alone in a small hut on the edge of his hamlet. Lamec's initial experiences, the sources of his powers, and the performance itself were important diacritical features which distinguished him from the Yombe diviner. Though the diviner and the prophet were both arbiters of moral and spiritual conduct and both often advised their clients on how to conduct their affairs, there were important differences. The diviner relied upon special medicines and mechanical devices to enable him to deal with human troubles. His abilities stemmed from the spirits of the dead who entered his devices and the term which diviners used for these spirits is viwanda (s. ciwanda); they referred to God as Leza. The use of these terms to refer to spirits rooted the diviner in the framework of indigenous beliefs. The prophet, on the other hand, was thought to be in direct communication with Christian spirits, which told him how to deal with misfortunes. The terms which prophets used for God and the spirits which possessed them (when speaking of their vocation) are respectively Chiuta (and not Leza) and muzimu (and not viwanda). Thus, conceptually, prophets are linked with the Christian framework. Though Lamec shared some features with traditional diviners, he was in fact the central figure of a new religious movement. The main elements of the embryonic theology were his death, his confrontation with Jesus, and his rebirth. But, unlike such major prophets as Kimbangu and Alice Mulenga, he did not lay claim, nor did his followers later make the claim, to a corpus of scriptures which would place his movement on an equality with Christianity or other universal religions and would put the African on an equal footing with Europeans. 9 Lamec's followers did not look upon him as the black messiah and his movement was not considered to form the basis of a special religion for Africans. His movement never developed beyond the embryonic phase of his initial prophecy. There were no rules of membership, only a collectivity of individ uals who believed in his spiritual and healing powers. Those troubled by misfortunes went to him for relief and advice but not to join a church. But in the eyes of his followers Lamec was more than just a healer. Informants often observed that "his followers thought that he was a God. They did not call him Bachilongo, but Badada (the father) and Muzimu (the spirit), a sign of his holiness." Lamec also differed from such major prophets as Kimbangu and Alice 9

Balandier, The Sociology of Black Africa (New York; Praeger Publishers, 1970), 449; A. Roberts, "The Lumpa Church of Alice Lenshina", in Protest and Power in Black Africa, ed. Ali A. Mazrui and R. Rotberg (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970), 540.

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Mulenga in that he imposed no rules of conduct on his followers, only on himself. He was an example of an exemplary prophet. Informants agree that his own moral behavior in the initial phases of the movement set the example for his followers. As Weber puts it, "The prophet may be an exemplary man who, by his personal example, demonstrates to others the way to religious salvation." 10 The exemplary nature of Lamec's prophecy was important both for the dissemination of Christian beliefs and for the persistence of indigenous religious beliefs and practices. He freed Christian beliefs from the Western customs and practices of the Free Church of Scotland. Acceptance of Lamec's kind of Christianity did not impose constraints on behavior and choice. His followers could, for example, marry more than one wife, drink beer, worship ancestors, believe in witchcraft, and at the same time expect help from Christian spirits. Like the diviner, he dealt with the full range of Yombe troubles and explained them in traditional terms such as neglect of ancestors, witchcraft, and the infraction of a customary rule. Put differently, Lamec neither ignored nor condemned indigenous beliefs and practices but used them to explain misfortunes. At the same time, he diffused beliefs in Christian spirits; they were, after all, at the base of his special powers. Thus, Lamec was neither exclusively within the framework of the ancestor cult nor the Christian one. He and his movement developed within that amorphous interstitial zone which lies between structures and were at that critical juncture where processes of continuity and change intersect. There were two moral standards available, the first based on the ancestor cult and the second on Christian teachings. They could be modified or combined. But a person who adhered to neither one nor the other placed himself outside the two moral communities and in a position potentially precarious and sometimes dangerous. He became a potential source of disorder and presented a threat to the orderly arrangements of society. Lamec, the first Yombe prophet, presented such a threat. There can be little doubt that Lamec had an effect on the Yombe. His prophecy received widespread support because it met the needs of a population experiencing the disruptive effects of social change. The intrusion of the Free Church with its new beliefs and practices and the fragmentation of the chiefdom ancestor cult created a situation of moral and religious uncertainty. Lamec's prophecy was an attempt at religious synthesis and his movement an attempt at social reintegration. He initiated a religious movement which brought members of different agnatic groups together under a single spiritual leadership. His movement was 10

Weber, The Sociology of Religion, 55.

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based upon the new Christian spirits, but at the same time he accepted belief in the powers of ancestors. He was a man of the people, neither a European missionary nor of the royal Wowo clan. His followers regarded him as the personification, the tangible embodiment, of Christian ideals. He was a man like themselves, but at the same time he was raised above them through his possession by Christian spirits. Seen in this light he was the chief's potential spiritual rival. He may be said to have popularized the formal structure and corpus of Christian teachings embodied in the Free Church, and to have provided the basis for the ready acceptance of other Christian prophets and of such African Separatist churches as the Jordan and National Churches when they entered Uyombe. In the late 1930's, local congregations of these churches were established and, although they had rules of membership, they did not impose rules of moral conduct on their members which were contrary to traditional customs and practices. The point is made clear in the constitution of the African National Church, founded in Malawi in 1929. We believe that the commission of the Christian Church to Africa was to import Christ and education in such a way as to fit with the manners and customs of the people and not impose on the African the unnecessary and impracticable methods of European countries, such as having one wife, etc., which have no biblical authority. Lamec's movement was, then, an intermediate, transitional social and religious form which had prepared the way for other religious movements. It had served as a temporary bridge between ancestor worship and Christianity, condemning neither one nor the other. The possibilities of conflict between Yombe prophets and these African churches were reduced, if not avoided, by the prophets' joining them and receiving special recognition from them. The founding of local congregations of African Separatist churches did not, however, put an end to prophets and their movements in Yombe society.

WINSTON'S PROPHETIC MOVEMENT Since the 1930's, prophets have provided a constant source of variation in Yombe society. They were part of the process of change and they produced social and religious forms which prepared segments of the local population to deal with change. Winston Chilongo, Lamec's classificatory son, is an example of a contemporary prophet, one who pursued his vocation in both town and countryside. In 1963 he was a young man of thirty-one. He had completed standard six (eight years of

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schooling) and had spent many years working as a cook in hotels in South Africa and Zambia. He was suspended from the Free Church when he became a prophet. Winston told me that he began his vocation in the town of Mufulira. In 1959, Jesus visited him in his dreams, he died, and was returned to life to assist man with his troubles. Two years later Jesus came to Winston again, and told him to return to Uyombe, where his help was needed most. In 1962 he left Mufulira, returned to Cogzo, the hamlet where Lamec had spent his last years, and built a church which he named the "Lucky Star Church". The core of his following consisted of his own relatives who lived in Cogzo and neighboring villages. He had two main disciples with their four assistants. One disciple was Lamec's son Musa and the other was Winston's father's sister's son Buba. One assistant was Musa's younger brother and the other three were Buba's brothers. Other members of Winston's kindred formed the nucleus of his choir and this core of intimately related relatives was augmented by boys and girls from neighboring settlements. The choir numbered more than thirty and Winston trained its members to sing not only Free Church hymns but also Bemba and Nyanja songs and such American folksongs and Negro spirituals as "Home on the Range" and " G o Down Moses". He bought cloth which Buba and his brothers made into women's uniforms, and on special occasions the women of his choir wore white head ties, white blouses, and black skirts. Winston in his turn would put on a blue cloak. The dress and type of song he taught his choir suggest a prophetic movement which was more sophisticated than Lamec's and one which was oriented toward town rather than rural life. By the time of my arrival in Uyombe, Winston's movement had passed its peak and was on the decline. This was due to two reasons. Winston claimed that he could cure people of various illnesses, including such spiritual afflictions as cirombo and especially cimbusa. He claimed he could raise the dead, establish the reasons for troubles, and advise people on how to relieve them. At first, large numbers of people flocked to his church with their problems but, as time passed, many Yombe found that his cures were not permanent and that misfortunes continued to plague them. He was also not the only one of his kind and the afflicted readily turned to other local prophets or went farther afield to prophets such as Chikang'anga in Malawi and Alice Mulenga in Chinsali, Zambia. The second reason for his decline was the developing conflict between, on the one hand, the Native Administration and the local branches of the United National Independence Party (UNIP) and, on the other, the members of the local Lumpa Church of Alice Mulenga. In 1964 the Native Admin-

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istration banned prophets from pursuing their vocation and threatened those who continued with imprisonment, but this ban did not immediately affect Winston for two reasons. The first reason was that the headman of the village Cica of which Cogzo was a hamlet believed in Winston and saw in his movement a means of enhancing the prominence of his village. The second reason was that the chief, who was competing with younger men within the Native Authority and who saw the local UNIP branches as a threat, supported Winston. Winston was therefore able to continue his vocation but at a markedly reduced level of activity. The description which follows is not of a prophet at his peak but of one whose vocation was on the wane. I attended several of Winston's sessions which began on Saturday evenings and lasted well into Sunday mornings. Three types of people attended these sessions — Winston's kinsfolk, the "regulars", and the afflicted. These were not mutually exclusive, since some "regulars" might suffer a misfortune and seek Winston's assistance. By "regulars" I mean those persons who frequently attended Winston's Saturday night meetings. From among the people whom I saw at Winston's meetings more than twice, I asked ten men between the ages of eighteen and thirty, and seventeen women between the ages of sixteen and thirty-five, why they came. Their general reply was that they found the sessions very entertaining. The women emphasized that at the Free Church and other churches their participation in the service was minimal. But in the "Lucky Star Church" they sang and danced, heard interesting stories, and were reassured by hearing problems not dissimilar from their own. The young men also considered Winston a form of entertainment. They found him informative on the way of life of South African and Zambian towns. He told them how to find employment and how to deal with other African ethnic groups and Europeans. At his church they could also meet young girls. For them the appeal of the church was not mainly religious. They found the services recreational and instructive about local problems and urban life. I have said that minor Yombe prophets disseminated Christian beliefs and yet, at the same time, they phrased their advice and explanations in indigenous or traditional terms. This is illustrated by an examination of some of the cases of the afflicted with which Winston dealt. The initial record of twenty-one cases Winston kept for me over a period of two weeks (the other records kept at my request were burnt when fire was set to his church) may be taken as an indication of the frequency of the explanation which he gave for illness and other misfortunes. Of the twenty-one explanations recorded by him, eight concerned witchcraft;

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eight, natural causes; two, troublesome ancestors; two related to beliefs about childbirth; and one concerned spirit possession. During my visits to see him on Saturday nights, I was able to record fifteen cases. Five concerned men seeking advice on whether they should marry an additional wife. Seven were women who wanted children. Four of these women were told that their infertility was due to natural causes, and three were told that the umbilical cord of the previous child had not been disposed of properly. The final three cases were illnesses due to natural causes. On occasions other than his Saturday night sessions, I recorded nine cases of young men who came to him for advice about leaving the chiefdom to find work in town and seven cases of parents seeking advice on whether their daughter should marry a particular man. Again it must be made clear that these data are given only as an indication of the types of problems with which he dealt and the nature of the explanations which he gave. However, they do suggest that the prophet's explanations were primarily "traditional" and that often he was an arbiter of moral conduct and choice. He was external to the affairs of domestic and kinship units and villages, and yet he gave advice and explanations which affected the relations and behavior of their members. Another feature which is brought out by these data is Winston's orientation toward towns. Y o u n g men sought his advice prior to embarking on an uncertain and unknown venture. His accounts of town life were not only entertaining but also prepared the young men for what to expect and how to behave in town. His stories of the adventures of the peasant in town were often related to biblical situations, and from this comparison a moral would be drawn. Thus, Winston attempted to integrate a number of disparate threads and it was this integration which made him a popular figure. His Saturday night sessions were attended not only for the religious content — there was usually much praying, preaching, and hymn singing — but also because they were entertaining and informative. Winston provided the main reason for his own fall, leading to the burning of his church. He committed incest with his classificatory daughter Dar, the real daughter of his disciple Buba. This alienated a section of his kinfolk who had been his enthusiastic supporters and disciples. A m o n g the Y o m b e , cases of incest are rarely brought to court, but are normally settled by the relatives concerned. However, Winston denied the accusation and refused to make a settlement by paying the bull of cisoni (incest) and the two cows demanded in compensation. Buba and his brothers did not live in C o z g o but in a neighboring village. The headman of this village saw in Winston a potential threat in that many of

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placed them outside the community of their fellows in a precarious and dangerous position. Their actions and their condition endangered not only the moral framework of the ancestor cult but also social and religious order. Lamec, the first Yombe prophet, in particular, was not like other men and thus could not be retrieved from his state of impurity. The minor prophet and his movement are then transient and transitional spiritual expressions and, unlike major prophetic movements,'they do not give rise to enduring congregation. They are the product of emergent contradictions and at the same time provide for their resolution.

BIBLIOGRAPHY ANDERSON, E.

1958

"Messianic Popular Movements in the Lower Congo", Studia Ethnographia Upsaliensia XIV.

BALANDIER, G.

1965

1970

"Messianism and Nationalism in Black Africa", in Africa: Social Problems of Change and Conflict, edited by P. L. Van Den Berghe (San Francisco: Chandler Publishing Company). The Sociology of Black Africa (New York: Praeger Publishers).

HODGKIN, Τ.

1960

Nationalism in Colonial Africa (London: Frederick Muller).

NADEL, S. F.

1954

Nupe Religion (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul).

ROBERTS, A.

1970

"The Lumpa Church of Alice Lenshina", in Protest and Power in Black Africa, edited by Ali A. Mazrui and R. Rotberg (New York: Oxford University Press).

SUNDKLER, B. G. M.

1964

Bantu Prophets in South Africa (London: Oxford University Press).

WEBER, M.

1965

The Sociology of Religion (London: Methuen).

The Family and Social Change

G. K. N U K U N Y A

The problem of the effects of social change on the family has been a central theme of anthropological studies for many years. From the very beginning, its discussion has been bound up closely with the wider subjects of social change and applied anthropology. In the development of the general field of "anthropology and social change", Professor Lucy Mair herself played a major if not a leading role. As a student of Bronislaw Malinowski, she participated in the famous seminar whose major conclusions were published as Methods of Study of Culture Contact in Africa.l The primary concern of the contributors to this particular study was with what they thought were the problems created by the introduction of European institutions in specific societies and whether the methods they had developed were considered appropriate for the study of changes in the structure of the family as well as other aspects of social life. Her book, An African People in the Twentieth Century, which is the result of "nine months' [doctoral] study on the spot of the effect of European contact upon the village life of the Buganda people", particularly on how the alien elements "have been assimilated and the reason for the success or failure", 2 gives serious attention to the family. Professor Mair's method of study consisted of tracing her subject's history, "always in its immediate setting of the family and household", where the

1

Lucy P. Mair, Methods of Study of Culture Contact in Africa (= International African Institute Memorandum XV) (London: Oxford University Press for I.A.I., 1938). 2 Lucy P. Mair, An African People in the Twentieth Century (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1934), "Preface", xi.

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individual is the "focus of wider relationships". 3 It was not until 1953, however, in her contribution to Arthur Phillips' Survey of African Marriage and Family Life that her views on the question were clearly and copiously documented. 4 There she set herself the almost impossible task of reviewing the family on a continental basis. Since then, and in many subsequent publications, 5 her views on the subject have been greatly amplified and today a resume of her publications can be taken as a fair representation on the subject up to the present. This, to the present writer, is a remarkable achievement, for Lucy Mair's principal contributions to social science are not confined to her studies of the family. She made significant contributions to the analysis of social and political change, witchcraft, systems of land tenure, and social theory in general, as the contributors to the present volume would attest. It is indeed a great credit to her that, though she considers herself primarily as an applied anthropologist specializing in British policy in the former colonies, she has been able to contribute immensely towards the main stream of British anthropological thinking and development. Both in her studies and those of others, a number of points have emerged about the effects of social change on the African family. The general view of anthropologists on African institutions, including the family before European activities began to impinge on it, was that they were static, changing neither in structure nor in function. In any case, many anthropologists believe that Africans themselves conceive of their society as unchanging before the arrival of the white man. Of course, African societies and culture cannot, in fact, have always been the same, since social institutions everywhere must have come into being gradually, not spontaneously, and are subject to change. But, over time, it seems reasonable to assume that, before the introduction of alien European culture, some African institutions — e.g. technology — changed only very slowly over long periods of time. Indeed, some authorities argue that it is precisely because African technology and economy have changed so little that African societies remained small in scale before the advent of European activities. 6 Thus, while few anthropologists, if any, will now accept the view that all African societies were in a state of total equilibrium and constant euphoria before the arrival of the white man, 3

Ibid., 31; my stress. Arthur Phillips (ed.), Survey of African Marriage and Family Life (London: O.U.P. for I.A.I., 1953), 1-171. 5 See especially her New Nations (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1963), 58-95, and An Introduction to Social Anthropology (London: Oxford University Press, 1965), 233-52. β Mair, An Introduction to Social Anthropology, 242-44. 4

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most of them will agree that the major changes taking place in the African family today can be traced directly or indirectly to factors originating from Islamic intrusion, colonial rule, Christianity, formal school education, and now economic conditions such as the introduction of cash crops and money-using economy. These factors, acting separately and in various combinations, have transformed the family and continue to do so. Changes usually mentioned without discrimination include the following: 1. The individual is now free from parental, family, and lineage control. In this regard it is further mentioned that, as a result, there is greater freedom of action on the part of the individual. 2. The African's economic well-being no longer depends solely on cooperation of his family, kinsmen, and neighbors. This point is invariably made in support of the previous one. 3. Polygyny is on the decrease, or at least care is now taken in contracting polygynous marriages. 4. As age of marriage is now falling, selection of marital partners is increasingly becoming the responsibility of the bride and groom themselves rather than their parents and extended families. 5. The cost of marriage is increasing, especially for the educated African, due to the display expected at weddings. At the same time, brideservice is meeting with greater resistance while cash is replacing this and other services. 6. Sanctions against divorce, infidelity, and premarital sex play have been largely removed. Premarital conception is therefore increasing as punishments for it have been rendered ineffective. 7. The African, as a result of the foregoing reasons, has become a man of two worlds trying to reconcile his traditional values with those coming in the wake of social change. One can go on and on with these examples, all of which tend to show the disruption brought about by European activities. Moreover, the nuclear family has been shown to have superseded the extended family, the mainstay of the traditional system, as the basic kin group. I consider this last statement as representing the sum total of the various views expressed so far on the family, and there are obvious reasons why this should be so. In the field of social change, what has been happening in Africa over the past several decades is that alien political, economic, and cultural factors have introduced a new organizing principle which tried first to complement and finally to replace that of kinship. Kinship continues to provide

166 G. Κ. NUKUNYA

the basis of claims to property, but it is now possible to turn to an authority outside the lineage or clan and the village to defend these claims. Today there are a number of modern political and economic roles which on their own, with or without the help of kin groups, can assist the ambitious African to build up his fortunes. In the large urban areas and employment centers, the kin groups have become largely unnecessary for his economic well-being. There are, of course, differences in the degrees to which these changes have reached. Generally speaking, the rural areas have remained relatively stable except in areas where governmental policy has resulted in extensive disruption of the territorial organization. It is in the large urban areas and employment centers that the greatest changes have been taking place, though, even here, distinctions have to be made between the families of the so-called new elite and those of the working classes. On the whole, however, wage employment often separates the worker physically from his kin group if he has to live in a town at some distance from his home. Then, too, there are the new institutions arising everywhere to take over the functions and activities which used to be performed by the lineage and extended family. There are schools to undertake the teaching of new technical skills indispensable in the modern world, hospitals to take responsibility for the sick that used to be the business of the family head seeking advice from the diviner, and day nurseries to look after the young ones before they go to school. Because of all these developments, people have become more independent of kinship ties and more ready to disregard them where they are irksome. In the pre-European era, the desire to have fuller control of one's share of the lineage property conflicted with the ideal that lineage amity should be maintained through the generations. Yet lineage solidarity was necessary for the protection of one's property. Now, since this lineage ideal has been undermined by dependence on economic resources outside the lineage patrimony, it is easier to develop social units independently of the lineage and other kin groups. These are some of the reasons why the nuclear family may, in time, supersede the extended family and the wider kin group as the basic kin group. In many cases, especially in the urban communities, lineage organization has either disappeared completely, been redefined beyond recognition, or is on the verge of doing so; and, so far as people choose to live near their kin, these may be any kin, not necessarily members of the descent group. If anything at all, with the increased emphasis on the nuclear family the tendency is towards a bilateral rather than unilineal kinship. In fact, this is what has been observed in many urban areas not built around any core ethnic groups.

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But it may not necessarily be limited to urban areas. It is my view that this bilateral tendency has been observed in urban areas because such studies have been concentrated on them. If a closer look were given to the home villages of these migrant urban dwellers, it would be found that the fact of their departure, coupled with the other conditions of social change, has effected changes similar to those observed in the urban and employment centers. The absence of the migrants leaves a vacuum for which adjustments have to be made in order to maintain stability and continuity of the society if at a different level. This is particularly the case with those areas suffering from acute emigration, both permanent and seasonal. In this connection it is proposed to analyze briefly material from a rural area in Ghana which has suffered acutely from many forms of migration to see how this has affected family structure and whether the trend toward independence and isolation of the nuclear family, about which much has been written, is a necessary result of the factors of social change. The area chosen is that part of southern Ghana lying east of the Volta River and known as Anlo or Keta District. It is a low-lying country whose landscape and economy are dominated firstly by the Keta Lagoon, which covers about a third of the area and separates the littoral from the hinterland, and secondly by the numerous streams that connect this lagoon with the Volta River. During the main rainy season, which centers around May-June, large areas around the lagoon are flooded for months, while in the dry season, November to January, the greater part of the lagoon itself dries up, yielding large incrustations of salt which provide an important article of trade. At Anloga, the traditional capital, and its vicinity along the coast, shallot farming is the chief occupation, but sea and lagoon fishing is followed in other parts of the coast and in villages surrounding the lagoon. Inland to the north, the people cultivate cassava, corn, and vegetables. Other occupations include cloth-weaving on handlooms, basket-making, and poultry-farming, but it seems the population density of over 200 inhabitants to the square mile is too much for the poor soil and the over-fished lagoon and sea. Thus, for several decades it has been the practice of the Anlo to migrate seasonally on fishing expeditions to Nigeria, Dahomey, Ivory Coast, Sierra Leone, and Liberia. 7 Others work on cocoa farms and in other employments as wage laborers. Most of these are illiterates who visit home for short periods after absence of up to three to five years or even longer. 7

For details on Anlo migrant fishermen, see especially Polly Hill, "Pan-African Fishermen", West Africa, 28 December 1963 and 4 January 1964, and Studies in Rural Capitalism in West Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 30-52.

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Added to this number are school-leavers, who usually migrate immediately after school. On the average, about half the number of adults are away from home at any given time. Although both males and females migrate, either with their spouses and families or on their own, it appears that male emigrants outnumber females by about two to one. Children who for some reason or other cannot accompany their parents are left with relatives. The deserted homes and dilapidated structures all tell even the most casual visitor to Anlo that this is an emigration area. Traditionally, Anlo social organization was based on a system of patrilineal descent. They were organized into fifteen patricians and numerous localized lineages whose leaders in the past wielded much power. Despite this patrilineal ideology and structure, however, the social system allowed for a good deal of bilateral practices, especially ancestor worship and inheritance. Marriage was ideally virilocal because it was expected of every adult son to build his own house before marriage. Thus, unlike many other African societies, the extended family as such did not develop as an important physically or socially defined unit. The son could assist the father so long as the latter lived, but this assistance was given neither within the context of necessary coresidence nor an enforceable obligation. The son, as soon as he came of age, became the master of his own house and whatever was within it. But over adolescent and younger children parental authority was complete. So was the authority of husband over his wife, whom he could beat for anything considered to be against respectable wifely behavior. Another important aspect of the Anlo family life was the strict segregation of the sexes both in public and domestic contexts. Close association between them was usually discouraged. 8 Like most African societies, the Anlo came under European influence for a considerable time before colonial rule. It seems reasonable, therefore, to assume that the development of social institutions since the colonial era would not be significantly different from those of other societies which came under similar influence. Indeed, the changes affecting African institutions and family already mentioned are shared by the Anlo. But we could not be justified in making general claims without carefully analyzing any material which is likely to throw further light on the nature of these changes. It is a necessary step in the pursuit of knowledge to make a pronouncement on the truth only after it has been verified. In this regard, this analysis of the Anlo material should be regarded as 8

A full account of Anlo social organization may be found in the author's Kinship and Marriage Among the Anlo Ewe (— London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology 37) (London: Athlone Press, and New York: Humanities Press, 1969).

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just another attempt to arrive at the nature of basic social institutions of contemporary Africa. The material here under discussion was collected in 1962-63 from two settlements — Woe, a small town on the littoral (pop. 3,450), and Alakple (pop. 1,351),9 an island in the Keta Lagoon. Here attention is focused mainly on household composition, which shows that about 44 percent of households were headed by women and about 56 percent by men. The high proportion of households headed by women shows not only the importance of women as homemakers but also the authority they can now wield in their own right. It also has some striking implications regarding factors underlying household composition, but what is of immediate significance for our purposes is not the sex ratios of household heads but, rather, the complexity of the relationships to the household heads of those living with them. Thus, in the male-headed households, siblings and their children together accounted for 33.3 percent of the inmates; affines, 23.0 perctnt; children's children, 22.0 percent; parents, 1.9 percent; and other relatives, 19.8 percent. In the female-headed households, siblings and their children accounted for 11.2 percent; children's children, 56.5 percent; affines, 12.4 percent; parents, 1.6 percent; and others, 18.3 percent. It is not my intention here to equate the household (or what some prefer to call the domestic group) with the family or to distinguish between them. The aim is, rather, to consider the relationships which in Anlo now carry with them the obligation to provide shelter in the form of food and accommodation as well as general care and protection. These new relationships should be considered against the traditional family structure, which, as already mentioned, did not give room for the development of an extended family system. Even in such a traditional setting it was quite possible for close relatives such as divorced and widowed daughters and siblings, parents, and children's children to be accommodated. On the other hand, more distant relatives would be organized only during special contingencies. In this respect, the number and categories of relatives grouped under the general term of "other relatives" is very instructive, ranging from cross and parallel cousins, father's mother's sister's children's children, to what we would really consider to be very distant relatives with common forebears several generations removed. It is suggested here that it is the conditions of social change and also of migration which account for the new household composition and domestic arrangements. Their main effect has been to contract, rather 9

Figures are taken from the 1960 Ghana Population Census Report, Vol. 1.

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G. Κ. NUKUNYA

than loosen, social relations. Rather than making the nuclear family more isolated and independent, they have made it more amenable and more receptive to accommodating persons who, in a more stable situation, would not have been accepted as inmates because the need for the accommodation would not have arisen. In the present situation, schoolchildren whose parents have gone on fishing expeditions have to be put under the care of relatives and affines. Fishermen who, for one reason or another, have to remain at home while other members of their lineage migrate will have to make use of kinship ties other than those of patriliny to get affiliated to another. Thus we have here a situation very much akin in some respects to what is found in African urban areas, a tendency towards bilateral kinship. As Southall has observed, an essential feature of urban kinship is that: It tends to have this in common with tribal bilateral kinship, that the relevant circle of kinsfolk varies for almost every individual and that each is offered or can discover various possibilities which he proceeds to select and manipulate.... What is most required in town is recognition of the diffuse obligation to assist one another in need, where and when possible.10 Although what is happening in the Anlo villages studied is not an exact replica of urban bilateralism, it has many similar features. The major difference seems to stem from the fact that in Anlo these new developments are changes resulting from a society which was basically patrilineal and the total absence of a lineal base for the societies Southall is writing about. Thus the relevant circle of kinsfolk may not necessarily vary for every individual, though the tendency towards this may be in evidence. In view of this, it will be necessary to take a closer look at the figures from the two settlements to see how the Anlo rural areas have reacted to these changes. (See Tables 1,2, and 3.) The figures, as already mentioned, are taken from a random sample of 196 households in Woe and 168 in Alakple. These households may be divided into those with male heads and those with female heads, with the latter numbering 83 (42.9%) in Woe and 76 (45.3%) in Alakple. The headship of households was determined in terms of age, sex, and authority structure. Where a married couple formed the nucleus of the household unit, the husband was taken as the automatic head. Where the household was built around an adult man, he was taken as the head. On the other hand, in households with no adult males, the oldest woman was taken as the head except where she was too old or incapacitated. 10

Aidan Southall, "Kinship, Tribalism, and Family Authority", in Social Change in Modern Africa, ed. A. Southall.

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The figures show some significant differences in the composition of households headed by men and those headed by women. In Woe, all except six of the 112 households headed by men consisted of nuclear families plus other relatives, while 48 (about 42 %) were composed of the head's simple family alone. In fact, the household consisting of a man, his wife, and unmarried children was regarded by the Anlo as the ideal and this is still largely the case today, though it is not always realized in practice. From the remaining 58 percent of the male-headed households it is possible to discover the kinds of relationship which in practice seem to carry with them the obligation for the provision of food and shelter. There were only six households in which the dependents were not kin of the head or any member of his family. Five of these were headed by schoolteachers and the other by a stranger in the town working at the local lighthouse. The dependents were described as gbovi, or attendants, all young boys and girls between the ages of eight and fourteen who helped with the household chores and were sent to school in return. The keeping of distant relatives and unrelated dependents as gbovi of this kind is a common practice throughout Ghana. Kinfolk who were not members of the head's own simple family seem to fall into four main groups: head's siblings and their children, parents, children's children, and affines. There were only three old mothers and two old fathers living as dependents of adult sons. While the men were incapacitated and were being looked after by their sons, all the women were widows. Other old women living as dependents were eight affines, widows of the heads' brothers but not remarried to them. They were living there because they had no adult sons or daughters in town to care for them and, as their husbands had died when they were too old to maintain households by themselves, they decided to remain near their marital homes. The dependents of ten heads included relatives of their wives, mostly schoolchildren whose parents were away in Abidjan in the Ivory Coast. It was stated that they would return to their parents' compounds when the latter returned. In fact, while the fieldwork was still in progress, some of the parents came back and were immediately joined by these children. Other affines included relatives of the heads' wives, married from other settlements, who were living in Woe during the school year because of the educational facilities there. The boarding-out of children of schoolgoing age with relatives of any kind is quite common in Ghana wherever there is a good school. From these figures it is clear that the attachment of young affines to these households is the result of special conditions

172 G. Κ. NUKUNYA

such as the absence of their parents and the quest for educational facilities. Thus their presence in these households is mainly temporary. Twenty-seven heads had younger brothers and sisters living with them, either because their parents were away on fishing expeditions, because their parents were divorced, or because the mothers were widowed. In most cases they were unmarried. Three of the sisters had children but were unmarried, while six were married to men who went abroad. All the women, both married and unmarried, who were living with brothers admitted they were there only because their mothers were not alive or were not in town at the time. They would have preferred living with parents to living with their married brothers, a view which clearly underlines the tensions marking the relationship between a woman and her brother's wives, especially if they happen to live together. Siblings' children living with male heads were fairly equally divided between brothers' and sisters' children. There were, in all, 33 households having such relatives. The only households composed of members resembling an extended family were those in which married and unmarried children and their children were living with the head. There were only 11 households of this kind at Woe and 12 at Alakple, and in all but one the head's children were daughters. The only man in this category was a young man of 22 whose wife had died, leaving a two-year-old baby who was cared for by his aged mother. He said he did not want to live alone and had left his own house to live with his parents. Seven of the daughters did not want to live with their husbands because they had their first wives with them. It is now quite common for a young wife to remain in her parental home for some time after marriage, especially if her husband has other wives living with him. Others prefer to have the first child in the parents' house before moving to the husband's because it is thought that the first travail needs great attention, for which the young mother's own mother's presence at the time of the pains is considered necessary. Many such women leave their parental home soon after the first birth, while others stay on if there is no pressure from the husband. A wife is also likely to remain in her parents' house if she is the youngest daughter of her parents who are old and need assistance in the home. Other women found with their children in their parents' homes were those whose husbands had left them behind when going abroad. In the 48 households at Woe composed entirely of members of the nuclear family, there were seven married daughters and four married young men. The four young men had just married and had built their own houses, but they wanted their wives to move in before they left their parents. The married women who were in identical situations were newly-

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wed girls preparing to leave soon for their husband's house. There were also three young women living with their parents but spending the night and one or two days of the week with their husbands. Sleeping with the husband in this way (called ahiaxododo in Ewe) has become common with the abandonment of the seclusion ceremony by which a newlywed wife was confined to her husband's house for about six months. Nowadays the bride instead starts sleeping with her husband while still in her parents' house before finally moving to his house. In the female-headed households, only 30 percent of the dependents were the head's own children, as compared with 61.1 percent in the households with male heads. On the other hand, the head's grandchildren formed 48.7 percent compared with 20 percent in male-headed households. These differences are to be explained partly by the ages of female-household heads and partly by their overall marital status. Of the 84 such household heads, only 15 were below 40 years of age and, as a result, many of their children had been married off. Fifty-one of them were either widows or divorcees, while 20 had their husbands away in Abidjan and four, though married, were living in their parents' houses, where they became heads because their parents had died leaving them in charge of their homes. Six women were living with their husbands in houses built by themselves. It is interesting to note that in all six cases the husbands were not natives of Woe because uxorilocal marriage is not only disapproved, it is considered very contemptible of a husband to move into his wife's house. As with the male-headed households, all adult children were unmarried daughters and their children, who were living with their mothers either because their husbands had left the settlement or because they were second wives. The marital status of the female heads also accounts for some of the differences between the figures for their dependents and those of male-headed houses. Thus only 12.4 percent of the persons dependent on female households were affines, compared with 23.0 percent in the male-headed households. The obvious explanation is that a widow or divorcee in many cases brings to her new husband's house her children by previous marriage. Also, both men and women accept relatives of tli^ir spouses as dependents when they are in difficulties, but the decisive factor in the difference between the figures seems to be the large proportion of female heads who were divorcees and widows. A divorced woman living independently, or who has returned to her parents' home, is most unlikely to accept as dependents in her house any relatives of her exhusband other than her own children. Similarly, only special circumstances would make it necessary for a widow to have the relatives of her

174 G. Κ. NUKUNYA

dead husband as her dependents. Consequently, the few affines in these houses were found where the heads had been managing the houses for their absent husbands. Daughters' children in female-headed households exceeded sons' children in a ratio of about three to one. This was probably because most of these were children of the daughters of the head who were themselves living with their mothers. An adult son, as a rule, does not live in his parents' house and his children live with their grandmother only if he himself has gone abroad, has died, or has been asked by his mother to allow some of his children to live with her. The dependents of female household heads were predominantly females. In Woe there were 110 females to 50 males, and in Alakple the figure was 124 to 38. In contrast, there were in male-headed households in Woe 100 females to 82 males and 70 females to 66 males in Alakple. The main reason for this difference is that Anlo believe a boy can be properly trained only by a man — otherwise he will grow up to be nyonugbome, one unlearned in the skills and qualities that make the perfect man. Parents therefore do their best to see that, whatever the circumstances, their sons do not live long with women. A girl does not face similar problems since every household, whether or not it is headed by a woman, has a woman to look after her feminine interests. The preceding paragraphs lead us to certain general conclusions about the composition of Anlo households some ten years ago. One fact that stands out clearly is the absence, as a unit, of the extended family of parents, their sons, and the latter's children. Wherever the household existed as a three-generation unit, members of the second generation were daughters of the head. This is in accord with the independence attained by men on marriage and the values associated with it. One of the important considerations that qualify a youth for marriage is the possession of his own house. On marriage, therefore, he automatically establishes his own household and becomes independent of his parents. Marriage is thus virilocal rather than patrilocal, in the sense that a wife, on marriage, moves into her husband's and not his father's house. In a patrilineal society like Anlo, the usual form of extended family would have been a patrilocal one, with married sons and their families under the authority of their father. This, however, is not possible with virilocal residence in the society. The three-generation variant, in which married daughters and their children live with their parents, is largely a temporary phenomenon, becoming permanent only in response to special contingency, as when a last-born daughter is asked to live with her father in old age. Though independence in men is cherished, a similar value is not

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put on women setting up their own households. Thus, all women heads of households found themselves in that position because they were widows, divorced, or past childbearing. All had at one time or another depended on a husband. The only exceptions were those who could not, or did not want to, move to their husbands' houses because they were second wives. The need for the dependence of young married women was also shown by the fact that, whenever circumstances made it impossible for them to live in the households of their husbands, they attached themselves to their parents or brothers. The figures from these two villages have shown that conditions of social change have created a situation which allows for relatives other than members of the nuclear family to constitute discrete household units. The main effect of these changes has been to give a further bilateral twist to the kinship system as far as household composition is concerned because it is much easier now than in pre-colonial times for persons other than members of the nuclear family to be accommodated. Rather than make the nuclear family more isolated, the present situation has made it more amenable to the accommodation of outside elements. An important feature of these affiliations and networks of relationships is that, although some and indeed many of them are ephemeral in nature in the sense that new alignments have to occur when the migrants return, the overall structure has become a permanent feature of Anlo domestic life today. Although changes and realignments are constantly occurring in individual households, the general picture remains. It is to be noted, however, and this is very important, that emigration, which has been mentioned as the major cause of this phenomenon, though widespread in Anlo, does not affect all the major towns and villages to the same degree. In fact, Woe and most of the coastal fishing villages appear to have been the worst hit areas. Alakple, though a few miles inland, also suffers as a result of the poverty of the lagoon waters surrounding it. On the other hand, Anloga, for instance — another coastal town only five miles to the west of Woe — has a fairly large tract of farm land which has so far been able to support its 11,000 inhabitants. Settlements like Anloga, though few, are found scattered all over Anlo. Although emigration is not unknown to them, the number of migrants is much smaller than is found in the ordinary Anlo town or village. Thus, although trends in household composition similar to those in Woe and Alakple may not be totally absent in these settlements, they should be excluded from this discussion. At the same time, it will be instructive to remember that migration is only one of several factors of change affecting the social life of rural Anlo, as this analysis has shown.

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The effects of contemporary social changes on the African family have resulted in different sets of phenomena in different societies, so that what has been observed in one area may not necessarily be repeated in the other. Here we have taken one factor, migration, and have traced the effects of migrant labor on the migrants' own home areas. This has the advantage, if nothing else, of focusing attention on what I consider to be a neglected field in studies of social change. When Lucy Mair was contributing her essay to the Arthur Phillips volume, she lamented over the uneven nature of our knowledge on social change. Although significant advances have been made on the subject, much still remains to be done. As such, it is considered more useful to provoke a discussion on a specific issue and area rather than attempt a synthesis of what has already been done. Thus I have decided to leave out of this discussion such problems as marriage and interpersonal relations within the family, and have focused on data that seem to correspond to the trend in other rural areas of Africa coming under the influence of these changes. No apology is offered for this stand, for my view is that understanding of household composition is a central problem in family studies.

Table 1. Kinship Ties of Household Members with Female Heads (Excluding Members of the Nuclear Family).

Siblings and their children Children's children Parents Affines Other relatives Total

Woe

Alakple

Total

Percent

11 98 3 20 28

25 84 2 20 31

36 182 5 40 59

11.2 56.5 1.6 12.4 18.3

160

162

322

100.0

Table 2. Kinship Ties of Household Members with Male Heads (Excluding Members of the Nuclear Family).

Siblings and their children Children's children Parents Affines Other relatives Total

Woe

Alakple

Total

Percent

72 34 2 37 37

34 36 4 36 26

106 70 6 73 63

33.3 22.0 1.9 23.0 19.8

182

136

318

100.0

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Table 3. Kinship Ties of Household Members with Female and Male Heads Combined (Excluding Members of the Nuclear Family) Woe

Alakple

Total

Percent

Siblings and their children Children's children Parents Affines Other relatives

83 132 5 57 65

59 120 6 56 57

142 252 11 113 122

22.2 39.4 1.7 17.6 19.1

Total

342

298

640

100.0

BIBLIOGRAPHY HILL, POLLY

1963/ "Pan-African Fisherman", West Africa (28 December 1963 and 4 January 1964 1964). 1970 Studies in Rural Capitalism in West Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 30-52. MAIR, LUCY

1934 An African People in the Twentieth Century (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul). 1938 Methods of Study of Culture Contact in Africa (= International African Institute Memorandum XV) (Londen: Oxford University Press for IAI). 1963 New Nations (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson), 58-95. 1965 An Introduction to Social Anthropology (London: Oxford University Press). NUKUNYA, G. κ .

1969 Kinship and Marriage among the Anlo Ewe (= London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology 37) (London: Athlone Press, and New York: Humanities Press). PHILLIPS, ARTHUR, ed.

1953 Survey of African Marriage and Family Life (London: Oxford University Press for IAI), 1-171. SOUTHALL, AID AN

1961

"Kinship, Tribalism, and Family Authority", in Social Change in Modern Africa, edited by A. Southall (London: Oxford University Press, for IAI), 31-45.

Witchcraft in Africa: A Hardy Perennial

J A M E S L. B R A I N

An anthropological discussion of witchcraft inevitably begins from a consideration of the basic foundations laid by Evans-Pritchard and Kluckhohn, acknowledging a prior debt to Malinowski and rejecting the evolutionary Frazerian concept of magic, religion, and science. In the essay which follows, the structure will be based on the same foundations, paying particular attention to the work of Monica Wilson and Nadel and, more recent, to that of Marwick, Middleton and Winter, and of Lucy Mair. Before doing this, however, and to follow the metaphor of a building, I should like to look more closely at the materials being used and examine their constituent elements. Until very recently, we had no idea of the antiquity of man's ancestors, and primate behavior was regarded as an interesting but rather bizarre study of little interest to the social anthropologist. The present picture is quite different. Tiger notes that "Simons and Reynolds have recently described how proto-hominids branched off from the other primates about 20 million years ago; at least a million generations between now and then", 1 but then goes on to point out that Washburn and Hamburg give a probable assessment that human mental abilities have appeared only during the last four to six hundred thousand years — that is to say, with the appearance of Pithecanthropines, 2 and he poses a question of tremendous significance for any study of human behavior: "The assessment of the recency of culture compared with a possible 20 to 26 million 1 2

Lionel Tiger, Men In Groups (New York: Random House, 1970), 31. Ibid., 32.

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JAMES L. BRAIN

year somatic history of man suggests the importance of trying to find out what the effect is of the longer on the shorter period." 3 This is not to say that proto-hominids had no social organization. On the contrary, the argument is that, if the social organization had evolutionary genetic advantages, then aspects of that organization would become, in effect, part of the genetic makeup of modern man by the very nature of the immensity of the time span involved. Wallace considered these points in his Culture and Personality and, paying tribute to Hallowell, noted that studies of primate behavior have clearly demonstrated that "subhuman primates display various learned skills and have a certain tradition of technical knowledge" and that, moreover, "such pre-tool, pre-language, pre-fire systems of learned social behavior cannot be maintained by organisms that are incapable of concept formation (intrinsic symbols)". 4 It is part of Tiger's argument that living in open savannah country was crucial to man's developing groups of the type he has, and he makes comparisons with baboons: The overall social pattern of the baboon group studied by DeVore and Hall suggests that the very complex dominance pattern among males ensures maximum protection for infant-bearing mothers, promotes relative peacefulness in the group, and offers the highest probability that females will be fertilized by the highest ranking males. The genetic significance of this system is obvious.5 He notes that langurs, living arboreally, exhibit separation of the sexes at an early age and male dominance, but do not have the groups of males formed by "male-bonding", and he concludes that this was not crucial to their survival as it was for the savannah-living baboon. 6 Thus we have two interrelated points: First, a probability of male dominance among man's very early arboreal ancestors; and, secondly, an even more complex pattern of male dominance brought about by the — as Tiger would claim — genetically inherited trait which leads to groups of high-ranking males forming bonds between them. He is at pains to draw a distinction between "male bonding" and "male aggregation". As he puts it, "All males of the right age in a community, be they schoolboys or bison, aggregate inevitably in simple spatial terms, and possibly in ways that are more complex." 7 Bonding he defines as "a particular relationship

3

Ibid., 33. Anthony F. C. Wallace, Culture and Personality (New York: Random House, 1961 / 70), 50-51. 5 Tiger, Men In Groups, 38. 6 Ibid., 45. 7 Ibid., 28. 4

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between two or more males such that they react differently to members of their bonding unit as compared to individuals outside of it". 8 With the adoption of hunting as a way of life, he tells us, the division between the sexes became sharper than when "all non-infants provided their own food and where a complex division of food-gathering labor was unnecessary". 9 It may be that he exaggerates slightly, since Woodburn's film on Hadza life shows clearly that women and children are largely self-sufficient and that most men hunt as individuals and not as members of cooperating groups. It is very clear from the Hadza evidence, however, that there is a radical division of labor by sex and that, although in fact Hadza consume more vegetable foods than meat, they conceptualize themselves primarily as meat eaters, 10 which might be taken as acceptance of the dominant male value by the whole society. Washburn and Lancaster certainly see hunting as the key to humanness as we know it. 11 The point of this rather long (although quite inadequate) treatment of man's antecedents is to attempt to bring some light onto the roots of some parts of his behavior. For many years the nature-nurture argument swung heavily toward nurture and, in the main, I wholeheartedly accept this. On the other hand, the new evidence we have of pre-sapiens antiquity would seem to point to various probabilities. These are that male dominance is a reality in primate groups, that among savannah-living primates not only is there domination by males but furthermore some males form bonds which allow them to dominate less strong males, and that such dominant behavior was probably so effective in terms of survival that it became part of the genetic makeup. As man's ancestors adopted hunting as a way of life, the division between the sexes which already existed would be further increased by the ability of males to engage in this dangerous activity and the converse inability of the females to do so because of pregnancy and the long dependency period of the human infant. Thus we have a complete dichotomy in human existence between males and females, and perhaps a secondary dichotomy between dominant and less aggressive males. Not only do we have here the establishment of a permanent division and a difference, precisely as suggested in the Genesis myth, but we have the makings of an opposition which may be expressed in a variety of ways, 8

Ibid., 27. Ibid., 58. 10 See James Woodburn, "Stability and Flexibility in Hadza Residential Groupings", in Man the Hunter, eds. Richard B. Lee and Irven DeVore (Chicago: Aldine, 1968), 52ff. 11 S. L. Washburn and C. S. Lancaster, "The Evolution of Hunting", in Man the Hunter, eds. Richard B. Lee and Irven DeVore (Chicago: Aldine, 1968), 297. 9

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not least in hostility. Speaking of the Hadza, Woodburn notes that "in the large camps of the dry season sexually segregated activities (such as gambling) are stressed, and the opposition, even hostility, between men as a group and women as a group, is reiterated". 12 Here, however, arises a difference between what is physically possible for hunting and gathering peoples (and perhaps for some pastoralists) and what is possible for settled agriculturalists. Both Turnbull, speaking of the Mbuti, and Woodburn, speaking of the Hadza, emphasize that conflict which arises between people and which is extremely common is solved by the simple expedient of moving. When people do move or leave a camp because of conflict, they very often give an ecological reason for their movements.... By giving such a neutral ecological explanation they solve disputes simply by refusing to acknowledge them.13 Obviously, such a simple solution is not available to agriculturalists. As Spicer observes, "As a result of the friction of living in almost any society at any time, there is a certain latent hostility that is likely to discharge on whatever target comes into focus." 1 4 It is my suggestion, however, that the original basis of conflict in human society arises out of the antagonism between the sexes and, to a lesser degree, between dominant and subservient males. Obviously, this is entirely speculative and would merit Radclifle-Brown's condemnation as conjectural history, but perhaps it is worth making such speculations in the hope of stimulating argument. If we do accept, albeit tentatively, the possibility of the origins of conflict arising out of a simple sexual dichotomy, then this may also lead to speculation about the dualistic aspect of human thought, which has been of such concern to, among many others, Levi-Strauss — a concern shared by Radcliffe-Brown — as Levi-Strauss points out. 1 5 To return to agricultural societies, we have noted that the spatial mobility of hunters and gatherers is denied to them, and it is not insignificant that Turnbull observes of the Mbuti and others that "these hunting communities are characterized by an almost complete lack of magic, witchcraft, or sorcery", 16 a point which was confirmed by Lorna Marshall for the !Kung bushmen, whereas we know that agriculturalists com12

Woodburn, "Stability and Flexibility in Hadza Residential Groupings", 52. Ibid., 156. 14 Edward Spicer, Human Problems in Technological Change (New York: Russell Sage, 1952), 239. 15 Claude Levi-Strauss, Totemism, trans. Rodney Needham (Boston: Beacon Press, 1963), 88 ff, 16 Colin Turnbull, "Ecology and Economics", in Man the Hunter, eds. Richard B. Lec and Irven DeVore (Chicago: Aldine, 1968), 91-92.

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monly — perhaps one could confidently say of Africa, universally — believe in witchcraft. Among pastoral peoples, however, although people may believe in witchcraft, it does not seem to be a matter of great concern.17 Perhaps it may be possible to correlate this lack of concern with an ability to remove oneself. It is also worth speculating that institutionalized avoidance and joking relationships illustrate an attempt to resolve some of the polarized conflicts brought about by a settled agricultural, as opposed to a mobile hunting and gathering, mode of existence.18 Recently, Cohen has expressed his objection to "the whole dialectical mystique which permeates the work of Levi-Strauss and so many other contemporary intellectuals".19 But is the dialectical view of life not the very essence of witchcraft beliefs? The proposal is not for one moment that all human aggression is based solely on intersexual hostility, only that an early dichotomy between the sexes which arose from the savannah pattern of living was exacerbated by the hunting and gathering pattern of existence. Even if we do not go so far as to accept any genetic basis for such hostility, no one can deny that man lived by hunting and gathering for thousands of years, and the institutionalization of behavior is an observable fact which can be seen to take place very rapidly. In its simplest form, it rapidly becomes customary for particular students to occupy particular seats at a lecture and to resent others occupying them; and again, if one begins having coffee with another person at a certain time, it rapidly becomes difficult to stop without causing offence. Thus, if we have a division of society into two radically different occupations based on sex, it would seem inevitable that this model, binary opposition, if you will, might well be applied to other aspects of life. In the same way as it has been suggested that the ability to learn language and to master the phonemic and syntactical structures of language is a genetically inherited trait, 20 it is here suggested that the same may be true of the rapidity with which behavior becomes institu17

For instance, Gulliver notes that "Turkana have not a high regard for supernatural forces in the normal way", while of the Jie, settled Turkana, he observes that, if there is a sequence of misfortunes, "the normal procedure is to move to a new homestead to avoid the evil influence [of witchcraft]". P. H. Gulliver, The Family Herds (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1955), 104. 18 See, for instance, A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, "On Joking Relationships", Africa XIII (3) (1940), 195-210; A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, "A Further Note on Joking Relationships", Africa XIX (1949), 133-40; Peter Rigby, "Joking Relationships, Kin Categories and Clanship Among the Gogo", Africa XXXVIII (2) (1968), 133-55. 19 Percy S. Cohen, "Theories of Myth", Man XIV (3) (1969), 340. 20 James L. Downs and Hermann K. Bleibtreu, Human Variation: An Introduction to Physical Anthropology (Beverly Hills, California: Glencoe Press, 1969), 132-34; Noam Chomsky, "Language and the Mind", Psychology Today I (9) (1968), 68.

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tionalized, and for the same reason, that it had a survival value. That it is far harder to get people to change their ways of thinking about things than to get them to adopt new technical objects is only too painfully obvious in a world threatened by overpopulation, nuclear war, and pollution of the environment. Culture is undoubtedly man's creation, but sometimes seems to be a monster which controls him. Once man is the possessor of culture and, I suggest, practices agriculture, then arises the dualistic concept of Nature versus Culture, and the bush is seen as something hostile and malevolent. Although it must be admitted that in some African societies witches are thought of as men, this may in some cases be the result of inadequate reporting and a confusion between the concept of sorcery and witchcraft, a separation of which as concepts we owe to Evans-Pritchard. 21 The situation is complicated in much of Africa, certainly in Bantu-speaking Africa, by the use of the same term for both, often a word based on the stem log- and its cognates lok-, loj-, or loz-,22 yet it is clear when one reads ethnographic material that, although people use the same word, they do differentiate the concepts. For instance, Schapera says that the Tswana had two kinds of sorcerers, "day" and "night" sorcerers, the latter being thought of as elderly women to whom are ascribed the qualities associated with witches.23 The same belief occurs among the Yoruba. 24 Among the Sotho, "witchcraft seems to be confined to women 25 and among the Nyamwezi we are told that "both men and women believe that the very large majority of sorcerers are women". 26 Here again it seems fairly clear that these women sorcerers are witches. One of the qualities of witches is their association with bush animals, wild rather than domesticated and, in many cases, nocturnal. Witches have a number of attributes. Tswana witches ("night sorcerers") go naked, exhume and eat corpses, and have owls and hyenas as sentries.27 Gisu witches are about at night, they go 21

I mean here that witchcraft is thought to be an innate — sometimes inherited, sometimes acquired — characteristic, whereas sorcery implies the use of rites, spells, and material objects and is believed to be learned. Ε. E. Evans-Pritchard, Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic Among the Azande (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1937), 9-10. 22 Cf. Lucy P. Mair, Witchcraft (New York: World University Library, 1969), 21. 23 Isaac Schapera, The Tswana in Ethnographic Survey Series, Part III, Southern Africa (London: International African Institute, 1953), 65. 24 P. C. Lloyd, "The Yoruba of Nigeria", Peoples of Africa, ed. James L. Gibbs, Jr. (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1966), 576. 25 V. G. J. Sheddick, The Southern Sotho, in Ethnographic Survey Series, Part II, Southern Africa (London: International African Institute, 1953), 73. 28 R. G. Abrahams, The Peoples of Greater Unyamwezi, in Ethnographic Survey Series, Part XVII (London: International African Institute, 1967), 78-79. 27 Schapera, The Tswana, 65.

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naked, they eat corpses and, although LaFontaine tells us that men and women can become witches, she does note that only women possess the evil eye and that in the field of sorcery there are two types, the lesser practiced by women and the greater by men. 28 There does seem to be a tendency to ascribe witchcraft to women and sorcery to men, the difference between ascribed and achieved status. Among the Akan, "the great majority of witches are women" and they are associated with crows, vultures, owls, parrots, horseflies and fireflies, hyenas, leopards, elephants, and snakes. 29 The Kpelle, while they believe that men can be witches, think that more often they are women and "it is thought that witches sustain themselves through eating the spirits of kinsmen (even their own children)". 30 It is arguable whether any useful purpose is served by attempting to differentiate witchcraft and sorcery into separate categories. While Middleton and Winter believe the distinction to be "vital", 31 Turner is skeptical and remarks that "witch beliefs can no longer — if they ever could — be usefully grouped into two contrasting categories, witchcraft (in its narrow sense) and sorcery". 32 Middleton and Winter themselves accept that it is very difficult to differentiate the two, and propose the adoption of the term "wizardry", which so far does not seem to have gained popular support. Turner is also critical of using sociological frames of reference to explain beliefs about witchcraft, 33 although no one would dispute the value of Marwick's work in explaining the function of holding the beliefs. Turner suggests that, in any total examination of the material, not only the sociological situation should be examined but the adaptation to environment and incidence of disease, a view with which I would fully concur. 34 I do not, however, accept his dismissal of the two categories if we are concerned with belief rather than function, even though he cites an analysis of a number of cases from Zambia which contain a mixture of the two elements. 35 1 think that, if we are talking about beliefs, 28

Jean S. LaFontaine, TheGisu of Uganda, in Ethnographic Survey Series, Part X (London: International African Institute, 1959), 58. 29 Madeline Manoukian, The Akan and Ga-Adangme Peoples, in Ethnographic Survey Series, Part I, West Africa (London: International African Institute, 1950), 61. 30 James L. Gibbs, Jr., "The Kpelle of Liberia", Peoples of Africa, ed. James L. Gibbs, Jr. (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1966), 227. 31 John Middleton and Ε. H. Winter, Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), 2; cf. Mair, Witchcraft, 23. 32 Victor Turner, "Witchcraft and Sorcery: Taxonomy vs. Dynamics", Africa XXXIV (4) (1964), 318. 33 Ibid. 34 Ibid., 315. 35 Ibid., 319.

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we have to turn to some of the traditional material to gain an understanding of ideas, which may then help us to understand the admittedly confused picture brought about by rapid social and cultural change and contact. Let us turn to Monica Wilson's Pondo material since this provides one of the clearest descriptions of beliefs. While she notes that both men and women can be witches, it is evident that women seem to be more commonly associated with witchcraft. There is a long list of familiars, only two of which go with males: baboons (which destroy crops) and a beautiful girl in European dress (color not specified). For women, on the other hand, the list includes dogs, associated with bestiality; snakes; a rodent; an object which changes shape; a small manlike creature with a huge penis; and, most important of all, a "lightning bird" which always appears to girls in the guise of a handsome European-looking man. 36 One way of looking at this situation is that of Monica Wilson herself, in evaluating her own Pondo and later Nyakyusa material, when she states: "I see witch beliefs as the standardized nightmares of a group." 3 7 Another facet of the same problem was given by Kluckhohn and seems to me of crucial significance. He notes that beliefs about witchcraft serve to define in a dramatic fashion what is bad. 38 These interpretations offer an explanation both in terms of belief and of function. Functionally, the beliefs serve like myth in the sense of Malinowski's "charter for social action" in educating the young and revalidating social concepts for the adults. Considered as beliefs, the ideas that people hold about witches always seem to involve the antithesis of accepted social norms, particularly with regard to sexual conduct. Again and again we find references to nakedness, to bestiality, and to incest. Cannibalism, vampirism, and necrophily are frequently mentioned. Some people believe that by performing a ritual act of incest or cannibalism they will become 36

Monica Wilson Hunter, Reaction to Conquest (London: Oxford University Press, 1936), 275; cf. Hilda Kuper (with A. J. B. Hughes and J. van Velsen), The Shona and Ndebele of Southern Rhodesia, in Ethnographic Survey Series, Part IV (London: International African Institute, 1955), 35; A. J. B. Hughes and J. van Velsen (with Hilda Kuper), The Shona and Ndebele of Southern Rhodesia, 106-07: M. McCulloch, The Southern Lunda and Related Peoples, in Ethnographic Survey Series, Part I, West Central Africa (London: International African Institute, 1951), 80: V. G. J. Sheddick, The Southern Sotho, 73. These are some examples of familiars, although there are many others. 37 Monica Wilson, "Witch Beliefs and Social Structure", American Journal of Sociology (1951), 307-13. 38 Clyde Kluckhohn, Navaho Witchcraft (Boston: Beacon Press, 1944/67), 82; cf. M. G. Marwick, "The Sociology of Sorcery and Witchcraft", African Systems of Thought, eds. M. Fortes and G. Dieterlen (London: Oxford University Press, 1965), 25-26.

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possessed of witchcraft powers, 39 and it seems significant that during initiation to the secret society of the Cwezi, members of which are believed to possess magical powers, they are forced to remove their clothes publicly, to perform sexual intercourse in public and, moreover, with someone who has been classified, for the purposes of the society, as a close relative. 40 Cory noted, without comment, that this act was called kumala muziro, which would mean "to end or abolish the prohibition/ taboo". The inversion of behavior may involve belief in physical reversals, so that we find the Lugbara believing that some witches walk about upside down, 41 and Willis reports an even more dramatic belief among the Fipa. In this case, a naked old man is involved "and his wife, also naked, who carries her husband suspended upside down from her shoulders, while she clasps his lower legs to her breasts". 42 The whole image involves "at least four characteristics which are the converse of normal human behavior and expectation; they are naked; they are active and outdoors at night, when normal people are indoors and asleep; the woman, the physically weaker partner, is carrying her husband; and he is upside-down." 43 One aspect of behavior inversion which often escapes attention is the use of the left hand. It seems still uncertain whether lefthandedness is physiologically or psychologically determined. 44 Chimpanzees are apparently ambidextrous and show no preference for either hand, 45 but most societies — and certainly most African societies — show a strong prejudice against use of the left hand. 4 6 In a survey conducted in Tanzanian schools in 1966, over 70 percent of 2,079 children stated that they considered it insulting to give or receive with the left hand (almost 80 percent of the boys). 47 It is significant that the right

39

Cf. Radcliffe-Brown, "Further Note on Joking Relationships", 70; T. O. Beidelman, "Witchcraft in Ukaguru", Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa, eds. John Middleton and Ε. H. Winter (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), 68 40 Hans Cory, "The Buswezi", Africa LVII (5) (1955);923-52. 41 John Middleton, Lugbara Religion (London: Oxford University Press, 1960), 240-41. 42 R. G. Willis, "Kamcape: An· Anti-Sorcery Movement in South Western Tanzania", Africa XXXVI11 (2) (1968), 4. « Ibid. 44 Michael Barsley, The Left Handed Book (London: Souvenir Press, 1966), 34-41. 45 Personal communication, Jane Van Lawick-Goodall. 46 Cf. Peter Rigby, "Dual Symbolic Classification Among the G o g o of Central Tanzania", Africa X X X V I (1) (1966), 2-17. It appears that the G o g o accept and even venerate left-handedness, but even so there is ample evidence that they consider the right hand superior and make the connection of right-men, left-women. 47 James L. Brain, unpublished material. I hope to make the results of this survey available soon.

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hand is termed "the male hand" in Swahili (mkono wa kuume),ig and at one school the teacher recorded complete agreement among the pupils that the left hand was connected with witchcraft, which would seem to imply a strong association of women with witchcraft. Denise Paulme sees this belief as being partially associated with "the horror inspired by blood" and the feeling that there are magic dangers inherent in menstruation, and notes that in Africa (as elsewhere) "witchcraft is more often practised by women than men". 4 9 The point I wish to make is that beliefs about witchcraft ascribe to witches the reverse of what is thought normal and that there is a strong connection between women and these beliefs. If we are asking why this should be so, it is my suggestion that this belief goes back to the period when settled agriculture precluded the mobility which had hitherto allowed resolution of the conflicts in society, conflicts frequently intersexual in character. It is my further suggestion that this binary division between the sexes, exacerbated by the basic division of labor developed in the hunting and gathering stage, has colored much of man's intellectual processes, giving a dialectical basis to so many of our ideas. It may be correctly argued, as Middleton and Winter do, 50 that accusations most frequently occur between members of the same sex. 51 Here we enter the "real" rather than the "ideal" world, and it is here that Mair's analysis of Monica Wilson's work is so useful. She points out that there are in fact two kinds of witches: the "nightmare witch", about whom cluster all the vile and perverted qualities which illustrate those thoughts which most worry people and which dramatize everything antithetical to the values of the society; and the "everyday witch", "the person who may be actually living among you". 52 It is here, perhaps, that we find most confusion between witchcraft and sorcery, and I would agree with Turner that it is probably not useful to try to differentiate the "everyday witch" from the sorcerer. That people can believe both in the nightmare witch and the everyday variety should not really surprise us. As Levi-Strauss points out in his essay on 'The Sorcerer and His Magic", 53 we all accept mutually incompatible 48

And in Gogo. See Rigby, "Dual Symbolic Classification Among the Gogo of Central Tanzania", 3. 49 Denise Paulme (ed.), Women of Tropical Africa (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), 13. 50 Middleton and Winter, Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa, 9. 51 But this is not always the case. See, for instance, "Witchcraft in Ukaguru", in Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa, 86. 52 Mair, Witchcraft, 37. 53 Claude Levi-Strauss, "The Sorcerer and His Magic", in Magic, Witchcraft, and Curing, ed. John Middleton (New York: Natural History Press, 1967), 27.

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explanations of an event if they are equally plausible and "we can easily make the transition from one to the other, depending on the occasion or the moment. Many people have both explanations at the back of their minds." 54 Here we return from belief to function, to the bleak situation of reality Lucy Mair describes and which is such a far cry from the roseate dreams that people sometimes have of life in traditional societies: Witchcraft is in fact associated with quarrelling, not with naked midnight revels or keeping pet snakes. It is malice and hatred, and not sinister mystical powers, that disrupt the small community and that the villagers want to drive out, not foreseeing that they must endlessly return.55 When it comes to real life rather than the fantasies and the "standardized nightmares", the kinds of people we are concerned with still exhibit characteristics considered undesirable in African societies. They are .. .morose, unsociable people who eat alone so that they do not share their food, but who can become dangerous if others do not share their food with them; arrogant people who pass by others without greeting them; people who are readily offended.56 Essentially, they are non-conforming members of a small community. They may be identified by physical abnormalities, by coldness or overeffusiveness, or by any of the qualities associated with unpopularity. There can be no doubt that these and the other, more bizarre beliefs have a sociological function in ensuring that members of a society strive to conform to accepted norms and perhaps tend to be polite to others in case they should be witches. In a generalized way, too, people may blame misfortunes which affect the whole community on a rise in the practice of sorcery and witchcraft. 57 When, however, misfortunes affect individuals, they then seek for reasons in terms of other individuals. Here it seems essential that we consider very briefly cosmological beliefs. Almost universally, African peoples — particularly agriculturalists — have been concerned with ancestral spirits. Uchendu, writing about the Igbo, and Kenyatta about the Kikuyu, both speak of the ever-present communion between the world of the living and of the

54

Ibid. Mary Douglas gives a very good description of the varying conceptualization of a sorcerer, in "Techniques of Sorcery Control", Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa, eds. John Middleton and Ε. H. Winter (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), 129. 55 Mair, Witchcraft, 152. 56 Ibid., 45. 57 Cf. Middleton and Winter, Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa, 10-11

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dead. 58 Almost universally, African peoples practice unilineal descent, so that, while major disasters may be the affair of a high god or the spirits of culture heroes or past kings, personal misfortunes are the concern of one's own descent group, the group to which one is complementarily filiated, and possibly the comparable groups of one's spouse. The Durkheimian equation between society and religion is admirably illustrated in African societies but, by the very nature of this equivalence, it is almost inevitable that Africans (and once more I emphasize, in agricultural societies) should take a personalized view of misfortune. Even where we have large peoples such as the Ashanti or the Igbo, the spiritual world is bounded in most respects by the boundaries of kinship. Thus, if misfortune strikes, it must necessarily be seen in personal terms as either due to the action of the spirits or to the malice of someone closely associated with oneself. We know that in some cases the spiritual world can be mobilized to discipline the living, as is the case with the Lugbara, 59 but if there is no moral sanction involved then the origin of the misfortune must necessarily be the witchcraft or sorcery of someone closely related. In her recent book on witchcraft, Lucy Mair notes at the very beginning that she "starts from the premise that in a world where there are few assured techniques for dealing with everyday crises, notably sickness, a belief in witches, or the equivalent of one, is not only not foolish, it is indispensable". 00 Man has to find reasons for misfortune. It may be perceived as divine providence, as destiny, or as punishment for some unknown sin in a previous existence, or — among humanists — as bad luck. While it is true that some West African religions have a concept of destiny or a Jobian submission to divine will, Fortes does note that all the societies of which he writes in his interesting essay, 61 have an ancestor cult. It should be realized, too, that even a concept of personal destiny involves a personalized view of misfortune. Where, however, there is no idea of destiny and where the religion is bounded by kinship and the ancestral spirits are an everpresent aspect of life, then, in the absence of reliable knowledge of causation, a belief in witchcraft becomes almost inevitable. Semantically, I prefer "inevitable" to Mair's "indispensable". She herself gives a salutary warning later in the book when she notes that "it is as well not to ascribe beneficial consequences 58

Jomo Kenyatta, Facing Mt. Kenya (New York: Vintage Books/Random House, undated), 223; Victor C. Uchendu, The Igbo of South F.ast Nigeria (New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1965), 102. 39 Middleton, Lugbara Religion, 34-39. 60 Mair, Witchcraft,7-9. 61 Meyer Fortes, Oedipus and Job in I Vest African Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959).

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to an institution simply because it exists", 62 a point well expressed by Mary Douglas, who says of witchcraft among the Lele that it is "an aggravator of all hostilities and fears, an obstacle to peaceful cooperation". 6 3 The personalized view of misfortune tends to promote a very paranoid attitude, according to Hortense Powdermaker, considering both her own research in Zambia and that of M. J. Field in Ghana. 6 4 From a Western viewpoint, certainly the attitude of many Africans is paranoid and accusations or suspicions about witchcraft no doubt frequently involve projection of one's own hostility onto those accused, as she suggests, 65 but then the whole worldview may be different and one's sense of involvement with others in a small community is inevitably more intense than in a wider society. It has been suggested by Tempels that, in Bantu thought, individuals are not thought of as discrete entities but rather that all things have a vital force and this concept ...contains the idea of continual conjunction of the vital forces of all things that are in significant social interaction.... In the Bantu system if a person loves, he increases the vital force of the one he loves or at least does not cause it to decrease. But if he hates he decreases the vital force of the one he hates so that ultimately the hate can kill the flesh, though not the vital force which continues to exist in the ancestral world exerting force on its descendants.66 If this belief is held, it would explain why it is that people may frequently confess to witchcraft when accused of it, because as Mair notes, "The witchcraft explanation rests on the boundless possibilities of sheer human malevolence; it is easily acceptable because we know the depths of our own hearts." 67 Before turning to more specific examination of what is happening today, I wish to attempt an explanation as to why a knowledge of the scientific causes of disease may not necessarily eliminate witchcraft beliefs and suspicions. We have all heard the tale of the schoolboy who, told about malaria or typhus, asks "Why me?" If we start with a basic worldview of personalized misfortune in which it is ascribed either to ancestral wrath or to someone's malice, it is clearly hard to undo this cultural idea 62

Mair, Witchcraft, 159; cf. Ε. H. Winter, "The Enemy Within: Amba Witchcraft", Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa, eds. John Middletonand Ε. H. Winter (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), 297-99. 63 Douglas, "Techniques of Sorcery Control", Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa, 141. 64 Hortense Powdermaker, Copper Town: Changing Africa (New York: Harper and Row, 1962), 42-43. 65 Ibid. 66 Η. K. Schneider, "The Lion Men of Singida — A Re-appraisal", Tanganyika Notes and Records 58 (1962), 125. 67 Mair, Witchcraft, 13: see also p. 169 for further remarks about confession.

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which has been internalized in infancy. Secondly, and perhaps even more pertinently, the religions of small-scale societies, based on the principles of kinship, are totally inadequate to cope with the heterogeneous situation of the wider society of the urban areas. 68 Thus the ancestors, as potential bringers of misfortune, are virtually eliminated, leaving only the possibility of witchcraft or sorcery. Small wonder that "throughout Africa, while ancient religious rituals have faded, fears of witchcraft have burgeoned and magic has blossomed". 69 It is very hard for us today to assess with any degree of accuracy the place of witchcraft in pre-colonial Africa. Middleton has shown that lineage segmentation may be justified by reference to ancestral spirits and Marwick has shown fairly conclusively that accusations of witchcraft may serve the same purpose. It may be that in this way witchcraft beliefs may have performed a useful social function. Other aspects of the beliefs, however, whatever useful functions they may have had in the past in ensuring conformity to norms, prove to be difficult to fit into the changed circumstances of colonial and post-colonial Africa. Let us consider these in order. In 1961, a cotton productivity scheme was carried out in eastern Tanzania. Economically, it proved highly successful, 70 but occasional problems arose. On one visit to Uzigua, I was taken to see the field of an older woman who had done everything according to the book and, in consequence, had a magnificent crop. Arriving at the field, we found the woman huddled in a corner weeping. Asked what was wrong, she pointed to a small hole dug on the edge of the field which was filled with magical objects intended to harm her. Her constantly reiterated wail was that she had tried to make herself better than the other people. She was finally comforted with the promise that a powerful curse would be directed against her assailant, but the case illustrates two points. One is straight envy of another's success. In the whole culture area, the societies were acephalous and egalitarian and it is frequent to ascribe any other person's success to his or her having been a vampire. The phrase Yule kachinja watu — that one slit people's throats — is often used, the throat being cut to drink the blood, to obtain mumiani. In one sense, this is a mixture of the nightmare and everyday witch since Wachinjachinja — slaughterers, throat slitters — are one of the nightmares of the areas, 68

Max Gluckman, "The Magic of Despair", Rituals of Rebellion in South East Africa (London: Cohen and West, 1963), 141-43. 69 Ibid., 143. 70 See Hans Ruthenberg, Agricultural Development In Tanganyika (Berlin and N e w York: Springer Verlag, 1964).

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and yet people say this of their near kin or neighbors who are successful to a degree considered unusual. The other point involved here has been well described by Foster and labeled the "concept of limited good". 71 Briefly, the idea is that, over a long time, the people of an area gain an idea of what each person's harvest should be in any year, good or bad. Thus, if any one person apparently has a greater harvest than other people, in their view it can only be at their expense, presumably by magical means. The significance of this for "development" schemes is obvious. Another example of the same kind of thing is taken from a report produced by a college student in Nairobi. Writing of the Kenya coast, he states: Witchcraft has been so strong an obstacle to development that up to now the Digo hardly does his shopping in bulk. He prefers twenty cents worth of sugar to several pounds merely to avoid being noticed as being richer and therefore no longer identified with the herd. Perhaps to a country like Tanzania, committed to an egalitarian socialist society, this aspect of witchcraft beliefs might be claimed to have a useful function in limiting social inequalities; however, there does arise the cultural relativist trap. If we really consider it good that cultures have self-regulating sanctions to ensure their equilibrium, then — if we are objective — should we not applaud the persecution of intellectuals in totalitarian countries, or cross-burning and lynching by the Ku Klux Klan in this country? Which is worse, the Billy Graham brand of Christianity with its assumption that material success implies heavenly approval and its corollary that if one is poor it is only what one deserves, or the witchcraft side of the coin with its assumption that if one is unsuccessful it must be due to the malevolence of the near and dear, or if successful then one has harnessed evil powers to achieve that end? Subjectively, I can only hope that men may one day abandon both these kinds of thought. It may be true, as Marwick tells us, that witchcraft accusations "facilitate the rupture of relationships that are too close and personal to be quietly contracted out of, and which, because of social tension, have become insupportable", 72 but this is a sad indictment of our ability to be honest, even with ourselves. Turning from witchcraft beliefs as a mechanism for maintaining the status quo, we also find the closely related manifestation found where differences in status may be culturally acceptable but where success in 71

Ε. M. Foster, "Peasant Society and the Image of Limited Good", American Anthropologist LXVII (1966), 293-315. 72 Marwick, "The Sociology of Sorcery and Witchcraft", African Systems of Thought, 185.

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competition for those statuses is ascribed to magical means. Where status is ascribed, there may be tension and hostility but there is not so much competition as exists where status is achieved. Marwick noted this in his original and most important article on the Cewa in 195273 and has now expanded this with case material which substantiates his hypothesis, 74 a theme which is further developed by Mitchell in the same volume. Clearly, in the cities we are going to find status achieved räther than ascribed in a more marked fashion than in the rural areas, though even here party politics and producer cooperatives now provide avenues to status which generate competition and envy. Mitchell notes that "as in the rural areas, Africans in towns interpret misfortunes in direct and personal terms", 75 and that, for instance, car accidents will be the result of "the machinations of some witch who owes the victim a personal grudge". 76 He tells us of the situation in a tobacco company where the relatively highly paid clerical staff lived in fear of witchcraft, whereas the unskilled laborers did not. He analyzes it thus. The unskilled laborers were present in large numbers, they were taking part in a seasonal task for which everyone was paid the same rate, and they possessed security in their home areas. He contrasts their situation with that of the clerks, who "compete for a few highly paid permanent posts in which there are opportunities for advancement. There are not many of them, and they are constantly together and know each other relatively well." 77 Another example of educated men being afraid of witchcraft because they were in a competitive situation came to my notice in the late 1950's in Tanzania. At a middle school where housing was provided for teachers, it was observed by an inspecting officer that none of the teachers' wives was using the outside kitchen and, instead, all were cooking on the traditional three stones in the house itself. It finally transpired that the reason was that no shutters had been put on the kitchen windows, thus allowing witches free entry to work their evil on the stoves and cooking pots. At the highest level, Lucy Mair reminds us that the present leader of an independent African state accused his rivals of using witchcraft against him. 78 73

M. G. Marwick, "The Social Context of Cewa Witchcraft Beliefs", Africa XXII (2) (1952), 120-35 and XXII (3) (1952), 215-33. 74 Marwick, "The Sociology of Sorcery and Witchcraft", African Systems of Thought, 185. 75 J. Clyde Mitchell, "The Meaning in Misfortune for Urban Africans", in African Systems of Thought, eds. M. Fortes and G. Dieterlen (London: Oxford University Press, 1965), 194. 76 Ibid. 77 Ibid., 196. 78 Mair, Witchcraft, 195.

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Examples of fear of witchcraft in the urban milieu and in modern rural circumstances are to be found, but not in such profusion as one might expect. Curiously, Southall's Social Change in Modem Africa contains no mention of sorcery or witchcraft by any of the authors in spite of its excellent discussion of most aspects of change. Similarly, Leslie's Survey of Dar es Salaam contains no reference to the subject, nor does Kuper's An African Bourgeoisie. Little's West African Urbanization mentions it only Very briefly as something with which the new cults are concerned. Wilson and Mafeje, on the other hand, discuss the matter well, give cases, and note that for urban Christian churchgoers witchcraft is as much a fact of life as it is for the uneducated rural dweller. As they put it, "The fear is real because envy and anger and lust are real, and men still think of them materializing as familiars", 79 nor are they thinking of persons outside the church. How do people attempt to deal with witchcraft in the changed circumstances of modern living? Traditionally, we know that, when a misfortune occurred, oracles were consulted by diviners and ordeals of one sort or another were common. Under colonial governments, this was no longer possible except in secret and it is a commonplace for us today to realize that the people often felt that the Europeans must be in league with or support the witches since the activities of witch doctors were proscribed. Nevertheless, they continued to operate. I have already noted that traditional religions were usually within kinship boundaries and that, in urban circumstances of social and cultural heterogeneity, they were seriously undermined because, like other institutions, the full cast of actors was simply not there to play their roles. In rural areas, while societies might remain relatively intact, at the same time people have been exposed to contacts with other peoples because of improved rail and road links. This may have bred more fears of generalized witchcraft and sorcery, but the other facet of this has been to allow for new magic to enter as a defensive force. This point has been raised by Gluckman in an essay appropriately entitled "The Magic of Despair", 80 and he quotes from Evans-Pritchard's original pioneering work: Azande, faced with a power they can neither stand up against nor avoid, have found in magic their last defence. New situations demand new magic, and European rule which is responsible for the new situations has opened up roads into neighboring countries which can supply the new magic.81 79

Monica Wilson and Archie Mafeje, Langa (Capetown: Oxford University Press, 1963), 111. 80 Gluckman, Rituals of Rebellion in South East Africa. 81 Evans-Pritchard, Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic Among the Azande, 513.

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Whether because the Europeans themselves came from unknown countries, one finds this constantly reiterated theme of magic from elsewhere it is hard to say, but it seems a reasonable supposition. In Tanzania it is a regular joke among workmen that when a job is held up someone always says, "Go to Usambara and get some medicine!," and in Kenya the same is said of Ukamba, both areas notorious for witchcraft. During the 1930's, the Bamucapi in Zambia, of whom Audrey Richatds wrote, owed their magical origin to Malawi, 82 as did the Bwanali-Mpulumutsi and Kamcape movements operating in Tanzania and Zambia in the 1940's and 1960's. 83 1 reported a similar case of modern witch-finding in 1959 from Unyaturu in Central Tanzania, 84 the man in this case being a Hehe from the Southern Highlands, and Mary Douglas gives us a list of seven separate anti-sorcery movements which occurred among the Lele and which originated elsewhere. Lucy Mair, too, notes that people in Ghana had shrines which originated in the Ivory Coast, whereas people in the Ivory Coast imported a cult from Ghana. 8 5 In many cases, these movements have elements of European bureaucratic procedures, but all have the same intention and, unfortunately, achieve the same barren result. There may be a temporary euphoria, a feeling that everything is now safe, there are no more witches or sorcerers. Yet gradually people realize that the same problems remain, misfortunes still occur, people fall sick and die. "But hope does not die, and there is always the possibility that the next witch-finder will be the genuine one." 8 6 But Mair herself, in an already quoted passage, provides the dusty answer to these hopes: "It is malice and hatred, and not sinister mystical powers, that disrupt the small community and that the villagers want to drive out, not foreseeing that they must endlessly return." 8 7 I have sought in this essay to examine the origins and functions of witchcraft beliefs. It is my speculative suggestion that settled agriculture 82

Audrey I. Richards, "A Modern Movement of Witchfmders", Africa VIII (4) (1935), 448-61. 83 Willis, "Kamcape: An Anti-Sorcery Movement in South Western Tanzania", Africa XXXVIII (2), 8. Willis speculates that the name Kamcape is of the same origin as the mcape (Bamucapi) and no doubt this is so. It was suggested by Richards that this was from the verb Ku-capa 'to wash clothes'. It is worth noting that the word usually means not to wash clothes except by extention (i.e. clothes are beaten out on a rock by a stream), and really means to beat, strike, or brand, which may have a connection with the "branding" of alleged sorcerers to which Willis refers, p. 9. 84 James L. Brain, "More Modern Witchiinding", Tanganyika Notes and Records 52 (1964). 85 Mair, Witchcraft, 164. 86 Ibid., 174. 87 Ibid., 152.

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probably saw the origin of such beliefs. The intersex hostility (and probably intrasex hostility in the case of males) generated by an immensely long period of male dominance was succeeded by a long hunting and gathering period. During both periods a separation of the sexes had a survival value in evolutionary terms and almost certainly led to an institutionalization of behavior considered appropriate to the sexes. If this behavior was crucial to survival, it would probably become part of the genetic code. Thus we have a rigid division into two complementary categories, males and females, quite different and antagonistic toward one another and yet utterly dependent on one another. Good reason for potential hostility, yet hostility could usually be resolved within a group during the hunting period simply by moving. With agricultural communities and, moreover, with unilineal descent of whichever kind and concomitant exogamy, the possibilities for hostility and impossibility of its resolution were compounded. If we add to this speculative section more factual data, the result is not encouraging. We know that envy and malice are human traits. We know only too well how common it is for people to project their own hostility onto others, and also how people displace the hatred they feel for one person onto another. Out of this emerge certain functions of witchcraft beliefs and accusations which it may be useful to enumerate: 1. The image of the "nightmare" witch and the "everyday" witch provide a dramatic "mythological charter" of what a society considers bad. 2. To avoid accusations of witchcraft, people will strive to conform to the norms of their society. In an egalitarian society, this may hinder modern "development" schemes. 3. A belief in witchcraft provides an explanation for misfortune in personalized terms. Contrary to popular belief, "The belief in science which explains the particularity of phenomena ... does not contradict science; indeed it embraces science."88 4. Witchcraft accusations may provide a means of expressing hostility in a culturally approved fashion between persons who, according to cultural norms, should love or respect one another. This hostility is probably often projected or displaced. Examination of the frequency of accusations may show that a particular relationship is prone to tension — for instance, in any situation where two persons are in competition for the favors of a third person. 88

Max Gluckman, "Psychological, Sociological and Anthropological Explanations of Witchcraft and Gossip: A Clarification", Man III (1) (March 1968), 142.

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5. Witchcraft accusations may have an "obstetric function", 89 in legitimizing the segmentation of groups for whom natural resources are no longer adequate. What of the future in the independent African countries and those which may one day achieve their independence? According to Middleton and Winter, "Most Africans see the situation as having deteriorated; their defenses against witches have been weakened and the practice of sorcery is on the rise." 90 Should anthropologists take the cultural relativist and functional stand and merely observe? Or should they listen to the voices which demand that we undertake only research which is "relevant" and useful to the African countries? If we take the latter course, should we prescribe; and, if so, to whom? Whether my speculations about the origins of witchcraft beliefs are correct or not, we know that witchcraft beliefs occur most in societies which are small-scale, where knowledge of causation is limited, and especially where resources are limited and disease prevalent. As Dürkheim pointed out long ago, nothing seems miraculous to the person unacquainted with the immutable physical laws of the universe,91 yet, as we have seen, scientific knowledge imparts only the "how" and not the "why". Only education in the widest sense presumably breaks down the personalized view of misfortune, although social and geographical mobility no doubt help.92 With the stereotyping and generalizing tendency to find scapegoats in our own society, we have little room to criticize, although this does not mean that we should applaud either this tendency or that of the witchcraft believer.

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Middleton and Winter, Witchcraft and Sorcery in East Africa, 25. Emile Dürkheim, The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (London: George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1915/64), 26. 92 Cf. Wilson and Mafeje, Langa, 111. 91

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1969 Human Variation: An Introduction to Physical Anthropology (Beverly Hills, California: Glencoe Press). DÜRKHEIM, EMILE

1915/64 The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (London: George Allen and Unwin, Ltd.). EVANS-PRITCHARD, Ε. E.

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1959 Oedipus and Job in West African Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). FOSTER, E. M.

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Peoples of Africa (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston). GLUCKMANN, MAX

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The Jgbo of South Eastern Nigeria (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston).

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1963 Langa (Capetown: Oxford University Press). WINTER, Ε. H.

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From Segmentary Lineage to Ethnic Association — Luo, Luhya, Ibo, and Others

AIDAN

SOUTHALL

PROLOGUE Lucy Mair has distinguished herself in the field of traditional ethnography, in the twilight zone of colonial administration, and also in the new field of the politics and social organization of recently liberated nations. In her theoretical and conceptual studies she achieved exceptional clarity and stylistic felicity. In tribute to her, I aspire to similar goals in endeavorring to trace ethnic associations from their ethnographic background, through the impact of colonial administration, to their place in the cities of independent Africa, and in discussing the conceptual problems involved. By ethnic associations I mean those in which the primary condition of membership is derivation from (or devotion to) a territorial community, or some local subdivision of it, which is felt to be distinctive in culture. BACKGROUND The Luo Union, which is a modern, urban organization, reflects the segmentary lineage structure of the traditional Luo social system and derives some of its operating mechanisms as well as structural features from it. That is the argument presented here, in a nutshell. The organization of the Luo Union in Kampala has been described in some detail by Parkin, 1 on whom I rely for much of my data, while suggesting a few 1

D. J. Parkin, Neighbours and Nationals in an African City Ward (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969), Chapter 8 and Appendix 2.

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modifications. The segmentary lineage system of traditional Luo society has been described in part by various authors. 2 I want to describe the main changes which occurred in the Luo lineage system from the time when the impact of non-African forces upon it became heavy at the end of the nineteenth century to the time when it became reflected in ethnic organizations outside Luoland during the last three decades. The purpose of recounting this sequence of events is to draw out some of its implications which may have a much wider relevance. For most of the detail I have to rely upon my own investigations of 1946 and 1947 in South Nyanza District of Kenya, which was then called South Kavirondo, and more particularly in Karachuonyo. This is not ideal, because most of the Luo who went to Uganda and formed associations in Kampala came from the nearer, northwestern parts of Luoland rather than from the more distant south. However, much that is true of Karachuonyo is true generally and will be confirmed by other sources where available, or else possible variations will be noted. Traditional, pre-colonial Luo society was decentralized, polysegmentary, and stateless. Leadership of the larger territorial groupings was not strictly hereditary. Some writers argue that something more nearly approaching hereditary chiefship existed in certain areas, such as Gem and Alego in the north (Central Nyanza). However, if such offices were hereditary, their powers were ritual rather than political. They did not greatly affect the articulation and working of the polysegmentary system until foreigners began to appear, by which time any leader who was suddenly able to acquire supplies of wealth or arms not generally available to others had opportunities of building up centralized power which had not previously existed. Cases of this can be found all over Africa at critical moments of foreign penetration, when able adventurers suddenly turned into chiefs and founded dynasties. But this does not seem to have happened to a very marked extent among the Luo. At the critical time of foreign penetration, Nyakiti was the great leader of Karachuonyo as his father Ogutu had been before him. The Karachuonyo elders told me that the Arabs came through Gem — in the north of Luoland, nearest to the main caravan route from the Coast 2

Ε. E. Evans-Pritchard, "Luo Tribes and Clans", Rhodes-Livingstone Journal 7, reprinted in The Position of Women in Primitive Societies and Other Essays in Social Anthropology (New York: Free Press, 1965); A. W. Southall, Lineage Formation Among the Luo (= International African Institute Memorandum XXVI, 1952); G. M. Wilson, Luo Customary Law and Marriage Laws Customs: Colony and Protectorate of Kenya (1961); G. M. Whisson, Change and Challenge (Nairobi, 1961); B. A. Ogot, History of the Southern Luo, I, Migration and Settlement, J500-1900 (Nairobi: East African Publishing House, 1967).

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through western Kenya to Buganda — to South Kavirondo and Karachuonyo, buying so many sheep that the elders sent Nyakiti to Kitoto, the great leader of Kano, to find out his opinion on them. Kitoto told Nyakiti that the Arabs and Europeans were coming to occupy the country and that he should return to Karachuonyo and remain as chief so that it would be he who would invite the Europeans in when they arrived. Whatever the historical accuracy of this account, it seems symbolically true. Nyakiti was recognized as chief of Karachuonyo when the British Administration was established. But although Nyakiti was the great leader of Karachuonyo, as Kitoto was of Kano, and their counterparts in the other Luo sub-tribes,3 none of these leaders had any authority or sanctions of their own beyond the support of the leaders of all the component segments. For example, Karachuonyo had five maximal segments, thirty-one major segments, over a hundred minor segments, and several hundreds of minimal segments corresponding to primary local settlements.4 Nyakiti depended upon the approval and support of leaders of the maximal segments and the larger major segments. Segments corresponding to primary settlements were fairly even in size and population, but the maximal segments varied strikingly. In the 1940's, one maximal segment was as large and populous as all the rest of them put together, and the second largest was also as big as the smaller three. This had obvious implications in the traditional political system, but for colonial administration — as everywhere in Africa — it meant attempts at more even divisions through splitting very large units and amalgamating very small ones. The administrative divisions which emerged were therefore a close reflection of traditional units but diverged from them at a number of points. Karachuonyo was not a clan, but a relatively autonomous territory corresponding to the area occupied and controlled by a specific lineage grouping — the agnatic descendants of Rachuonyo's five wives. The people of Karachuonyo regarded themselves as part of a much more extensive agnatic, exogamous structure of localized lineages. First of all, their immediate neighbors of Kasipul (with a population of 46,497 in 1947 compared to the 44,830 of Karachuonyo) were genealogically defined as the descendants of Rachuonyo's eldest son Sipul by a woman he inherited from her husband Chien. In a very real sense, Kasipul is also part of Karachuonyo but it had become so big that Kasipul and the 3 4

Ogot, History of the Southern Luo, 239. Southall, Lineage Formation Among the Luo.

206 AIDAN SOUTHALL

rest of Karachuonyo had come to treat each other as more or less autonomous political coordinates, bound by exogamy in the same agnatic ancestry. Furthermore, the smaller population groups of Kanyamwa, Kadem, Kabuoch, and Karungu were also regarded by Kasipul and Karachuonyo as part of the same exogamous unit, being all agnatic descendants of Rachuonyo's brother Chwanya. Since their territories were separated from Karachuonyo by those of other agnatic groups, they were no longer in direct contact and the rule of exogamy was somewhat hypothetical. Yet even this very large agnatic group had no clan name or diagnostic criteria, but laid claim to yet further agnatic links with the occupants of other Luo territories such as Kisumo and Uyoma, although at this level there was little agreement in the manner in which the various far-flung groups envisaged the genealogical links between them. Thus, exogamy, putative kinship, and claims to contingent rights and obligations extended far beyond the level of autonomous territorial communities and the descent groups directly associated with them, but beyond this level the definition of group relationships became more vague and variable as social interaction became more intermittent and occasional. The concept of clan, so constantly used in the literature, applies very poorly and inconsistently to many Luo groups (as it does also, for example, to the Tiv), although there are others to whom it can more easily be applied. This must be borne in mind when we refer to Luo clans later in the sense used by other writers. Luo segmentary lineages do not conform to the maximal-major-minor-minimal straitjacket except as a terminological convenience. In one situation, many more segmentary levels may be relevant; in others, less. The relative relationship of population, territory, agnation, and segmentation is made quite clear in the maps and charts of my study of Karachuonyo. 5 The colonial administration wanted chiefs who had the respect of the people and could therefore, it was hoped, get administrative orders carried out. But, as. has been noted so often, a chief who imposed the will of the colonial administration on his people tended to lose their trust and be regarded as a traitor; and, if he honestly represented the interests of his people to the administration, he tended to lose his job. Thus, the first administrators noted that the Luo chiefs, whom they appointed, were either "incompetent" (because true to their traditional roles) or else tried to destroy the power of the elders (exploiting the changed situation to gain autocratic power for themselves and becoming "despots") — that is, the elders-in-council with whose advice and sup5

Ibid.

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port they were supposed to rule. 6 There was constant administrative complaint of the elders' refusal to enforce decisions and unwillingness to use the powers of fining and imprisonment which had been conferred upon them. This is exactly the kind of reaction to be expected from a segmentary lineage system to such a situation. The Luo were disparagingly and contradictorily reported as being "docile, prosperous and unprogressive". Chiefs were instructed to act with their elders for the hearing of civil cases and the elders' councils were told to meet every new and full moon, with one elder present from every clan. What "clan" meant in this context was never made clear and its use has remained arbitrary until this day. The areas whose leaders had been recognized as government chiefs were referred to in English as locations. The first crop of chiefs was, by the very nature of the traditional roles which they were already playing, intrinsically unfit to perform what the colonial government required. The chiefs were also too numerous for the few white officials to keep in effective contact with on foot. So a completely artificial system of Paramount Chiefs was introduced between 1902 and 1913. Nyakiti's successor Orinda became Paramount Chief of the two large and densely populated locations of Karachuonyo and Kasipul, while Chief Gor of Kanyamwa was made Paramount over the vast area of the twenty-two other Luo locations of South Kavirondo, including the islands of Rusinga and Mfang'ano. Also in South Kavirondo were the Gusii, with their own Paramount chief, and the Kuria, Tende, and Masai under a fourth. The system did not work well and by 1919 the Paramount Chiefs had lapsed or been abolished. But the colonial administration was able to deceive itself sufficiently over the Paramount Chiefs that a few decades later local officials looked back at their artificial creation as though it was really traditional. When I visited Kanyamwa in 1946, the District Officer referred to Gor's son — by then government chief of Kanyamwa location and presiding over the baraza (assembly) we were attending — with jocular respect as "a chip off the old block" and "son of the old Duke". In 1913, courts of elders, excluding the chief, had been set up for each location, but the chief's council retained power to hear cases until 1938, when divisional tribunals, each covering several locations, were established quite independently of the administration based on the chiefs. 7 In 1923, civil cases were officially

6

B. A. Ogot, "British Administration in Central Nyanza, 1900-1960", Journal of African History 4 (2) (1963), 249-73. 7 A. Phillips, Report on Native Tribunals (Nairobi: Government Printer, 1949).

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removed from the chiefs' councils to central tribunals, although the chiefs' councils retained a minor criminal jurisdiction. The last traditional expressions of the corporate solidarity of subtribes and maximal lineages occurred in 1909, when "Kagan drove their cattle into Kanyaluo and challenged combat"; in 1910, when the same occurred between Kogweno and Kagan, with two killed and several wounded; and, lastly, in 1911 between Kochia and Karachuonyo, with two killed and several wounded. These were probably the last full performances of the custom of Tero buru (to take the ashes) whereby, on the death of an important elder, all the men of the group drove their cattle in front of them into the territory of another lineage towards which they were traditionally hostile and with whom they intermarried. The invaded lineage reciprocated by driving its own cattle before it into the fray, whereupon both sides endeavored to capture one another's cattle and to drive one another back. While this ritual combat relieved some of the pent-up feelings caused by an elder's death (attributed to the mystical action of an enemy), it was sufficiently chaotic to inhibit severe fighting, although some casualties could occur as noted. 8 Wagner refers to similar practices among the Luhya groups. 9 At lower levels of the lineage structure, the approved mode of interaction between segments became progressively less violent, with spears prohibited and the rival teams engaging in wrestling instead of fighting, or — even more gently — playing the traditional Luo version of hockey (adhula). The major force of disturbance in the life of the ordinary Luo was the hut tax, which, combined with the administrative pressure and encouragement so insistently demanded by the white settlers, began to force Luo men in ever increasing numbers to leave home to work for wages. The report of the Kenya Labor Commission of 1912 portrays vividly, if unwittingly, the strength of the European conviction that it was a moral obligation to coerce the idle natives into honest toil for their masters' profit. This attitude of Kenya and other white settler countries of Africa was, of course, comparable to that of the North American pioneers, who felt that Indians who would neither work for their invaders nor exploit their lands in the manner of the latter, forfeited their birthright. The impact of taxation and pressure to go out to work was intensified during World War I by the commandeering of cattle for supplies and the recruiting of personnel for the Carrier Corps, followed by a heavy loss

8

Evans-Pritchard, "Luo Tribes and Clans", 211 (1965). G. Wagner, The Bantu of North Kavirondo, Vol. I (I.A.I for O.U.P., 1949), 278, 453, 457. 9

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of life, mainly from disease and lack of adequate medical care.10 In 1925,1,200 men from South Kavirondo were forced to go and work on the construction of the Uasin Gishu Railway. This eventually provided a direct rail link from the Coast to Kampala which reduced the importance of the earlier line to Kisumu, the provincial administrative capital in Luo country, whence the steamboats plied across Lake Victoria to Port Bell on the outskirts of Kampala. 11 This cheap route remained popular with the Luo. It made Kampala at least as readily accessible to them as Nairobi and contributed to the presence there of a growing body of Luo employees as well as a trade in pots, chickens, goats, and fish. The local government system of the lineage-derived locations of Luoland was gradually formalized and strengthened. Under the location chief there were sub-chiefs and headmen at two lower levels. These units also were originally based on segmentary lineage territories at different levels one inside the other and remained strongly associated with them but subject to amalgamation or splitting, according to the colonial government's requirements of reasonable equivalence in size or numbers. The chiefs and headmen came to be entirely dependent upon the approval and support of the colonial administration. They held office indefinitely at the pleasure of the latter, but new incumbents were supposed to be chosen from candidates who had won popular support in rough and ready election. The people were represented by elders chosen from lineages of suitable size, either singly or grouped together. Thus, if three representative positions were assigned to a territorial area in the name of a lineage segment, we must assume that the three positions were distributed either among the sub-segments of the lineage or among the coordinate segments associated with it in the designated area, according to the prevailing situation in each instance, which was obviously clear to the people themselves but not necessarily to the colonial officials. From 1925 onwards, local native councils were formed in South Kavirondo, one for all the Luo locations, including the Suba, a dwindling Bantu group who were gradually incorporated by the Luo, and another for the Gusii and Kuria-Tende locations. The two councils began to meet jointly in 1933 and were amalgamated in 1936 to form a single council for the whole district. The councillors were at first mainly officials, chosen by the British colonial officials from among the chiefs, together with selected elders as unofficials. By 1946, the number of unofficials was 10

Ogot, "British Administration in Central Nyanza", 258. Η. B. Thomas and R. Scott, Uganda (London: Oxford University Press, 1935), 234; V. C. R. Forde, The Trade of Lake Victoria (=East African Studies 3) (Kampala, Uganda: 1955).

11

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equated with that of the officials. However, by this time it was becoming increasingly doubtful how representative the lineage elders were of the newer elements and issues in the population. Methods of election were slowly brought closer to those of universal adult suffrage by secret ballot, the proportion of unofficial elected members continued to grow, and the powers and resources of the council were increased. The chiefs themselves became more educated, more bureaucratic, and more office bound, further and further away from the original model of the great leader of Nyakiti's time. Nearly all land was still controlled corporately by the segmentary lineages according to largely unchanged customary rules. It was from this background, which we have so briefly sketched, that the Luo migrant workers in the big cities came, driven from home by the tyranny of chiefs bribed by labor recruiters; by the increasing land shortage and land exhaustion resulting from population growth and cashcropping; by the necessity to earn money for tax and then for marriage, for clothes, for education, and the increasing multitude of new needs which began to possess them.

THE LUO A N D LUHYA ETHNIC ASSOCIATIONS The Luo Union has not yet been adequately studied, despite Parkin's good beginning for Kampala. It is to be found also in Nairobi, Mombasa, Dar-es-Salaam and other towns, not to speak of Kisumu itself. According to Parkin's informant, the Luo Union in Kampala was established in 1947.12 Certainly it existed some years before this, since B. F .F. Oluande found an extensive organization of location and clan associations already present during an investigation in 1946. According to Parkin's informant, it was the centralized Luo Union itself which was first started in 1947 and then, with increasing numbers of Luo in Kampala, location associations were formed which the Union later recognized and finally, through disputes and rivalries and "a still unsatisfied need for individual welfare", clan associations were also formed. It is at least clear that the segmentary processes of rivalry and complementary opposition were at work in Kampala, to divide members of different local lineages yet unite them in more inclusive lineages or clans or sub-tribes at higher levels culminating in the all-inclusive Luo Union itself. It was not the Luo Union which established sub-tribal or location associations as sub-branches of itself, nor the latter which formed clan 12

Parkin, Neighbours and Nationals in an African City Ward, 155.

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associations as smaller branches of themselves. It was, rather, the other way round. The clan associations were the smallest, the most informal, and the most ephemeral, composed of fairly unskilled, poorly educated people of low income and uncertain employment. It depended upon who was in town at any particular period what local lineage or clan would provide the appropriate reference for mutual aid between those needing it most, though the lineages of the areas from which most migrants came were always most likely to be those in whose name the attempt was made to establish and maintain mutual aid associations. More ambitious persons, whose stake in town was sufficiently great to encourage them to aim at leadership, would attempt to harness the support of all the clan associations of a particular sub-tribe or location to express the unity of the latter. Still more important and well established Luo constantly tried to unite all subtribe-location associations in loyalty to the Kampala branch of the all-inclusive Luo Union. The bodies formed at these three levels were all essentially independent of one another, but to a degree it was in the interests of all to come together and unite for certain purposes, while for others it was more in their interest to operate at subtribe-location level or at clan level, paying little heed for the moment to the Luo Union or its officers. At each level of organization the type of people involved in leadership, the resources available, and hence the appropriate activities all varied. The Luo Union was a characteristically latent institutionalized role structure, attracting considerable loyalty in principle, but intermittent activity and infrequent financial contributions. It was run by officers drawn from among the Luo of higher socioeconomic status in town. It might even have officers of the very highest status, such as university lecturers. This was mutually advantageous in that it recognized and publicized the successful achievements of these prominent Luo, while they also shed glory on their more lowly fellow members and used their influence on their behalf. Some of them worked extremely hard for the benefit of the Luo in Kampala, while others were mere honorific figureheads who appeared on certain public occasions but otherwise did little work for the Union. The officers of the Union claimed to represent the Luo in town, and rightly so since they were popularly elected. They also claimed official leadership of all the "location" and "clan" associations as major and minor segments of the whole, but this claim was not generally recognized by the members of these associations, for they organized themselves spontaneously and were in no sense directly established by the Luo Union as it branches. Many of their members gathered together in the name of the Luo Union on important occasions, participated in elections of its officers, and made contributions to its funds.

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But Union dues were very irregularly paid and most of the time the "location" and "clan" associations acted autonomously, just as major and minor lineage segments did in pre-colonial Luo society. Parkin has shown clearly the difference of interests and functions at the various levels of Luo Union and association organization and how ambitious individuals used these different levels of support to pass from one to the other and at the highest level drew upon the strength of the Union to launch themselves into more important civic organizations. It is improper to call ethnic associations such as the Luo Union tribal. In the first place, autonomous tribal systems ceased to exist from the imposition of colonial rule at the end of the nineteenth century; 13 while, in the second, ethnic associations such as the Luo Union are a new transformation, in a new situation, for new purposes and, if they are to be categorized, they belong to the class which includes the Polish, Irish, German, or Italian clubs and associations in many American cities, 14 the Greek clubs in Mediterranean and African countries, somewhat more distantly the Caledonian societies of the Scots abroad, and the Indian associations in East Africa itself. It is reasonable to suppose that analogous developments occurred among the Luo in Nairobi, Mombasa, and Dar-es-Salaam — that is to say, in any of the non-traditional employment centers where large numbers of them were congregated. In each case, certain parts of the localized, corporate, segmentary structure of the Luo at home were reflected and represented in the new organizations of those abroad, according to which segments were present in the greatest numbers and with the greatest needs of the type which the new organization at its various levels could supply. The ethnic association created in Kampala by the Luhya, immediate Bantu neighbors of the Nilotic Luo in Kenya, was in many respects similar to the Luo Union, having a three-tiered pyramidal structure. 15 Both offered opportunities to potential leaders of different types and statuses at their different levels of organization, which, indeed, resulted directly from the efforts of such persons. This makes it particularly interesting that the social structure of the Luhya at home differs from that of the Luo in one important respect — namely, that the Luhya as a 13

A. W. Southall, "The Illusion of Tribe", Journal of Asian and African Studies 5 (1-2) (1970). 14 M. P. Banton, "Social Alignment and Identity in a West African City", in Urbanization and Migration in West Africa, ed. H. Kuper (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1965), 131. 15 Parkin, Neighbours and Nationals in an African City Ward, 169.

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distinct ethnic entity came into existence only during the 1940's, as I have described in some detail elsewhere. 16 The pre-colonial Luhya consisted of a number of entirely autonomous groups without any common name or identity recognized by themselves. They did not share a single, mutually intelligible common language, although they could be grouped into clusters of similar dialect 17 and shared many similar features of social organization. Their autonomous components were of approximately similar size to the sub-sections of the Luo which have been referred to as sub-tribes, but like the Luo they were made up of localized agnatic lineages with a segmentary structure. In other words, Luhya lineages were shallower than those of the Luo. They were called Bantu Kavirondo by the early colonial administration but this designation was later dropped because the people regarded it as foreign and derogatory. They were treated as a single administrative district, so that a structural unity was imposed upon them which had not existed before. Like the Luo, they passed through the Local Native Council stage to an elected District Council with considerable tax funds at its disposal, so that the structural unity acquired great meaning for the emerging leadership of educated Luhya. Within the context of a wider Kenya, moving towards political independence, the newly crystallized Luhya identity became a necessary basis of action in competition with other ethnic groups in Kenya, for the District was the minimal effective unit for common political and economic action within the emerging national framework. The traditional pyramidal structure of the Luhya was thus carried to a higher level by and in reaction to the imposition of colonial administration, so constituting a new ethnic entity very similar in size to that of the Luo. We can thus relate the formation of urban ethnic associations not merely to traditional social organization as it was before the imposition of colonial rule, but also as it developed within the framework of colonial administration. The point is illustrated further by the case of the Samia, who in culture and social organization belong to the Luhya cluster of peoples but, because their territory is partly in Kenya and partly in Uganda and because even their Kenya section was administered in a different district from the rest of the Luhya, maintained a separate identity of their own and formed a separate urban Samia Association which also had an internal segmentary structure but more limited than in the case of the Luhya Association because of the small size of the group as a whole. The 16 17

Southall, "The Illusion of Tribe", 33-35. Wagner, The Bantu of North Kavirondo, 19-27.

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Bahayo neighbors of the Samia have several clans and lineages in common with them, but count as Luhya because they were administered in the same district as the other Luhya groups. Bahayo lineages such as Bahabi, Baguri, and Bahone are known to have urban associations in Nairobi and Mombasa which, as already described for the Luo, do not consider themselves as branches of the Abaluhya Association although they would be so considered by the latter. The crucial common feature of Luo and Luhya social organization was that the most valuable forms of property — land, women, and cattle — were controlled by a widening, articulated series of local groups fashioned in the idiom of agnatic knship. This syndrome satisfies the condition stated by Banton in his suggestion that, other things being equal, the more devolution of authority there is in the traditional social structure, the more easily contractual associations are established.18 Devolution is not a very satisfactory concept here, implying as it does the delegation of authority from a center which, in the cases we are considering, did not exist. Furthermore, it is highly doubtful whether traditional social organization determines the speed at which contractual associations of all kinds emerge in new situations, as Banton's statement clearly implies. Parkin refers to Banton's hypothesis with apparent approval but refines it to suggest that a tendency to create ethnic associations is associated with the absence of specialized authority roles in the traditional system and relatively strong persistence of effective kinship relationships in town; whereas, when kin relationships are looser knit, less restrictive, and more open to choice, with more reliance on a traditionally based but continuing system of secular fulltime chiefs, there is less tendency to form ethnic associations.19 This fits many features of the Kampala situation quite well, though there are rather serious exceptions to it, such as the Banyarwanda. I do not think it will hold up generally because it omits some crucial factors, such as distance between rural home and place of urban employment. I would rather suggest quite simply that, other things being equal (such as the distance factor), the social structure of an ethnic group in its home area is one of the major determinants of the type of ethnic associations which its members form when they are away from home. The question, of course, is whether "other things" are ever sufficiently equal in the different situations which we endeavor to compare.

18 19

M. P. Banton, West African City (I.A.I, for O.U.P.: 1957), 216. Parkin, Neighbours and Nationals in an African City Ward, 185.

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IBO A N D OTHER TEST CASES With respect to these issues, various writers have contrasted the Luo and Luhya with the Interlacustrine Bantu, 20 the Temne with the Mende, 21 the Kru with the Vai, 22 or the Ibo with the Yoruba. However, the data on these cases are not adequate to permit a sufficiently refined and controlled comparison to be made. Nonetheless, a number of similarities between the ethnic associations of the Ibo and those of the Luo and Luhya are evident. All three possess the aforementioned syndrome, which seems to have generated an essentially similar structure of segmentary, articulated, locally derived, and ethnically-based associations among the large communities of immigrant Ibo in the great cities of Nigeria. It is true that traditional Ibo social organization differed from Luo and Luhya in the presence of age-based groupings and competitive title-taking within the lineage framework. It does not appear that traditional age organization has had a very direct influence upon immigrant Ibo associations, though it may strengthen the use of elders as patrons and the etiquette between elders and juniors within the union. But competitive title-taking still provides a mechanism whereby Ibo abroad reintegrate themselves at home by maintaining and often raising their status there in this way. In so far as title-taking integrates personal ambition with the conferring of benefits upon one's home group and thereby the competitive boosting of each articulated level of grouping to which one belongs, title-taking and ethnic association membership become mutually reinforcing influences among the Ibo abroad, further manifested in the construction of ostentatious residences back home, the giving of scholarships for the higher education of home boys abroad, and the improvement of health, education, and welfare services generally. All these activities minister both to the advancement and status renown of the individuals who pioneer them and to the well-being of the recipients, both aspects furthering the competitive standing of the group in relation to its rival coordinates at each level, from minor lineage to major lineage and clan, from corresponding village to village group or cluster, to town, district, region, or province and ultimately the Ibo ethnic group as a whole,

20

Parkin, Neighbours and Nationals in an African City Ward; A. W. Southall, "The Concept of Elites and Their Formation in Uganda", in The New Elites of Tropical Africa, ed. P. C. Lloyd (I.A.I, for O.U.P.: 1966). 21 Banton, West African City and "Social Alignment and Identity in a West African City". 22 M. Fraenkel, Tribe and Class in Monrovia (I.A.I, for O.U.P.: 1964).

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represented by the local branch of the Ibo State Union. 23 The higher the levej of membership grouping at which leadership, boosting, and welfare promotion occur, the higher the prestige and status to be gained in the process. What are referred to as "clan" unions (as among the Luo) began to form in the 1930's and, by 1944, more inclusive associations such as the Mbaise Union appeared. 24 The Ibo State Union (corresponding to the all-inclusive Luo Union) had its largest branch in Lagos, but also in Ibadan, Kaduna, Kano, and other cities (like the Luo Union in Nairobi, Kampala, and Dar-es-Salaam). Within the Ibo State Union were regionally defined branches, such as the Western Ibo Union (also in Lagos, Ibadan, and Kaduna) and in each case within the regionally defined branches were several lower segmentary levels of branches based on the rural solidarities of more and less territorially inclusive districts, "towns", village clusters, villages, and clans or lineages.25 The precise nature of the rural solidarities reflected in the different levels of the Ibo Union is not reported, but from all that has been written on the Ibo it would appear that the influence of localized agnatic groupings was as great as among the Luo and Luhya. Furthermore, in all these cases it seems to have been the lower segmentary levels which produced associations first and the more inclusive organizations which appeared later. In all these respects the similarities in structure and function with the Luo and Luhya associations are quite exact, except to the degree that among the Ibo the scale and numbers involved are far greater and that the associations and their activities have become so fundamental to Ibo social life that, while technically regarded as "voluntary" associations in which membership is achieved by personal choice and not by ascription, nonetheless such membership appears to have become almost universal and, in effect, compulsory. It is important to note that in the case of all three peoples there has been the same dialectical process whereby traditional structures at home were interpreted and transformed to the furtherance of new functions abroad, later feeding back home with the establishment at home of the organization created abroad, thus by a double transformation regenerating the life of the home communities. Neither Luo, Luhya, nor Ibo were ever represented by any organiza23

J. S. Coleman, Nigeria: Background to Nationalism (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1965), 330-41. 24 Audrey C. Smock, Ibo Politics: The Role of Ethnic Unions in Eastern Nigeria (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1971). 25 C. Okonjo, "A Preliminary Medium Estimate of the 1962 Mid-Year Population of Nigeria", in The Population of Tropical Africa, eds. J. C. Caldwell and C. Okonjo (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968).

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tion claiming to speak for them as a whole until these ethnic associations appeared. They first appeared abroad, not at home, in the foreign cities to which the migrants had gone to work, not in the cities of their homelands. It was at a later stage that the associations formed home branches to promote the welfare and advancement of their home communities. At a very different level and with different structure and purposes, the Egbe Omo Oduduwa is said to have been formed by Yoruba students in London and then brought home to Yorubaland. For lack of adequate data, the Luo, Luhya, and Ibo are the only peoples upon whom this particular interpretation can be fully tested. It is at least an interesting trio, completely diverse in language and culture, yet with essential similarities of traditional structure and of migrant labor situation. But as Luo and Luhya have been contrasted with Interlacustrine Bantu and Ibo with Yoruba, so have Kru been contrasted with Vai and Temne with Mende. It would seem that, whereas the relevant factors are sufficiently alike in the case of our trio, this is not so for the Kru or Temne. The Kru are perhaps closer than the Temne. Despite their long and special history of seafaring and of rule by the Americo-Liberians rather than by European colonizers, the Kru have (as far as I can tell) a version of the same home syndrome, in which the most valuable forms of property were controlled by a widening articulated series of local groups fashioned in the idiom of kinship. But the information about Kru associations fails to tell us what we really need to know. We are told that Kru men's associations nearly all group men "of a particular tribe or sub-tribe" (dako), such as Sasstown {dako) Youth Association or Jioh (dako) Progressive Club, 26 but no overall Kru association linking these together is mentioned, so we must assume there is none. On the other hand, some Kru associations "apparently cut across dako divisions" but consist of older men of more established status and do not seem to aim at becoming umbrella organizations claiming to incorporate the rest as branches. Kru local descent groups were also specialized in the geographical focus of their labor migration: "Jioh and Gbeta monopolize stevedoring from Monrovia, the 'Five Tribes' predominate in the Freetown Kru colony, while for Sasstown and Grand Cess the traditional goals of migration were Sekondi-Takoradi." 27 It is quite likely that there is some geographical focus to Luo migration also, to the extent that the northwestern Luo, such as those of Ugenya, were overrepresented in Kampala, which is the 26 27

155.

Fraenkel, Tribe and Class in Monrovia, 184-85. M. Fraenkel, "Social Change on the Kru Coast of Liberia", Africa 36 (2) (1966),

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nearest metropolitan city to them, while the eastern Luo, stich as those of Kisumo or Kano, were overrepresented in Nairobi, which is the nearest metropolitan city to them, but this does not amount to any exclusive claims by particular Luo sections to particular cities. When we come to the Temne and Mende, we are faced with the odd situation in which the indigenous local majority group fails to dominate the city which in these senses belongs to them. The situation of the Lebu in Dakar, the Zaramo in Dar-es-Salaam, and perhaps the Ga in Accra is parallel since the non-local Wolof, Afro-Arab, and Akan peoples have tended to set the cultural tone of these cities, respectively, thus contrasting with the more usual local dominance of Ganda in Kampala, 28 Yoruba in Lagos, Ashanti in Kumasi, Amhara in Addis Ababa, or Merina in Tananarive. Ban ton argues that the traditional social organization of the Mende was more hierarchical than that of the Temne, their chiefs having secular power while only ritual authority was exercised by the latter, correlating this with the proclivity of the Temne for forming associations, by means of the "devolution" hypothesis. But, as with the Kru and Vai, we are told only that the one forms more associations than the other, not what structure integrates their numerous associations, if any, so that we must assume there is none. A further important factor which appears relevant to the greater strength of ethnic associations among the Temne and Kru than among the Mende and Vai is the generally greater strength of Poro organization among the latter two peoples. The conclusion is, therefore, that the factors in the Kru and Temne cases are not sufficiently similar, or sufficiently well reported, for the Luo-Luhya-Ibo hypothesis to be applied to them in the same form. In this we argued that the critical variables of both the internal situations of traditional structure undergoing colonial transformation, and the external situations of migrant to urban employment, were sufficiently similar in all three cases to make comparison fruitful, even while noting differences of culture and of scale. If our comparison is valid for these three cases, we may assume that it might be valid for a number of others if the data were available. Similarly constructed but different hypotheses should also apply to other clusters of cases where the particular constellation of critical variables is different.

28

A. W. Southall, "Determinants of the Social Structure of African Urban Populations, with special reference to Kampala", in UNESCO, Social Implications of Urbanization and Industrialization in Africa South of the Sahara (1956). Reprinted in Social Change: The Colonial Situation, ed. I. Wallerstein (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1966).

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FACTORS A N D QUESTIONS It is obviously necessary not only to distinguish the various factors with sufficient refinement but to make clear what question is being asked, for the former to some extent depend on the latter. I would like to mention some of the main factors and questions, not claiming them to be exhaustive, but that all these have already been shown to be relevant by various studies in one case or another. We have already dealt, directly or by implication, with many of the types of factors relevant to the home or internal situation: traditional social structure, centralized and hierarchical or decentralized and egalitarian ("devolution of authority"); within the latter type, the segmentary lineage system with which we have been particularly concerned is only one possibility; in either case, the presence or absence of general adherence to a supraethnic religion, such as Islam, is clearly important, as in the case of the Hausa in Ibadan; 2 9 the presence of patron-client relationships in traditionally hierarchical structures offers the possibility of transfer to urban contexts as an alternative to ethnic associations; besides the traditional structure itself, the type of administration experienced at the hands of colonial and now independent national governments has largely determined the pattern of transformation of traditional institutions; the form, length, and intensity of Christian missionary activity and of school education are other factors of the same type. The major external factors are: the degree and intensity of involvement in migrant labor; how near or far from home the place of employment is; the type of occupation, skilled or unskilled, commercial or professional, and how, if at all, these relate to traditional occupations; further related aspects arc the brevity or duration of urban involvement for the type of person in question, thus how many of each ethnic group are present in the place of employment and for how long, with wives and families or not — and the phase of transformation of the home society and of the migrant labor system itself, together with the type of urban administration, housing, land, and employment policy involved. We must make it clearer than has usually been the case whether we are asking what associations of all kinds the members of a particular ethnic group establish or belong to; whether we are asking how many associations they form or what proportion of them belong to them and in how manifest or latent a manner; or whether we are interested in all 29

A. Cohen, Custom and Politics in Urban Africa: A Study of Hausa Migrants in Yoruba Towns (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1969).

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"voluntary associations" or only in ethnic associations, giving clear definitions of what we mean by these designations; related to this is the need to consider men and women, or high and low status persons separately. Thus it has been shown by Meillassoux that in Bamako it is immigrants of lower socioeconomic status who mainly form associations based on ethnic group or rural locality, while the middle group of craftsmen, traders, and wage-earners form associations more on the basis of urban locality or ward, and the elite of nobles, merchants, and civil servants form them, if at all, on the basis of occupation and social achievement. 30 A few examples may be given from extant studies or from studies obviously needed, to show the significance of these factors and questions. In the interpretation of Luo, Luhya, and Ibo associations, we were concerned only with ethnically-based associations and with the question as to whether ethnic associations of a particular structure away from home are generated by a particular kind of traditional social structure at home, when other relevant internal and external conditions permit. It may at first sight seem painfully obvious that segmentary lineage at home gives rise to segmentary associational structure abroad, when people migrate to cities. On the other hand, it might be argued that a branch and sub-branch organization is an obvious kind of structure and that, if it is ethnic, the different levels of territorial grouping at home are the most obvious basis for it, without invoking segmentary lineages at all. However, our suggestion is precisely that it is when territorial groupings are ideologically equated with segmentary descent groups in traditional structure that segmentary ethnic associations appear, other conditions permitting. The nominal structure of the urban-based associations in these cases is derived from rural not urban groupings (see diagrams). No case is so far known of the formation of three- or four-tiered urban ethnic associations except when the members come from a rural background of localized, polysegmentary descent groups. Only further examination of these and other suitable cases can provide further proof. The Tiv would seem to be a good test. Do they have urban associations and are they segmentary? Or are there factors in their administration or in their migrant labor situation which inhibited such a development? 31 The Host-Migrant polarity introduced by Parkin aims at combining too many variables which do not necessarily belong together, so that a 30

Claude Meillassoux, The Urbanization of an African Community: Voluntary Associations in Bamako (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1968). 31 Since writing the above, I have received information from Nigeria to the effect that there is a Tiv ethnic association which also has a segmentary structure of the Luo, Luhya, Ibo type, thus confirming my hypothesis. I await further details.

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Association

lot of special pleading is required in its exposition.32 Thus, the Nyoro, Toro, and Soga, who are certainly migrants in Kampala, which is not situated in their home country, are classed as hosts on the pretext that they easily assimilate and identify with the Ganda, who are the real hosts. This is true, but so do some Ankole and Rwanda, who are classed as migrants. It is too far-fetched to suggest that Toro or Nyoro "figuratively owned Kampala", 33 especially in view of the hostility between Nyoro and Ganda throughout such a long period. There is no doubt that the host-migrant contrast, although recognized as "ideal types" 34 rather far removed from the empirical facts as a whole and therefore "necessarily crude", 35 does draw attention to important differences of traditional authority system and descent group structure; land, status, and inheritance systems; attitudes towards women, rights of paternity, bridewealth, interethnic marriage, and ideology of brotherhood. The only trouble is that many of these factors differ in their distribution, so that who is "host" and who is "migrant" varies according to which factor is considered. Parkin speculates as to what would happen to a host people, under certain circumstances, if they were very numerous in a foreign town. This is far from being merely a hypothetical problem as he suggests36 even for the Ganda, and there are many other test cases. The Yoruba, clearly a "host" people in their own cities of southern Nigeria and Dahomey, have formed many strong associations of ethnic type in cities which are both very distant from their homes and also in foreign countries such as Niamey in Niger, and Freetown in Sierra Leone, not to speak of the formation of Egbe Omo Oduduwa in London, as mentioned above. The Yoruba association in Niamey was found by Bernus to be the strongest of all despite the unfavorable attitude of French colonial administration. 37 She sees it as directly derived from the institutions of Yoruba society, but there is no clear exposition of this point. In Freetown, Yoruba ethnic organization has for a very long time reflected rivalry between orthodox Muslims focused upon the mosque and non-Muslims focused upon the Egungun society, which in this context falls into the pattern of secret societies characteristic of that part of West Africa. 38 Likewise the Rwanda, who clearly conform to most of the "host" specifications 32

Parkin, Neighbours and Nationals in an African City Ward, 92-93. Ibid. 34 Ibid., 106. 35 Ibid., 143. 36 Ibid., 147. 37 S. Bernus, Particularismes ethniques en milieu urbain: U example (Paris: Institut d'Ethnologie, 1969), 167-69. 38 Banton, West African City, 153. 33

de

Niamey

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in their own country, also formed strong ethnic associations in Kampala. There was even a Nyasa association in Kampala whose membership included virtually all the dozen or so men from Nyasaland (now Malawi) in Kampala. This again illustrates the particular need for mutual support felt by people who are a very long way from home, but it also makes the point that, where their numbers are few, people necessarily select that level of identity which permits them to unite in mutual support. In this case, it was the colonial identity of Nyasaland, which certainly had no "tribal" basis but aptly illustrates what we might call the passage f r o m the micro-ethnicity of former language and cultural groups such as Luo or Temne to the macro-ethnicity of the nation state, which includes the examples of Greek, Polish, Italian, German, Irish, and other European nations' ethnic associations abroad. If our detailed knowledge of Africa were not so parochial, so much of it still in our unpublished field notes, we would surely be able to test these ideas with plenty of convincing cases. Parkin's suggestion that Ankole migrants to Kampala, being mainly Iru, came from corporate localized descent groups, like their traditionally stateless neighbors the Kiga (as well as the "typically" migrant Luo and Luhya), throws a very interesting light on their formation of the Banyankole-Banyakigezi association, but — again — we still know too little about Ankole to be sure of the interpretation. One of the few detailed accounts of descent and locality among the Iru of Ankole suggests considerable local mobility, with the mixing of members of several clans even on one small hill of a thousand acres. 39 This hill had a total population of only 180, and much fewer some decades before, so that although the western, eastern, and southern sides were associated with different clans, there were also members of yet other clans. Individuals, not corporate descent groups, controlled the land and there was certainly no segmentary lineage structure. Parkin's interpretation therefore seems unlikely. There are certain overall conditions which either inhibit or render ethnic associations redundant. It has been plausibly held that lack of such associations in South Africa is due to the pervasive racial cleavage between exploiting, power-holding whites and exploited, powerless blacks. Following the principles of complementary opposition, this cleavage overrides the possibility of separate ethnic organization within the black population. However, we must note that at Windhoek in Southwest Africa, now part of the apartheid system, Africans were actually required by 39

D . J. Stenning, Coral Tree /////(Kampala: East African Institute of Social Research Conference, 1958).

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the former German colonial administration to live in ethnic quarters and to be ethnically represented. The situation was so entrenched that it continues today. Thus we see that while the apartheid system tends to obliterate ethnic cleavages among Africans, it was possible for ethnic divisions imposed on the city by the residential and administrative policy of the superior power to be perpetuated. In many other instances other institutions, traditional or transitional, perform some of the same tasks and meet some of the same needs, so that strictly ethnic associations in the form we have discussed are not created. Examples of this in one way or another are: interethnic joking relationships such as prevailed among migrant workers in Tanzania and Zambia; the formal institution of urban tribal authorities as in Freetown, Monrovia, the Zambian Copperbelt, and during the early years in Dar-es-Salaam; the presence of religious groups which cater effectively to migrants, whether Islamic sects and fraternities, as in many West African cities, or separatist Christian and syncretistic sects as in South Africa, Zambia, Congo Brazzaville, Nigeria, and elsewhere. To this may be added the effective transfer of secret societies and cults or of networks of patron-client relationships from the home situation to the urban migrant situation. Thus, in the strict sense, localized polysegmentary lineage structure cannot possibly be transferred from a rural to an urban setting. (Note, however, that local, lineage-based compounds can provide a basis for the formation of urban communities, as in the Yoruba case, and show considerable adaptability to new tasks and situations.) Rural lineage structure cannot be directly transferred, but its members can translate their experience of it, and their continuing rights and obligations in it, into a new organization which reflects distinctive characteristics of the old, while encompassing some new objectives, being manipulated by new interests and factions in the urban situation and resting on voluntary rather than ascribed membership. Other institutions and types of relationship, which are neither strictly localized nor ascriptive, are much more easily transferred without radical translation, as seems to be the case with patron-client ties, cult groups, or secret societies. Even where such other directly transferable institutions do not provide a complete alternative, they may provide a partial one to many though not all people, as also do all the other forms of association based upon more specialized roles, often in addition to a specific ethnic identity, such as credit groups like the Yoruba esttsu, craft organizations and unions of male traders or market women, labor unions, or political parties. However, the more specialized the role base, the more likely the members

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are to be either more thoroughly committed to permanent urban life or of much higher status than the majority of those who form the rank and file of ethnic associations, even though some of the leaders of the latter may be of much higher status. At the same time, the more specialized the role interest the more the organization is the product and preserve of high status and exceptional people. At this point, the distinction between ethnic and non-ethnic associations may seem arbitrary, and certainly it becomes a matter of definition. But, in terms of our definition, the boundary is fairly clear. Luo sub-tribal associations are ethnic even if their major activity is football, whereas South African football clubs are not. Mutual benefit societies which assist with burial and sickness may be clearly ethnic because these exigencies are not special but are seen to involve all, especially because of the collective kin responsibilities which are recognized. The real test is the importance attached to common ethnicity by the membership. On this basis, the Temne dance societies, despite their specialized activity, seem ethnic — especially in view of their wider goal of raising Temne ethnic pride and status. The same may be true of cult groups which belong distinctively to a particular culture with an ethnic base. The same question arises with respect to caste associations, either in India or among Indians in East Africa, as with the St. Francis Xavier association linked with G o a n tailors in Kampala. The Polish associations in the United States were categorically ethnic, although the organization of the Polish Roman Catholic parishes in America imparted extra strength to them. 4 0 The ethnic associations we have dealt with involve the transformation of basic ethnic bonds, and sometimes of more specific traditional institutions such as segmentary lineages to new activities in new situations, in particular the transformation of ascribed status to a new situation in which its implications become a matter of deliberate choice, hence of voluntary associations. Where the traditional society already includes voluntary associations capable of direct transfer to new urban situations, the case is different — as with the Yoruba esusu credit groups or the Egungun cult, which already offers roles for achievement by choice in the home cities of the Yoruba and can be transferred in much the same form to foreign cities where the Yoruba are migrants, such as Freetown or Niamey. It has been necessary to mention a very large number of factors, internal and external, traditional and transitional, but in a number of 40

W. I. Thomas and F. Znaniecki, The Polish Peasant in Europe and America, Vol. V (Chicag : Universit of Chicago Press, 1920).

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cases and situations many of these factors are seen to work together in the same direction, so that they can either be grouped together as composite variables for that situation or several of them selected as more diagnostic than the rest. The process of comparing one situation with another leads to clarification in the precise definition of variables and to greater understanding of the conditions in which any particular constellation of factors will lead to one result or another. In other words, after studying a number of situations in which most factors are basically similar, though differing in relative strength, it is possible to isolate the crucial factois as components of a generative model which explains the different outcome in one situation and another.

EPILOGUE It should not be necessary to stress that relevant variables and situations change, so that the relevance if not the validity of painfully labored analyses may quite suddenly alter. The pressure of growing population upon employment opportunities has often caused governments to restrict the access of foreign nationals to employment. This is now happening in Africa, as it has happened so often elsewhere (as with the restriction of West Indian and Asian immigration into Britain). Recent results of such measures have been the large exodus of foreign Africans from Ghana and of Kenyans from Uganda, 41 to which, of course, must be added the exodus of Ibo from northern and western Nigeria during the disturbances and civil war there. Since Africans in foreign countries have been particularly concerned in the very associations we have been considering, the whole situation is passing into a new phase, in which the numbers of such foreign immigrant Africans may become fewer but their needs will certainly not be less. There are constant, unpredictable swings of the pendulum. In January, 1971, Dr. Obote was ousted from power by General Idi Amin Dada, and the pressure on Kenyans in Uganda was relaxed. An unknown but considerable number have drifted back and, although educated Luo regard the Luo Union as having ceased to exist officially, it is quite active in those parts of Kampala where Luo are numerous and letters even appear in the press signed by persons claiming to be its officers. 41

In 1970 the former President of Uganda, Dr. Obote, defined the conditions governing employment opportunities in Uganda as follows: 1. First priority for new vacancies or job opportunities in both private and public sectors shall be given to the citizens of Uganda, and the second priority to citizens

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Diagram I. Union Branches, Second Order " L o c a t i o n " or Maximal Lineage Branches, and Third Order " C l a n " or Major Lineage Branches.

of the Partner States of the East African Community. Third priority shall be given to the nationals of other member states of the O.A.U. 2. Priority in the recruitment of unskilled and semi-skilled workers shall be given to citizens and inhabitants of Uganda. 3. Persons who are citizens of any of the three Partner States in the East African Community already in employment in Uganda in any semi-skilled or skilled j o b shall not be disturbed unless such person retires, resigns, or his services are legally terminated under a Uganda law. (Uganda Newsletter, Vol. 2, No. 11, November 1970.) The Times of London had reported from Nairobi on 14th October 1970 that " m o r e than 30,000 Kenyans have been ousted from Uganda since President Milton Obote launched his campaign to give jobs to Ugandans, it was learned here tonight. Border officials said that more than 1,000 a day were arriving by private transport. Today 5,000 have arrived by bus."

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•N

CLANx

IBO STATE UNION LAGOS BRANCH"

CLANx WESTERN •IBO UNION LAGOS BRANCH

LAN χ

•N IBO STATE UNION IBADAN BRANCH*

•S

WESTERN •IBO UNION IBADAN BRANCH •N IBO STATE UNION KADUNA BRANCH CLANw WESTERN •IBO UNION KADUNA BRANCH

IBO STATE UNION former ΚΑΝΟ BRANCH etc.

•CLANw

Diagram II. Ibo State Union Branches with Second and Third Order Branches Ν and S represent other regional branches of the Ibo State Union in each major city, which are sub-branches of the Western Ibo Union in each city. Other levels of segmentation in the union below the clan level and between that of clan and Western Ibo Union are not shown.

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REFERENCES I.A.I. International African Institute O.U.P. Oxford University Press BANTON, M. P. 1957 West African City (I.A.I, for O.U.P.). 1965 "Social Alignment and Identity in a West African City", in Urbanization and Migration in West Africa, edited by H. Kuper (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press). BERNUS, S.

1969 Particularismes ethniques en milieu urbain: Vexemple Institut d'Ethnologie).

de Niamey (Paris:

COHEN, A.

1969

Custom and Politics in Urban Africa: A Study of Hausa Migrants in Yoruba Towns (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press).

COLEMAN, J. s .

1965

Nigeria: Background to Nationalism (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press).

EVANS-PRITCHARD, Ε. E.

1965 "Luo Tribes and Clans", Rhodes-Livingstone Journal VII. Reprinted in The Position of Women in Primitive Societies and Other Essays in Social Anthropology (New York: Free Press). FORDE, V. C. R.

1955

The Trade of Lake Victoria (= East African Studies 3) (Kampala, Uganda).

FRAENKEL, M.

1964 Tribe and Class in Monrovia (I.A.I, for O.U.P.). 1966 "Social Change on the Kru Coast of Liberia", Africa 36 (2), 154-72. KUPER, H . , ed.

1965

Urbanization and Migration in West Africa (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press).

LLOYD, p . c . , ed.

1966

The New Elites of Tropical Africa (I.A.I, for O.U.P.).

MEILLASSOUX, CLAUDE

1968

The Urbanization of an African Community: Voluntary Associations in Bamako (Seattle: University of Washington Press).

OGOT, B. A.

1963 "British Administration in Central Nyanza, 1900-1960", Journal of African History 4 (2), 249-73. 1967 History of the Southern Luo, Vol. I, Migration and Settlement, 1500-1900 (Nairobi: East African Publishing House). PARKIN, D . J.

1969

Neighbours and Nationals in an African City Ward (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul).

PHILLIPS, A.

1949 Report on Native Tribunals (Nairobi: Government Printer). SMOCK, AUDREY C.

1971 Ibo Politics: The Role of Ethnic Unions in Eastern Nigeria (Cambridge: Harvard University Press). SOUTHALL, A. W .

1952 Lineage Formation Among the Luo {— International African Institute Memorandum XXVI). 1966 "Determinants of the Social Structure of African Urban Populations, with

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special reference to Kampala", in UNESCO, Social Implications of Urbanization and Industrialization in Africa South of the Sahara (1956). Reprinted in Social Change: The Colonial Situation, edited by I. Wallerstein (New York: John Wiley & Sons), 321-39. 1966 "The Concept of Elites and Their Formation in Uganda", in The New Elites of Tropical Africa, edited by P. C. Lloyd (I.A.I, for O.U.P.). 1970 "The Illusion of Tribe", Journal of Asian and African Studies 5 (1-2). STENNING, D. J.,

1958

Coral Tree Hill (Kampala: East African Institute of Social Research Conference).

THOMAS, H. B., a n d R. SCOTT

1935

Uganda (London: Oxford University Press).

THOMAS, w . i., a n d F. ZNANIECKI

1920

The Polish Peasant in Europe and America, Vol. V (Chicago: University of Chicago Press).

WAGNER, G.

1949

The Bantu of North Kavirondo, Vol. I (I.A.I, for O.U.P.).

WHISSON, G. M.

1961

Change and Challenge (Nairobi).

WILSON, G. M.

1961 Luo Customary Law and Marriage Laws Customs: Colony and Protectorate of Kenya.

Rural Economic Development

S. A. A L U K O

The difference between a rural and an urban area is the difference between the village and the city. A village is a small place of primary group character. A city, on the other hand, is a large place of secondary group life. Usually, urban areas are distinguished from rural areas by the number of people living therein. In highly developed countries of Europe, America, and Australasia, a village with a population less than 2,500 is designated as rural. In less developed countries of Africa and Asia, the population criterion for a rural community is 5,000 or fev/er. These are arbitrary distinctions made in order to have comparable population statistics and each country establishes its own classifications, which vary from time to time. Rural populations may be found in large population ccnters of over 2,500 or 5,000 or even 20,000 people, while urban population and urban life may be found in places with fewer than 2,500 or 5,000 inhabitants (see tables 1, 2, 3, and 4). A large factory, for instance, even if established in the heart of a vast rural area, will form part of the industrial economy falling outside the rural area, while — equally — a farmer or a petty trader in the urban area may form part of the rural sector. The population distinction, however useful, is not very helpful in measuring the presence or absence of a rural or an urban way of life. The categories of "urban" and "rural" are so broad that sub-categories of each are introduced into population classification. Thus, in some cases, the rural population is broken down into "farm" and "non-farm" communities; the non-farm community being regarded as sub-urban while the urban is broken down into town and city. There are various

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sizes of towns, just as there are various sizes of cities. It is, therefore, difficult to distinguish precisely between urban and rural life. For the purpose of identification, however, one can accept that the urban sector is fairly restricted within the city and that the urban man is the crowded city dweller. He is not disturbed by the coming and going of people and he is always making new contacts and dropping old ones. Transiency is his major characteristic. He does not wish to associate with all persons around and about him and interpersonal relationships are very superficial. Furthermore, the urban man is ever adjusting to new and changing situations. He is responsive to initiative but intolerant of inhibitive traditions. He is not only mobile but also accepts the mobility of others. Although he may be loyal to his immediate family, he tends to lose contact with more distant relatives. The urban man is essentially an industrial, service, or a trading man — that is, he is secondary and tertiary in the sophisticated sense.1 On the other hand, the rural sector may be described as the part of the economy which depends largely on primary production — that is, agriculture, livestock, forestry, fishing, and allied production, household and small-scale industries, trade in agricultural products and household industrial products, and simple constructions associated with agricultural produce. The rural sector can be seen in two interrelated patterns: as a rural society, and as a rural economy. As a rural society, it consists of those who own land or have permanent rights to it; the landless who work on the land either as tenants or as laborers, those engaged in rural service crafts, and those engaged in petty trade and allied activities which are closely connected with agriculture and crafts, and whose social structure is dependent on the village system. As a rural economy, its distinguishing feature is not so much the types of economic activities undertaken but the form of organization. The sector is characterized by millions of individual farmer-proprietors, petty or own account traders, unit transport operators, and self-employed craftsmen and artisans. 2 Their activities are developed within limited 1

See Nelson Anderson, The Urban Community: A World Perspective (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1959), Chapters 1 and 2; see also Tarlok Singh, "Planning the Rural Sector", in The National Economy: The Rural Base for National Development, eds. Ronald Robinson and Peter Johnston (Cambridge University Press, 1968), 109-18; see also Otis Dudley Duncan, "The Measurement of Population Distribution", Population Studies: A Journal of Demography 11 (July 1956), 38-39. 2 Federal Republic of Nigeria: Second National Development Plan, 1970-74 (Lagos, 1970), 291 (known henceforth as 1970-74 Plan); see also Duncan, "The Measurement of Population Distribution".

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production functions because the potentialities which flow from science and technology are either not easily available or not systematically applied by them. Because of the limited production function, the rural economy devotes a very high proportion of its resources, at times up to 75 percent, to agriculture. 3 Thus it can be said that even though the rural sector involves much more than agriculture, it is its foundation and all other activities, as well as the measures for solving the economic and social problems of the rural sector, flow directly from agriculture and are complementary to it. Therefore, the rural sector is inevitably poorer than the urban sector and rural life is more irksome, but the villages retain certain virtues which the city dwellers have lost. The most important of these are simplicity, self-respect, and a sense of social participation and harmony. The predominant employment in agriculture, crafts, and allied rural occupations promotes a strong feeling of mutual interdependence in the rural areas which is absent in the urban. 4

THE SIZE OF THE RURAL SECTOR It is estimated that only half of the world's population will live in urban areas by 2050 A.D. 5 Today, about 65 percent of the population in the rich countries of Western Europe and North America live in urban areas, about 50 percent live in urban areas in Eastern Europe, 50 percent in Latin America, 25 percent in Asia and the Far East, including Japan and Australasia, and only about 15 percent in Africa. That is, only about 35 percent of the world's population today live in urban areas and 65 percent live in the rural areas. If we take two representative samples in Asia (India) and Africa (Nigeria), the latest censuses show about 80 percent of the population in each live in the rural area. 6 3

W. W. Rostow, The Stages of Economic Growth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, I960), 4-5. 4 See Daniel Thorner, "The Village Panchayat as a Vehicle of Change", Economic Development and Cultural Change (Chicago: University of Chicago Press) 2 (1953-54), 209-15. 5 Bert F. Hoselitz, "A History of the Long-Term Development of the City", in The Urban Explosion in Latin America: A Continent in Process of Modernization, ed. Glenn H. Beyer (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1967). 6 In India, according to the 1961 population census, 359 million out of a population of 450 million lived in the rural areas. See Singh, "Planning the Rural Sector". In Nigeria, the 1963 census showed that, out of a population of about 56 million, only about 11 million lived in the urban areas. Only 15 percent of the population of Indonesia live in the urban areas.

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In terms of the number of economically active population living in the rural areas in many of the developing countries of Africa and their contribution to the Gross Domestic Product, the Nigerian figures are instructive. In 1966-67, for instance, agriculture, distribution, rural crafts, and allied services provided gainful occupation for about 84 percent of the Nigerian labor force and contributed about 68 percent of the gross domestic prod act. 7 In India, the 1961 census showed that, of the total working force of 187 million, 137 million (72%) were employed in agriculture and allied activities, 7 percent in small industries, 4.5 percent in trade and allied services, and 0.5 percent in rural construction. Fiftyone percent of the domestic product derived from agriculture and allied services, and 20 percent from small industries, trade, and construction. That is, the rural sector accounted for about three-fourths of the working force and two-thirds of its gross domestic product in 1961.8 The figures reached over 90 percent and 80 percent respectively in many African countries, though they were lower in Asia and Latin America and considerably lower in Europe and North America, where they stand at an aggregate of only about 15 percent of the economically active population and about 10 percent of the gross domestic product. Although the population of the rural sector today exceeds that of the urban sector, it is estimated that each year between 2 million and 3 million people migrate from the rural to the major cities in Latin America alone and that about 12 million make such annual urban-rural migration throughout the world. 9 Such migrants are generally younger and better educated, thus lowering the intelligence and productive capacity of the rural areas, since many of the migrants are in the working age group and are young school-leavers. This rate of annual migration, despite governments' efforts to reduce it, tends to make one want to agree with Browning that debates about the desirability of slowing down the flow of ruralurban migration, which supplies to these urban areas as much as half their growth and half their existent population, are a waste of time since no effective schemes to stop it have ever been devised. 10 Such rural-urban migration, though tending to reduce the size of the rural areas, complicates the economy and the problems of the urban areas 7

1970-74 Plan, p. 291. Singh, "Planning the Rural Sector". 9 See Dale W.Adams, "Rural Migration and Agricultural Development in Colombia", Economic Development and Cultural Change (Chicago: University of Chicago Press) 17 (4) (July 1969), 527-39. 10 Harley L. Browning, "Demography of the City", in The Urban Explosion in Latin America: A Continent in Process of Modernization, ed. Glenn H. Beyer (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1967), 71-116. 8

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by increasing per capita urbanization costs for such services as housing, water supply, electricity, and urban highways. Because of the problems such a migration is increasingly creating, there is a deliberate attempt in many of the developed countries like France, Great Britain, Poland, and the U.S.S.R. and developing countries like Puerto Rico, India, Chile, Venezuela, Ghana, Egypt, and Nigeria to disperse industries and improve the conditions of living in the rural areas and so redirect labor back to the rural and the sub-urban areas. 11 The size of the world's rural population is therefore in a state of flux, which is why increasing attention is being paid to measures to develop the rural sector of the economy so as to reduce the forward and backward movement of population and productive factors and minimize the social dislocations of such migration. THE CASE FOR RURAL DEVELOPMENT It is correct to say that at the heart of the failure of development programmes, particularly in the very many developing countries that now consider it fashionable and imperative to draw multi-purpose development plans, is the failure to solve the problem of rural development. A prosperous and expanding rural sector is a most important element in the development process. The rural sector can be expected to perform five main functions: a. to provide a marketable surplus of food for the towns and the rural areas in the required quantity and quality; b. to create rural markets for industrial goods; c. to secure the flow of surplus labor for an expanding urban sector; d. to provide real finance andentrepreneurship for industrial growth; and e. to provide export earnings. 12 · For instance, Nigeria's 1970-74 Plan states that the average calorie intake of Nigerians is about 2,200 per person per day, compared with the expected average intake of 3,200 recorded in some industrialized countries; the protein content in the Nigerian diet is only 62 grams per day, compared with the minimum requirements of about 70 grams; and the greatest con11

Sec William Alonso, "Urban-Regional Imbalances", Economic Development and Cultural Change 17(1) (October 1965), 1-14. 12 Cf. Mogens Boserup, "Agrarian Structure and Take-Off", in The Economics of Take-Off Into Sustained Growth, ed. W. W. Rostow (London: Macmillan, 1955), Chap. 12, p. 202.

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cern is that out of the 35 grams of animal protein that should be contained in the minimum daily consumption of 65-72 grams, only 7 grams of protein in the average Nigerian diet comes from animal sources, which means that only about one-fifth of the minimum animal protein requirements is being supplied by the rural sector. There is, therefore, an urgent need to increase the production of high quality foods such as meat, fish, eggs, milk, fruits, and vegetables, which are very important in a balanced diet. 13 The same plan also stated that, in 1961, agricultural exports accounted for 89 percent of all exports and 66 percent of total foreign exchange earnings and that, even though in recent years petroleum has given a greater boost to non-agricultural exports, when the recent civil war activities brought the petroleum industry to a standstill in 1967-68, the contribution of agricultural exports to total foreign exchange earnings rose to 73 percent in 1968.14 The agricultural sector during the Plan period will be expanded so as to ensure food supplies in adequate quantity and quality to keep pace with increased population and urbanization, having regard to changing tastes and the need for fair and stable prices; expand the production of export crops with a view to increasing and further diversifying the country's foreign exchange earnings so vital in the development process; propagate the production of agricultural materials for extensive domestic manufacturing activities, especially in the field of agro-based industries; create rural employment opportunities to absorb more of the increasing labor force in the nation and minimize the tendency for inadequate and inefficient use of human resources in the areas generally, and evolve appropriate institutional and administrative apparatus to facilitate smooth, integrated development of agricultural potential of the country as a whole. 15 It is, therefore, urged that, if there is such an important relationship between agricultural growth and economic growth, successful development plans must imply a concurrent expansion of agricultural output which is not possible unless the development of the rural sector is taken much more seriously than hitherto. Yet, in the normal process of economic growth, the rural and agricultural sector always lags behind the secondary /tertiary and urban sector. As Boserup rightly said, In the normal course of events, new things do not originate in the agricultural milieu. A pull or a push from outside seems to be needed, be it a pull of foreign demand, the opening of new transport systems, the appearance of new consumer 13 14 15

1970-74 Plan, 103-04. Ibid., 109-10. Ibid., 103.

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goods to tempt the subsistence peasant or the drain of manpower away from agriculture.16 Unless there is a deliberate policy of dynamic rural development by an authority or agency outside the rural sector, agriculture will demonstrate a low supply elasticity, a desperately immobile and tradition bound production function which will act as a brake on economic growth. In other words, the outlook of the traditional farmer, trader, or household industrialist must be changed if his productivity is to increase and his role in the development process fulfilled. The case for the development of the rural sector cannot, therefore, be principally to maintain economic justice between the rural and the urban dwellers, or to prevent rural-urban migration, as many advocates of rural reform and development have put forward, but rather to stimulate rural efficiency, which is the major strategy for the reduction of the extreme differences in income between the urban and the rural areas, and thus accelerate total national development. That is, efficiency and equity have to compete in any measure of rural development, at the initial stages of economic development. For instance, it is conceivable that the fastest rate of economic growth may require the concentration of development funds in a few advanced areas or selected rural sectors while neglecting other areas in the meantime, if regional equity is in conflict with economic efficiency. That is, the aim of protecting the economically weak, which is mainly at the root of many programmes of rural development, tends to come into conflict with the aim of rationalizing the productive structure of the economy, which is the raison d'etre of most development programmes. Any plan of rural development must, therefore, take account of the conflict of efficiency and equity, and the consideration of the place of the rural sector in the national economy must turn into an enquiry into measures and policies for enabling the rural sector to contribute its maximum to economic growth and into conditions under which the rural economy and the economy of the nation as a whole can grow together without developing too great a divergence in productivity and income, gainful employment opportunities, and levels of living.

MEASURES AND POLICIES FOR RURAL DEVELOPMENT The two greatest problems that measures for rural development face, particularly in the developing countries, are: the general attitude which 16

Boserup, "Agrarian Structure and Take-Off", 205.

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SAMUEL A. ALUKO

regards agriculture as an inferior occupation; and the irresistible pull of the city among the youths born in the rural areas, plus the unwillingness of many public development officers to work in the rural areas. The detestation for agricultural occupation shows itself in the very low number of highly trained agricultural scientists who return to agricultural production. Most seek, instead, white collar or other technical and supervisory employments in the public service or foreign private industrial and commercial enterprises. 17 There is, therefore, understaffing of the agricultural departments. The governments themselves, because they are made up of officials who ascribe lower status to agricultural workers, create low pay incentive and prestige for the technical staff associated with the agricultural departments. They show lack of interest in and awareness of the problems of the countryside and, in most cases, make few attempts to assist the rural centers. Economic policies are devised which are damaging to the countryside, like price control policies that depress agricultural incomes, and agricultural marketing policies that ensure disproportionate gains to merchants and traders at the expense of the farmers. The unwillingness of the more articulate dwellers in the rural areas to stay there rather than migrate to the cities, plus the unwillingness of the urban-based public officials to work wholeheartedly in the rural areas, makes development measures designed for the rural areas miscarry or function at a very low level of efficiency. In Nigeria, for instance, many public officials regard it as victimization or ill luck whenever they are transferred to serve in the rural areas. The majority of Nigerian university graduates refuse to go and teach or serve in the rural areas and would rather resign and be without a job and hold on till they can find employment in the city than hold the job in the rural area, where there is no pipeborne water, electricity, or other modern social amenities. But these amenities cannot be available unless there are sufficiently dedicated and knowledgeable leacLers working among the rural communities to organize them and stimulate their demands. Any measures of rural development, therefore have to contend with these two basic problems.

METHODS O F RURAL DEVELOPMENT From the foregoing, there is a compelling necessity for a radical transfor17

See S. A. Aluko, "The Case for Rapid Industrialisation in Nigeria", The Journal of the Institute of Administration (University of Ife, Nigeria, April 1970), 193-215.

Rural Economic

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mation of the techniques of production, distribution, and exchange in the rural sector of the national economy. The transformation can be seen as a process through three stages: the traditional, the transitional, and the modern; similar to the first three of Rostow's five stages of economic growth: the traditional, the pre-conditions for takeoff, the takeoff, the mature, and the stage of high-mass consumption. 18 The development strategy for each of the three stages and for agriculture, rural industry, and trade will be different, not only at different times but also in the different parts of the country which may be at different stages of development. In African countries, it is in the traditional stage that the rural sector is the least susceptible and least adaptable to change and requires the greatest specific government intervention to effect institutional changes so as to achieve development. When the modern stage is reached, the rural sector becomes sub-urban and is capable enough to generate its own institutional changes. It is also in the traditional stage that "universal" recipes are generally applied to the solution of the rural problem in Africa. Such nation-wide solutions generally fail, whether in the form of extension services or of credit or marketing assistance, because they are inflexible and do not take into consideration the dissimilarities with respect to areas, stages of growth, needs, potentialities, social structure, crop patterns available, local leadership, and the careful planning of development programmes for agriculture, household industry, rural t

trade, and the provision of economic and social overheads in the rural areas.

MEASURES FOR AGRICULTURAL DEVELOPMENT The problem of the agricultural sector can best be discussed if we illustrate with a particular country — in this case, Nigeria. Agricultural production in Nigeria is carried on principally by the millions of peasant subsistence farmers in individual land holdings rather than in large plantations which exist in some other parts of Africa. But even where plantation agriculture is carried on in Africa, the problems are similar. There are two main sub-sectors of agricultural production — the sector producing agricultural raw produce for export and minimally for local industries, and the subsistence sector producing some surplus for the local or urban markets. Rostow, The Stages of Economic Growth, Chap. 2.

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The export sector, which can be referred to as the more modern sector, produces cocoa, cotton, coffee, palm kernel, palm oil, rubber, or peanuts, but its inductive effects on the internal economy of the rural areas are hardly visible. This is because the export sector has little or no downward, upward, or secondary linkage effects on ihe rural economy. Downward linkage effects, which work from the producer towards the consumer, appear only when the processing of raw materials for export is undertaken at home. The home consumer, by employing workers in the processings, expands income, expands the demand for agricultural goods — including raw materials, and causes an increase in the price of raw material and non-raw material goods. But, since most of the raw materials produced in the rural sector are processed abroad, this positive downward linkage effect is lost. Similarly, the upward linkage effects — that is, the link between the consumer and the producer of raw materials — are negligible because the consumer is foreign-based and usually even the export earnings of the producer are spent largely on the importation of foreign-manufactured goods or domestically produced goods from foreign-owned industries. Therefore, the demand induction in the majority of cases is outward bound and tends towards foreign industries producing capital goods. So, the raw material producing sector exerts no notable demand induction on the home production or consumption of capital goods. This means that its secondary linkage effect — that is, an upward trend from the consumer to the producer through the personal income of those taking part in the production — is also considerably limited. Therefore, measures taken merely to increase the production of the agricultural sector may not improve the rural sector significantly unless they also ensure that these linkages are operative.

AGRICULTURAL PLANNING Any successful measure for agricultural development has to be carefully planned. In planning, two separate groups of farmers have to be considered — those who have large enough land holdings to enable them to produce for themselves and render a market surplus; and the more numerous ones who are subsistence farmers, laboring against great handicaps. The majority of the African farmers belong to the latter group. Scarce resources must be economically allocated between the two groups to ensure that, while the "surplus" farmers are assisted to maximize their production, the subsistence ones are not left with little or nothing done to assist them.

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The existing policy in most African countries, particularly in Nigeria, is to pick upon the surplus farmers — that is, the export-oriented farmers — and leave the food-crop farmers unassisted. Almost all the agricultural research stations, new tools development, insecticides, pesticides, and marketing arrangements are geared towards the increased production of the surplus and export-oriented farmers. The approach of intensive area development, whereby priority is given to the more favorably situated and productive agricultural areas where the entire farm community of all sizes, abilities, and orientations is carried along the new development strategy, is the approach designed to resolve the dilemma. The entire agricultural population benefits and the external economies are beneficial. As a result of the public measures in Nigeria to assist export farmers, there has grown a great neglect of the food crop farming. Prices of food have skyrocketed because a large number of farmers have transferred their labor away from food production to export crop farming. Although, in the long run, it will become profitable to grow the food crops if their prices continue to rise, at present the rural standard of living is falling because of the food shortages, and rural poverty is now higher than before in spite of enhanced earnings from agricultural exports. Three other important issues that agricultural planning should consider are: (a) a more economic utilization of available labor and manpower resources as an essential factor in the strategy of agricultural and rural advance instead of too great reliance on technological problems; (b) a clearer view and more intelligent selection of agricultural tools, implements, and mechanization; and (c) the importance of research support for agricultural production and extension services. These three issues encompass the whole problem of agricultural investments; agricultural prices, wages, and costs; agricultural credit; and foreign assistance to agriculture.

ECONOMIC UTILIZATION O F EXISTING MANPOWER In most African countries, the rural sector can finance only a small part of the heavy capital investment needed to modernize the agricultural sector, even granting that what is needed is only capital investment. The level of rural savings in a country such as Nigeria is too meagre. Between 1962 and 1968, for instance, total agricultural investment amounted to about £160 million, £53 million of which was investment by the governments and their specialized agencies (£N=S2.8U.S.A=£1:3:4d sterling). This

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SAMUEL A. ALUKO

meant that the peasant farmers, on their own, saved and invested only £107 million during the six-year period, compared with industrial and service investment of about £750 million, only £50 million of which was public sector investment. When it is remembered that about 70 percent of the labor force is in agriculture and about 20 percent in industry and services, the comparative level of per capita investment is £38 per industrialist and £1.10/- per farmer during the six years. In the 1970-74 Plan, about £465 million is expected to be invested in large-scale manufacturing, £86 million of which is expected to be publicly financed while £379 million is to be privately financed. This is in contrast with the anticipated agricultural investment of £165 million, £105 million of which is to be financed by the government and its specialized agencies and £60 million by the peasant farmers. Again, the anticipated per capita investment per economically active population is £25 per industrial worker and £2.10/- per farmer, during the coming four years. 19 A 1965 sample survey of agricultural income showed that over 60 percent of the farming households in Nigeria saved nothing, while the average income of a farmer amounted to only about £20 per annum. 20 The more prosperous farmers who save tend to invest in urban areas or in the education of their children rather than reinvest in the rural sector. Investment in agriculture has, therefore, been heavily dependent on public funds, as the planned Nigerian 1970-74 agricultural investment shows. The credit institutions in Nigeria, other than the meagre resources of the Cooperative Bank, do not extend credit to agriculture but to industry, trade, and real property development. Therefore, capital-intensive agricultural development is not feasible in Nigeria, as well as in many parts of Africa, because the financial resources are scarce. It is, therefore, essential that agricultural development during the transitional stage should depend more on the ability of the planners to mobilize manpower to build up productive assets of the rural communities in the form of voluntary labor, planting of improved seedlings, use of natural fertilizers, and a more regular and harder work-system so as to increase the level of agricultural output to provide the marketable surplus which can increase incomes for future investment in its own development. Other non-capital-consuming measures that can be taken to increase agricultural productivity are more intelligent farm-management techniques which assist in encouraging an optimum size of farms, a land tenure system that vests the ownership of the farmland in the individual 19

1970-74 Plan, Chap. 2, 10-14; Chap. 13, 103-4; Chap. 16, 137-40; Chap. 29, 281; and Chap. 30, 291. 20 A Sample Agricultural Survey in Nigeria (Lagos: Federal Office of Statistics, 1965).

Rural Economic

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farmers or groups of farmers, and the regrouping of farmers into cooperative farm groups and similar organizations for production and marketing. The more successful the organization of the non-capital intensive improvements in the agricultural sector becomes, the more productive will be the agricultural inputs which the government can make available to the farming community in the form of agricultural credits, fertilizers, and extension assistance.

AGRICULTURAL TOOLS A N D IMPLEMENTS The greatest problem of providing tools and implements for the improve ment of agriculture arises from the fact that almost all the tools are manufactured in the developed countries and imported into the developing countries. They are, therefore, either beyond the reach of the average farmer and can be acquired only by the publicly-owned experimental stations, farm settlements and agricultural institutes, and colleges and universities, or they are unsuitable for the type of sub-structure in which agricultural activities are carried on. Thus, many of the small and mediumsized tractors which single farmers can use in Europe and America are unable to cut down the thick bushes and uproot the big trees and tree roots in tropical Africa. Also, many of them are not resistant enough to the tropical climate and are not so durable as they would have been in the country of manufacture. In addition, the facilities for servicing and maintenance are not so readily available as they are in the developed countries. Therefore, much more progress will be made in the agricultural sector if powered hoes and cutlasses can be developed, so that the traditional implements which performed within their limited production capabilities can be modernized and kept within the purchasing power of the farmers. Very few of the African countries are taking any appreciable measures in the field of devising more appropriate and simpler agricultural tools and implements other than those imported from Europe, America, Japan, or Israel. This lacuna is realized by the Nigerian government. In the 1970-74 Plan it declared that no realistic progress in the agricultural sector can be made until the farmer finds an alternative to the existing hoe-and-cutlass method of cultivation and that: The clearing of the bush, the preparation of land, the sowing of seed, the various post-planting operations and harvesting are all processes in which the farmer's present tools can do little for high productivity per man-day or per man-acre. Removing the physical drudgery and the cause of low output need not, how-

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ever, involve the use of sophisticated machinery and equipment. Cheap simple implements can replace the hoe and other traditional implements that make farming a tedious and unattractive occupation. The use of small motor-powered implements and animal-drawn implements and carts will be encouraged.21

AGRICULTURAL RESEARCH The best method of effecting a more economic use of agricultural manpower and the devising of the most suitable agricultural tools and implements for rural development require a system of practically oriented agricultural research. Social and economic research is very necessary to discover the economic conditions which would be necessary to enable the new techniques to be applied successfully. Its objective is to discover the economic forces which motivate the individual farmer and which can lead to an understanding of the nature of the constraints under which he operates. Returns to investment on agricultural research in developed and semideveloped countries have been known to be very high. In the U.S.A. it has been estimated that returns on capital invested on research on hybrid corn have been as high as 700 percent. The average wheat yields in Mexico increased four times in ten years from about 0.25 ton per acre to 1 ton per acre, while in some areas yields of up to 3 tons per acre were achieved, so that Mexico, which was an importer of wheat, became a net exporter of considerable quantity. 22 Research stations, agricultural institutes, and university departments with various degrees of efficiency exist in many parts of Africa. There is an appreciable number in Nigeria which regard research and the training of staff as very fundamental. The major problem they face, as elsewhere in Africa, is that, since most of the research leaders were trained abroad, where most of the practical and applied problems of agriculture have been solved and fundamental research techniques are in vogue, the researchers find the problems of fundamental research more appealing, intellectually, than the more mundane task of carrying out practically oriented research that will yield results which can readily be made accessible to the great majority of farmers. The result is that these research centers have remained enclaves to themselves, with little or no impact on the productive techniques of the local farming community. The emphasis is gradually changing 21

1970-74 Plan, 108. International Bank for Reconstruction and Development, The Economic Development of Mexico (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1955), Chap. 12. 22

Rural Economic

Development

245

and the foreign experts being provided by agencies such as the International Institute of Tropical Agriculture are practically oriented and are lending dignity to applied research. The university departments of agriculture are also experimenting with the development of local tools and implements and the laboratory is now being gradually supplemented with the workshop.

DEVELOPMENT O F RURAL INDUSTRIES, CRAFTS, AND TRADE In 1967, the agricultural and allied sector of the Nigerian economy employed about 72 percent of the economically active population of Nigeria — that is, about 18 million people. The rural industries and crafts employed about 8 percent (2 million), and petty trading employed about 15 percent (3.6 million people) 23 (see table 5). The rural industries and crafts consist predominantly of small- and medium-scale indigenous enterprises such as mechanic and repair workshops, shoe and leather works, furniture and wood works, weaving, pottery, ceramic and glass manufacture, and sawmilling. The importance of this sector lies in its high employment/investment ratio and, in the context of a largely rural economy, in the large demand, potential existing for the goods of the enterprises. With additional small investment and assistance to modernize selected viable ones out of the enterprises, increased production and considerable additional employment could be created. Most of the enterprises work below capacity because of low entrepreneurial ability, due either to low technical ability to produce up-to-date goods which can compete with products of large-scale urban industries and imported articles or because of inadequate working capital or lack of proper marketing assistance. The characteristics common to all small-scale rural industries and crafts are that they show little or no specialization in management. The owner-manager is solely responsible for the production, purchasing, distribution, financing, personnel, and the risk of the enterprise. There is close personal contact of the manager with production, employees, customers, suppliers of materials, creditors, and with the owners of the enterprise if he is an employee. He can, therefore, pay special attention to special customers and needs in a way that larger establishments 23 The population of Nigeria in 1967 was estimated at about 60 million, 40 percent (24 million) of which was estimated to be economically active and constituting the labor force.

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SAMUEL A. ALUKO

cannot. He lacks easy access to loan capital through financial intermediaries and securities market and finds it difficult to obtain shortterm credit. He shares the market with a large number of similar and competing enterprises and so has no dominant position in a major market. 24 Whether as employee or entrepreneur, he works long and irregular hours for very little returns when compared with his counterparts in the large-scale industries 25 and he is closely integrated with the local community by reason of the fact that, in most cases, he works at or near his place of birth, obtains his raw materials from the local community, and derives his livelihood from the community. As a country moves through the transitional stage from a predominantly traditional to a modernized economy, the character of the small industry changes. The structure of household industry, though resistant to change and the modernization of high-grade production technology and managerial practices, is much more receptive to organized assistance than the agricultural structure. The major impediment to development of the sector is the almost total neglect which most African governments show towards the sector in contradistinction to the amount of effort which they individually take to assist and attract foreign large-scale industrial entrepreneurs through a battery of fiscal and non-fiscal incentives. For instance, in the 1970-74 Plan of the Nigerian government, while large-scale industrial investment in the private sector is estimated to amount to about £693 million, household and small-scale investment is estimated at about £123 million, whereas the rural industrial sector provides employment for about eight times the number employed in the large-scale industrial sector. Out of the industrial investment of about £86 million during the 1970-74 Plan by all the twelve state governments and the federal government, only £8.4 million (about 10%) is to be spent to assist the rural-based industrialists. 26 24

The Industrial Research Unit of the University of Ife, which conducts research into the structure and problems of the small and medium-scale industries in Nigeria, has shown that in Ife town, with a population of about 100,000, there are 463 tailors, 89 carpenters, 55 goldsmiths, 41 shoemakers, 37 motor repairers, and 31 bicycle repairers in a town that is not very economically active. Out of 12,012 small-scale industries investigated in parts of two of the Nigerian twelve states, 6,170 are tailors, 1,163 carpenters, 755 bicycle repairers, and 587 goldsmiths, all working at various levels of efficiency and competing among small populations. 25 While public servants in Nigeria work for 40 hours a week and other employees in the industrial sector work for 44 hours per week, the average working hours per week per employee in the rural industrial sector are 55, for earnings that are less than half the average in the public sector and one-third of the earnings in the large industrial sector. The annual average income per rural industrial employee varies between £20 and £80. 26 1 970-74 Plan, 137-57.

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If the rural-based, small-scale industries are to be assisted and developed, a number of measures should be taken. These include the provision of industrial advisory services through organized industrial extension services; assistance with production problems, business management, and accounting procedures; assistance with training of the entrepreneurmanagers and their skilled and unskilled employees; provision of industrial estates; marketing assistance and aid in the procurement of equipment and materials; assistance in the formation of cooperatives and combinations, since many of them are too few to stand alone efficiently ; 27 review of government policies and regulations that affect them, the formation of trade associations, the provision of financial assistance through public sources, banks and other financial intermediaries, and through organized research, designed to guide the small industry development schemes, particularly in the areas of technical production problems and the problems of economic and business management. 28

PETTY T R A D I N G There is a predominance of women in Nigeria in manufacturing and even more so in commerce. This arises from the large number of women tailors in the small-scale rural sector discussed earlier. In commerce, the large number of market women in the retail trade in the rural areas and in petty shopkeeping and distribution in other areas is a regular feature of the African economy. Both men and women engage in a multitude of small-scale trade establishments in the rural areas. In 1966-67, commerce and distribution accounted for about 13 percent of the total wage and non-wage employment in Nigeria, contributing about 13.5 percent of the gross domestic product. Five percent of the contribution to the gross domestic product originated from the marketing boards, 5.5 percent from the department stores and large commercial enterprises, and the balance of 3 percent originated from the rural-based and rural-type, unincorporated and household petty traders who con27

Of the 12,012 small-scale industrial establishments examined in 49 towns and villages in the Western and Mid-Western States of Nigeria by the University of Ife Industrial Research Unit, 11,872 (about 96%) are sole entrepreneurs, only 109 are partnerships, 11 are limited liability companies, while only 17 are cooperatively owned. 28 See S. Nangunda, Η. E. Robinson, and Eugene Staley, Economic Research for Small-Scale Industry Development, Stanford Research Institute (New Delhi: Asia Publishing House, 1962), 15-19. See also Eugene Staley and Tidhard Morse, Modern Small Industry for Developing Countries (New York: McGraw Hill Book Co., 1965), Chap. 1.

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stituted about 90 percent of the 3 million people who were employed in the commercial sector. The fact that 90 percent of the participants accounted for only about 25 percent of the income originating from the commercial sector demonstrates the degree of efficiency of the rural commercial sector. One of the basic problems that confront the indigenous trader is lack of a commercial education. Most Nigerian petty traders, like their rural industrial counterparts, are illiterates and so do not keep records of their purchases and sales transactions. They therefore make no distinction between their operating capital, the input capital and that of their families, interest due on capital employed, and operating surplus. There are too many competitors engaged in distributing the same or similar goods, with the result that long hours of work and much effort yield minimal income returns. Although the petty trader's annual average income is about 20 percent higher than that of the household industrialist, its level of about £70-£100 per annum is only about 20 percent of what his or her counterpart employed in the department store earns. The most important requirements for the development of this sector are financial assistance in the form of trade capital, training in salesmanship, including book-keeping and banking transactions, and adult education. During the 1970-74 Plan in Nigeria, the estimated investment of the private, large, incorporated commercial sector is £20.1 million. 29 The sector provides 5.5 percent of the gross domestic product and employs 10 percent of the commercial labor force. But only £8 million is the estimated capital investment in the household sector, which employs 90 percent of the labor force and produces only 3 percent of the gross domestic product. Out of the £8.9 million planned commercial investment during the 1970-74 Plan by all the thirteen Nigerian governments, only £3.5 million, or about 18 percent, is to be spent on assisting directly or indirectly the rural-based traders and distributors, in the form of small trades credit schemes and national credit guarantees. 30

URBAN-RURAL INVESTMENTS It is a regular cry that the rural areas should be developed, not only as a means of reducing the growing inequality in the rural/urban income but also as a means of reducing the exodus of the youth from the rural to the 29 30

1970-74 Plan, 290. Ibid., Chap. 22, 225-34.

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urban centers in search of employment which is not usually available. Nevertheless, the emphasis in public as well as in the major private investment expenditures is in favor of the urban areas. The major handicaps to the development of the rural areas are the absence of a pipe-borne water supply, electricity, good roads, and adequate technical and financial assistance to agriculture. In the 1970-74 Plan, the sum of £132.7 million is to be spent by the federal and the state governments on agriculture, forestry, livestock, and fishing. Apart from about £11 million which is to be spent on research and investigations, most of the planned investment will be spent in the rural areas. But the major handicap to increased agricultural productivity in the rural areas is the absence of commercial banks and other credit institutions in the Plan. Therefore, the provision of £6 million for agricultural credit will either benefit urban farmers living where banks are located or be improperly handled if lent through non-banking institutions. More critical than the absence of banks is the absence of electricity, water supply, and health facilities in the rural areas compared with the urban centers. Only about 20 percent of the public capital investment in the selected sectors that more closely touch human life is invested in the rural areas, compared with about 80 percent in the urban areas (see table 6). The rural industrial investments are mainly in the assistance to small-scale industries and the establishment of industrial estates, most of which are spent to assist small-scale and other industrialists in the urban areas. There is no major industry in Nigeria which is located outside an urban area. Educational institutions at secondary, technical, teacher-training, and university levels are located predominantly in urban centers. Primary educational institutions are the most rural-based in the institutional hierarchy. It is the sector that has the highest rural investment ratio of the selected sectors. Enrollment in primary schools ranges from as low as 4 percent in some rural areas to as high as 70 percent in some urban areas, while that of secondary school varies from 0.4 percent in the rural areas to about 12 percent in the urban areas. In the urban areas, while about 20 percent of the population above the age of five are literate, only 2 percent are literate in the rural areas. When it is realized that only about 20 percent of the Nigerian population is urban dwelling, the undue emphasis on urban development at the expense of the rural areas is obvious. Similar trends exist all over Africa. Unless the rural areas are widely provided with water and electricity, migration to the urban areas will increase and measures to provide jobs through urban investments will always lag behind the urban pull. A more favorable allocation of investment for the development of the

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rural areas will perhaps diminish the growing rate of unemployment, increase the rate of growth of the gross domestic product, increase the percentage of fully employed producers, and contribute more to the general welfare — which is, after all, the goal of economic planning and development in Afiica. It must be remembered, however, that no amount of rural investment will prevent the influx of population into the urban areas from' the rural areas in the early stages of economic development. The usual migration trend in development history is that at the initial stages the pull of the city is irresistible to young, more ambitious, and more educated citizens. But when development has matured and the cities become crowded, unhealthy, and costly, the reverse migration to the rural and sub-urban areas begins to take place among the wealthiest urban dwellers, who want more space in which to live, invest, and to which to escape from the humdrum of city life. This is the present situation in the developed countries of Europe and America. It may not be different in Africa.

Table 1. Percentage of Rural Population (living in cities below 20,000 and 100,000 population in the major areas of the world).

1800

1850

1900

1950

1960

Below Below Below Below Below Below Below 100,000 100,000 100,000 20,000 100,000 20,000 100,000 Africa Asia Europe Latin America North America Oceania U.S.S.R. World

99.7 98.4 97.0 99.6 —

—

98.6

98.2

98.9 97.9 85.5 94.3 81.5 78.3 95.8

98.3

97.7

94.5

—

99.8 98.3 94.2 98.5 94.5

90 87 65 74 58 53 69

94.8 92.5 78.9 83.5 71.0 60.8 81.5

86.3 80.2 40.5 62.5 20.5 24.5 55.2

91.9 87.7 67.0 75.9 39.8 56.7 76.1

79

86.9

63.5

79.9

Sources: Philip Μ. Hauser and Leo S. Schnore, The Study of Urbanization (New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 1967), 548; William Hance, Population Migration and Urbanisation in Africa (1970), 222. U.I.

Rural Economic Development

Table 2.

251

World Population and World Urban and Rural Population 1800-1960.

Year

World Population (millions)

1800 1850 1900 1950 1960

906 1,171 1,608 2,400 2,995

Population in Cities 5,000 and over — urban (millions)

5,000 and over — urban

100,000 and over — urban

Percent of Rural Population (below 5,000)

27.2 74.9 218.7 716.7 948.4

3.0 6.4 13.6 29.8 31.6

1.7 2.3 5.5 13.1 20.1

97.0 93.6 86.4 70.2 68.4

Percent in Cities

Source: Philip M. Hauser and Leo Schnore, The Study of Urbanization (New York: John Wiley & Sons Inc., 1967), 524.

Table 3. Estimated Percentage of Rural Populations in Selected African Countries on Selected Dates (living in villages with populations less than 20,000).

North Africa Sudan Morocco United Arab Republic Algeria Tunisia Ethiopia West Africa Senegal Mali Upper Volta Niger Sierra Leone Liberia Ivory Coast Ghana Togo Dahomey Nigeria Central Africa Chad Cameroon Angola East Africa Kenya Uganda Tanzania Malawi

1950

1960

1965

95 78 68 76 68 98

92.0 71.7 64.6 68.9 63.0 96

88 67 60 65 60 95

82 95.5 97.0 97.5 94 98.8 90 85 90 94 90

76 92.8 95.0 96.5 89.0 88.0 82.0 78.4 86.0 90.0 83.0

71.5 90.6 93.6 94.8 87.0 85.0 78.5 75.0 82.0 84.2 80.0

96 94.2 93

92.0 87.0 90.2

90.0 84.0 89.0

94 97 97 98.9

93 96.8 95.2 97

90.0 96.0 94.5 96.2

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Table 3 (continued)

Rhodesia Zambia South Africa Union of South Africa South-West Africa Total Africa

1950

1960

1965

87.2

81

76.0

58 88 90

53 77 86.3

50 75 82

Sources: Calculated from United Nations Demographic Yearbooks, 1950-1968 and censuses of the African countries.

Table 4. Estimated Percentage of Rural Populations in Major African Regions: I960 and 1967 1960

1967

Percentage living in settlements below 20,000

Percentage living in towns below 100,000

Percentage living in settlements below 5,000

Percentage living in settlements below 20,000

Percentage living in settlements below 100,000

Northern Africa West Africa Central Africa Eastern Africa Southern Africa

76.2 89.3 91.6 94.4 65.5

81.0 92.7 95.3 96.9 76.4

67.8 83.4 84.4 90.5 58.7

75.1 88.3 88.6 92.4 59.3

80.3 91.2 92.5 95.1 70.4

AFRICA

86.3

90.3

80.2

84.2

88.5

Region

Source: William A. Hance, Population Migration and Urbanization in Africa, Table 14, p. 222.

Rural Economic Development

Table 5.

253

Nigeria's Pattern of Gainful Occupation — Percentage Distribution 1966-71.

Occupation

Agriculture Manufacturing Construction Commerce Transport and Communication Services Others Total

Number of people gainfully employed (millions)

Males

Females

Total

(%)

(%)

(%)

80.1 6.3 1.1 4.9

62.1 14.0 0.01 22.2

71.7 9.6 0.6 12.9

18.0 2.0 0.06 3.0

1.4 5.8 0.3

0.03 1.7 0.02

0.8 3.9 0.2

0.08 0.8 0.02

100.00

100.00

1100.00

24

Source: 1970-74 Development Plan, Chapter 33, Table 1, p. 311.

Table 6. Urban/Rural Investment in Selected Sectors in Nigeria's 1970-74 Plan (all governments)

Sector

Total Planned Investment

Urban Investment

£ million

£ million

V /o

£ million

%

Rural Investment

Industry Commerce Electricity Water and Sewage Town and Country Planning Education Health Social Welfare

86.1 18.9 45.3 51.7

77.7 15.4 40.3 42.2

91.2 72.0 89.0 71.6

8.4 3.5 5.0 9.5

9.8 18.0 11.0 18.4

19.1 138.9 53.8 12.0

18.0 98.4 45.2 11.0

94.3 70.9 84.0 91.7

1.1 40.5 8.6 1.0

5.7 29.1 16.0 8.3

Total

425.8

348.2

80.0

77.6

20.0

These calculations are rough estimates made on the basis of the location of the investment projects and the incidental advantages to either urban or rural areas.

254

SAMUEL A. ALUKO

REFERENCES ADAMS, DALE W.

1969 "Rural Migration and Agricultural Development in Colombia", Economic Development and Cultural Change 17:4 (July), 527-39. ALUKO, s. A.

1970 "The Case for Rapid Industrialisation in Nigeria", The Journal of the Institute of Administration (University of Ife, Nigeria, April), 193-215. ANDERSON, N.

1959

The Urban Community: A World Perspective (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul).

BOSERUP, MOGENS

1955 "Agrarian Structure and Take-off", in The Economics of Take-off into Sustained Growth, edited by W. W. Rostow (London: Macmillan), Chap. 12. DUNCAN, OTIS DUDLEY

1956 "The Measurement of Population Distribution", Population Studies: A Journal of Demography 11 (July), 38-39. HOSEUTZ, BERT F.

1967 "A History of the Long-Term Development of the City", in The Urban Explosion in Latin America: A Continent in Process of Modernization, edited by Glenn H. Beyer (Ithaca: Cornell University Press.) NANGUNDA, S., Η. E. ROBINSON, AND E. STALEY

1962 Economic Research for Small-Scale Industry Development, Stanford Research Institute (New Delhi: Asia Publishing House). ROSTOW, w . w .

1960

The Stages of Economic Growth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

SINGH, TARLOK

1968 "Planning the Rural Sector", in The National Economy: The Rural Base for National Development, edited by Ronald Robinson and Peter Johnston (Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 109-18. STALEY, E. AND RICHARD MORSE

1965

Modern Small Industry for Developing Countries (New York: McGraw Hill Book Co.).

THORNER, D.

1953-54 "The Village Panchayat as a Vehicle of Change", Economic Development and Cultural Change 2, 209-15. 1970 Federal Republic of Nigeria: Second National Development Plan, 1970-74 (Lagos).

Selected Bibliography of Lucy Mair

1933 "Baganda Land Tenure", Africa (April), 187-205. 1934a "The Study of Culture Contact as a Practical Problem", Africa VIII (4) (October), 415-22. 1934b "The Growth of Economic Individualism in African Society", Journal of the Royal African Society 33,261-73. 1934c An African People in the Twentieth Century (London: George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.). 1935a "Native Marriage in Buganda", Man 35 (71), 66-77. 1935b "Totemism among the Buganda", Man 35 (71), 66-67. 1936 Native Policies in Africa (London: George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.; New York: Negro Universities Press, 1969). 1938 "The Place of History in the Study of Culture Contact", in Methods of Study of Culture Contact in Africa, edited by Lucy Mair (London: Oxford University Press for International Institute of African Languages and Cultures, Memorandum XV). 1940a Native Marriage in Buganda (London: Oxford University Press for International Institute of African Languages and Cultures, Memorandum XIX). 1940b "Modern Marriage in Buganda", Man 40 (8), 12. 1944 Welfare in the British Colonies (London: The Royal Institute of International Affairs). 1948 Australia in New Guinea (London: Christophers). 1950 "The Role of the Anthropologist in Non-Autonomous Territories" in Principles and Methods of Colonial Administration. Colston papers based on a symposium promoted by the Colston Research Society and the University of Bristol in April 1950 (London: Butterworths), pp. 178-92. 1953 African Marriage and Social Change, Part I of Survey of African Marriage and Family Life. Edited by Arthur Phillips (London: Oxford University Press for the International African Institute). 1957 Studies in Applied Anthropology (= London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology 16) (London: The Athlone Press). 1958a "Representative Local Government as a Problem in Social Change", Journal of African Administration X (1) (January); Rhodes-Livingstone Journal 21 (March 1957), 1-17.

256

Selected bibliography of Lucy Mair

1958b "African Chiefs Today", Africa XXVIII (3) (July), 195-203. 1960a "The Social Sciences in Africa South of the Sahara: The British Contribution", Human Organization XIX (3), 98-107. 1960b "Social Change in Africa", International Affairs 36 (4) (October), 447-56. 1961a "Clientship in East Africa", Cahiers cTEtudes Africaines II (Paris), 2, 2(6), 315-25. 1961b Safeguards for Democracy (London: Oxford University Press). 1962a The Nyasaland Elections of 1961 (= University of London Institute of Commonwealth Studies, Commonwealth Papers 7) (London: The Athlone Press). 1962b Primitive Government (London and Baltimore: Penguin Books). 1962c "La politique en Afrique Nouvelle", Futuribles (October). 1963a New Nations (London and Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, and Weidenfeld and Nicolson). 1963b "Some Current Terms in Social Anthropology", British Journal of Sociology XIV (1) (March), 20-29. 1963c "Divide and Rule in the New Countries", New Society 37 (13) (June), 18. 1965 An Introduction to Social Anthropology (Oxford: Clarendon Press). 1967a The New Africa (London: Watts). 1967b "Busoga Local Politics", Journal of Commonwealth Political Studies 5 (2) (July), 91-108. 1969a Witchcraft (New York: McGraw-Hill Books). 1969b Anthropology and Social Change (= London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology 38) (London: The Athlone Press). 1970 African Marriage and Social Change, new edition of African Marriage and Social Change, Part I of Survey of African Marriage and Family Life (London: Frank Cass). 1971a "New Elites in East and West Africa", in Colonialism in Africa 1870-1960, Vol. 3, Profiles of Change: African Society and Colonial Rule, ed. Victor Turner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 167-92. 1971b Marriage (Baltimore: Penguin Books). The following essays are included in Lucy Mair's book Anthropology and Social Change (= London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology 38) (London: The Athlone Press). 1936 1948a 1948b 1950

1956 1958

1959 1960

1961 1962

"Chieftainship in Modern Africa", Africa IX (3). "Modern Developments in African Land Tenure", Africa XVIII (3). "Self-Government or Good Government?", World Affairs 2 (new series). "Anthropology and the Underdeveloped Territories" (text of a lecture given to the Netherlands Africa Institute and the Royal Institute for the Indies at Amsterdam, 30th October, 1950), Indonesien. "Applied Anthropology and Development Policies", The British Journal of Sociology 7. "African Chiefs Today" (The Lugard Memorial Lecture for 1958, delivered in Brussels on 9th April, 1958, on the occasion of the Annual Meeting of the Executive Council of the International African Institute), Africa 28 (3) (July). "Independent Religious Movements in Three Continents", Comparative Studies in Society and History (2) (January). "Race, Tribalism and Nationalism in Africa" (Paper delivered at a joint conference of the Royal Anthropological Institute and the Institute of Race Relations in 1959) in P. Mason, ed., Man, Race and Darwin (London: Oxford University Press). "Clientship in East Africa", Cahiers d^ Etudes Africaines II (6). "Old and New Leadership in Africa", The Advancement of Science XIX (March).

Selected Bibliography of Lucy Mair

257

1964a "Witchcraft as a Problem in the Study of Religion", Cahiers d'Etudes Africaines IV (15). 1964b "How Small-Scale Societies Change" (Presidential Address delivered to Section Ν (Sociology) on 28th August, 1964 at Southampton Meeting of the British Association), The Advancement of Science XXI. 1965 "Tradition and Modernity in the New Africa" (Paper presented at a meeting of the Anthropology Division, New York Academy of Sciences, 25th January, 1965), Transactions of the New York Academy of Sciences, Series II, Vol. 27 (February). Compiled by Maxwell Owusu

Name Index

Almond, G. Α., 30 Aluko, S. Α., 24 Anderson, E., 151 Apter, D., 30,38 Bailey, F. G., 83,121,140 India studies of, 37,122,124 local politics studies of, 32, 49, 50, 53, 54, 83 Balandier, G„ 40,44,60,145 Banton, M. P., 118,214,218 Baran, P. Α., 109 Barth, F., 122 Bernus, S., 221 Bienen, Η., 38, 39, 137 Bierstedt, R., 126,127 Blanksten, G. I., 103 Boissevain, J., 105 Bond, G., 24 Boserup, M., 236 Boswell, D.M., 118 Brain, J., 24 Brokensha, D., 118 Browning, H. L., 234 Buchanan, Κ., 109 Chikang'anga, 157 Chilongo, Lamec, 147,157,162 life of, 150-53 tradition and, 154-56,161 Chilongo, Winston, 147,161 church of, 158-59 life of, 156-58,159-60

Cohen, Α., 26,67,83 Cohen, P. S., 183 Cohen, R., 39 Comte, Α., 51 Cory, H„ 187 Dada, General ldi Amin, 225 DeGrazia, S., 127 DeVore, I., 180 Diamond, S., 44, 52 Dorjahn, V. R., 105 Douglas, M., 191,196 Dürkheim, Ε., 27,190, 198 Dyson-Hudson, Ν., 127 Easton, D., 26-28, 30-34 Epstein, A. L., 59,100,118,124 Erejuwa II, 75 Evans-Pritchard, Ε. E., 28, 51, 179, 184, 195 Fallers, L., 33, 37 Field, M. J., 191 Firth, R., 9,18,121 Forde, D., 82,83 Fortes, M., 19, 28, 51, 115 n. 2,190 Foster, Ε. M., 193 Fraenkel, M., 118 Frank, A. G., 109 Frazer, J., 179 Freedman, M., 135 Fried, M., 67

259

NAME INDEX

Geertz, C., 132 Gellner, E., 30 n. 18, 53,57 Gluckman, M., 121,122,195 Goldrich, D., 105 Good, R. C.5 43 Goody, J., 18 Gor, Chief, 207 Goubert, P., 40 Gregor, A. J., 58 Gurr, Τ., 103 Gutkind, P. W. C., 24,46,118 Hall, C.S., 180 Hallowell, A. I., 180 Hobsbawm, E. J., 130 Hodgkin, Τ., 136,145 Hofstra, S., 9 Hunter, M., 118 Jayawardena, Chandra, 31 Kenyatta, J., 17,189 Kilson, M., 38 Kimbangu, 145,152,154 Kirchhoff, P., 9 Kitoto, 205 Kluckhohn, C„ 179,186 Kuper, Α., 31, 32 Kuper, H., 9 Kuper, L., 195 LaFontaine, J. S., 118,185 Lamec. See Chilongo, Lamec Lancaster, C. S., 181 Lande, C., 126 Larimore, Α. Ε., 119 Laski, H., 33 Leach, E. R.,28,123 Leslie, J. A. K„ 195 Levi-Strauss, C., 182,183, 188 Leys, C., 37, 38,125 Little, K., 195 Mafeje, Α., 118,195 Mair, L. P., 12, 20, 22,176, 203 and applied anthropology, 10, 11 27, 28, 30 colonial situation, study of, 9-11, 19, 20, 23-25,29, 55, 68, 70 at London School of Economics, 9, 10, 12, 19 Malinowski and, 17,163 political theory, study of, 26, 38, 56, 69, 121, 139

withcraft, study of, 179, 188-91, 194, 196 Malinowski, B., 9,12,17,27,163 witchcraft, study of, 179,186 Mangin, W., 105 Maquet, J., 26 Marris, P., 118 Marshall, L., 182 Marwick, Μ. G., 179,185,192-94 Mayer, P., 118 Meillassoux, C., 118,220 Middleton, J., 116,117, witchcraft, study of, 119,185, 188, 192, 198 Mitchell, J. C„ 59,118,194 Moore, B., 109,137 Morris, H. S., 131 Mulenga, Alice "Lenshine", 145,147, 154, 157 Myrdal, G., 47 Nadel, S. F., 9,179 Nelkin, D., 98,106 Nelson, J., 89,99,102 Nduka, O., 108 Nukunya, G. K., 24, 59 Nyakiti, 204,205,207,210 Oberg, Κ., 9 Obrebski, J., 9,131 Obote, Μ., 225 Ogutu, 204 Oluande, B. F. F., 210 Orinda, 207 Otite, O., 24 Ottenberg, S., 32,51 Owusu, M., 24,118 Parkin, D. J., 214,220,221,222 Paulme, D., 188 Phillips, Α., 164, 176 Plotnicov, L., 118 Pons, V., 116,138 Popper, K., 52 Powdermaker, H., 191 Radcliffe-Brown, A. R., 27, 28,182 Read, M., 9 Richards, Α., 9,196 Robertson, A. F., 49 Rostow, W. W„ 239 Safa, H., 98,99 Sahlins, M., 51, 52

260

NAME INDEX

Sartori, G., 42 Saul, J. S., 93 Schapera, I., 127,184 Seligman, C. G., 9 Shembe, 145 Simpson, G. E., 105 Sklar, R.,46 Snyder, R. C., 48 Sofer, C., andR., 118 Southall, Α., 24, 34, 116, 118, 128, 170, 195 Spenser, H., 51 Spicer, E., 182 Stevenson, R. F., 51 Sundkler, B. G. M., 146,151 Swartz, M. J., 47, 48 Tempels, P., 191 Tiger, L., 179-81 Turnbull, C., 182 Turner, V. W., 18,57, 185, 188 Uchendu, V. C., 189

Vansina, J., 41 Verba, S., 30 Vincent, J., 24, 38, 56, 67, 83 Wagner, G.,9,117,208 Wallce, A. F. C., 180 Washburn, S. L„ 179,181 Weber, M., 76,155 Weiner, M., 105 Weingrod, Α., 37 Willis, R. G., 187 Wilson, G., 9 Wilson, M.,9,179,186,188,195 Winckler, Ε. Α., 36 Winston, See Chilongo, Winston Winter, Ε. H„ 179,185,188,198 Woodburn, J., 181,182 Wowo, J., 148,150 Wrigley, C., 154 Zolberg, Α., 38,139

Subject Index

Acholi, 125 Afikpo Igbo, 51 Africa Christian prophetic movements in, 145, 146, 151, 152. (See also prophecy; Yombe, minor prophets) indigenous states of, 67-69, 80, 81, 82 native scholars of, 17, 18, 20-22, 41, 42, native scholars of, 17, 18, 20-22, 41, 42, 57, 59 new states of, 29, 37, 42, 43, 49, 61, 67, 81,84,90,103 study of, 22, 39, 41. (See also social anthropology; political anthropoloy) ahiasododo, 173 Alakple, 169,170,175 ancestor cult, 190. See also Yombe, ancestor cult Ankole, 221,222 Anlo, 167-69,175 Anloga, 167,175 anthropologists, 20, 22, 27, 55, 59, 60, 67, 117, 118,138,140,164 apartheid, 22,222,223 applied anthropology, 10, 11,19,163 Grabs, 204-05 associations, types of caste, 224 contractual, 214 cult, 224 ethnic (See ethnic associations) voluntary, 216, 220,224

baboons, 180 Bantu, 191 boma, 120 capital, 240,241,246, 248 capitalism, 29, 34,46,108 center-periphery relations, 53, 54, 136, 139 Cewa, 194 chiefs, 21,72,74,77,206,207,209,210 Christian missionaries, 145,146,219 clan, 206 associations, 210,211,216 class, 24,35,46,103,124,129 commercial, 120 comprador, 109 conflict, 107, 111 consciousness, 98,101,124 entrepreneurial, 109 working, 101,166 colonial administration, 9,10,19,148, 203, 20507,209,212,213,221,223 determinism, 27 domination, 22, 35,41,45,204 government, 116, 117, 119, 120, 195, 206-08 records, 41 rule, 19, 28, 70, 78, 122, 136, 145, 146, 165,166,168,204 situation, 17, 20-22, 27, 44, 56, 90, 108, 133 colonialism, 18, 23, 29, 30, 32, 39,44,47

262

SUBJECT INDEX

conflict, 48,182,183 coups d'etat, 32,71,73,90,93 credit, 223, 224, 239, 241, 242, 246, 248, 249 Crown Land, 116,117,120 cultural evolution, 36, 52, 53,180,181 culture, 55,69,131,135, 184 Cwezi, 187 decision-making, 29, 36, 38, 40, 47-49, 61,87, 88,105,121,135 devolution, 214,218,219 diet, 235,236 diviners, 149, 154,195 dukas, 119 economic development, 34, 92, 110, 137, 235-37,239,242,249,250 economy, 45, 46, 85, 103, 134, 165, 237, 239,240,242, 245,247 education, 78, 81, 87, 125, 165, 166, 168, 170,171,219,234,244,248,249 egalitarian gerontocracy, 32 Egbe Omo Oduduwa, 217,221 Egungun,221,224 elite, 35, 45, 59, 87, 90, 92, 96, 101, 104, 107,108,110, 111, 166,220 in small towns, 125,127,128,136 embourgeoisement, 46,124,128 emigration, 167-69,175,176 encapsulated systems, 53, 54, 69, 76, 83, 93, 104 ethnic associations, 118, 166, 203, 204, 210, 212-20,222-24 ethnicity, 55, 56,116,117,134,222, 223 ethnography, 18,27 Ethnographic Survey of Africa, 26 European contact, 24,163,164,208 exploitation, 90, 104,108-10 family affines, 170,171,173,174 nuclear, 165, 166,170,171, 175 structure, 163-65,167 farmers, 232, 239-43 fieldwork, 59, 60 Fipa, 187 foreign aid, 61, 92 foreign exhange earnings, 236 Free Church of Scotland, 147-53, 155-58, 160, 161. See also Yombe functionalist theory, 21, 58, 198

gbovi, 171 Gondo, 117,128,132,133 Hadza, 181,182 historicism, 52 historiography, 39-41,60 host-migrant polarity, 220,221 household composition, 169,171-76 hunting and gathering peoples, 52, 182, 197 Ibo, 215,216,217,218,220,225 ideology, 86, 87,91,94,97,99,107 imperialism, 18,19, 30, 39 incest, 153,159,161,186 India, 85, 86, 89,102,124 indirect rule, 79 industrialization, 23, 29, 36, 38, 57, 85, 95 industry, 110,116,234,236,245-47 Interlacustrine Bantu, 215,217 International African Institute, 27 Kalahari, 31 Kalinda Free Church, 152 Kampace, 196 Kampala, 203, 204, 209-12, 214, 216-18, 221,222,224,225 Kanyamwa, 206,207 Karachuonyo, 204-08 Kasipul, 205-07 kinship, 27, 82, 165, 166,170, 175 Kru, 217,218 labor, 89,125,232,234,242 unions, 96,194,223 land tenure, 242 lineage structure, 27, 165, 166, 168, 174, 209 acephalous, 22 agnatic, 213, 214,216 localized, 205, 222, 223 localized, 205,222, 223 maximal, 208 segmentary, 203-10, 212, 213, 216, 219, 220, 222,224 Lugbara, 117,187,190 Luhya, 208,212-14,217,218, 220,222 Luo, 204,208, 209,217,218,220,222 sub-tribes, 205,208,224 Union, 203. 210-12, 216, 220, 225 magic, 193,195,196. See also witchcraft marriage, 165, 168, 173, 174 masses, 95

SUBJECT INDEX

media, 86 Mende, 215, 217,218 middlemen, 53 Midwestern State of Nigeria, 68,70-82 Chiefs' Law, 70-72, 77, 83 Constitution of, 70, 71,77 Customary Courts of, 73,74 Declarations of, 72,82 government of, 74-76,79,82, 83 Governor of, 71,77 House of Assembly of, 73 House of Chiefs of, 71, 73-77 Legislature of, 70,73 legitimacy, 76 Parliament of, 74,77,78 ruling houses of, 72 Special Chiefs of, 71 Upper House of, 74,76 migration, 89, 210, 234, 235, 237, 249, 250 migrants, 93,125,130,131,167,225 workers, 210,211,217,219, 220,225 misfortune, 189-91,194,195,198 modernity, 54,69,78, 79 modernization, 23, 34-36, 40, 53, 57, 83, 86,93, 95,96,104,131 Μ to wa Mbu, 117,129,132,133 nationalism, 29,32,136,146 natural resources, 110,240 Nigeria, 235,236 oral traditions, 41 parapolitics, 32, 54,118 patron-client networks, 53, 54, 98, 122, 126,127,219,223 peasants, 87,90,124,131,140 policy, 31,96, 105 analysis, 30,61 decision, 21, 33,43,45,49-51 domestic, 43,55, 58 foreign, 43, 55 makers, 49, 50, 83 political, analysis, 33,37,54, 62 anthropology, 26, 29, 36, 37, 39, 44, 48, 57, 60,127 archaeology, 53 competition, 56, 57 consciousness, 40, 85-87, 92-94, 96, 98, 99,101,103,105,107,110, 111 dependence, 29,45 development, 69, 83, 92

263

entrepreneur, 122,126,125 factionalism, 45, 81,122,126,127 importance of small towns, 118 leadership, 97,104,105 arena, local, 122-24 pacemakers, 125,131-35, 137 parties, 79-81, 88,105,136,223 passivity, 105,106 patronage, 77, 80, 82,125 polarization, 86 power, 69,126 pressure groups, 86,106 resources, 51,78, 81,124 scientists, 38, 136, 137 sovereignty, 33, 34 (See also sovereignty) stability, 88, 90,93, 111 stratification, 34,46,92 systems, 25, 29, 33, 34,70,139,209,213 politicians, 69, 78-80, 82 politics, 26, 28,132 of agriculture, 123 and choice, 122 comparative, 31, 40, 58, 60, 115, 127, 137 ethnic, 125,129,132,133 informal, 13-25 of labor mobilization, 123 local, 32, 38, 39,49,73 national, 31, 38, 43, 53, 74, 80, 122-24, 137 small town, 115, 122, 125, 129, 131, 133, 136,139, 140 study of, 26, 37,44,48,67 Pondo, 186 population, 231, 234-36,241, density, 51,249 figures, 233,245 poverty, 46, 85, 88, 89,92,95,101,104 primate behavior, 179,180,181 prophecy, 51, 145, 155, 156, 160, 161. See also Yombe, minor prophets Puerto Rico, 98,99 relative deprivation, 133,134,140 religion, 104, 145, 148, 161, 190, 192, 195, 219 Republic of South Qfrica, 32, 222, 223, 224 ritual combat, 87, 208 rural, areas, 89, 167, 231, 233-35, 237, 238, 249,250 development, 235,237,238,244,249

264

SUBJECT INDEX

sector of economy, 232-35, 237, 239, 241,246-48 society, 232 solidarities, 216 sex, antagonism, 180, 181, 182, 183, 188, 197 division of labor by, 181 separation, 180-83 social anthropology, 9, 10, 12, 18, 68, 82, 84, 179 societies, alien, 59,135 anthropoligical, 69,83 complex, 88,121 plural, 134 small-scale, 121-24,128. (See also town, small) social change, 55, 56, 103, 104, 146, 155, 163-65,169,170,175,176 and witchcraft beliefs, 186, 192, 195, 198 social sciences, 43, 139. See also applied, anthropology; political anthropology; social anthropology socialism, 108 socioeconomic mobility, 28, 34, 98, 104, 121,123,124, 129,137 sorcery. See witchcraft sovereignty, 33, 34 spirits. See Yombe, witchcraft stateless societies, 204. See also tribe subsistence agriculture, 239-41. See also agriculture symbols, 55, 57,180 systems model, 32, 58, 69 technology, 34,40, 95 Temne, 217,218 Tero buru, 208 Third World, 30, 90-92, 95, 96, 99, 107, 109, 140 towns, 45, 59, 60, 95 small, 116, 118-21, 124, 127-29, 132, 135-38 typologies of, 116 trade, 35, 116, 117, 120, 132, 134, 247, 248,251 tradition, 28, 54,69,77-79 traditional polities, 21,38. 70 rulers, 73,74, 78-81, 204

tribalism, 44,46, 55, 56 tribe, 42,103,117 unemployment, 46, 95,97,106 urban, areas, 166, 167, 192, 203, 210, 220, 223, 231,233,237,249 migrants, 129. (See also migrants) poor, 89,90,93, 97-99,102,104, 107 sector of economy, 232 settlement, 115,116,126 tribal authorities, 223 workers, 106,110 urbanism, 93,94,106 urbanization, 85,94,95,98 voting, 49, 81, 87, 105, 124, 209-11. See also decision-making wage work, 166, 167, 208. See also labor; migration war, 47, 62,86,208 welfare, 211,215,222 witchcraft, 147, 149, 155, 158, 179, 18385,188,190,191 and agriculturalists, 182, 188, 189, 196, 197 beliefs about, 185,186,188,190-97 behavior inversion in, 186-88 functions of, 185, 186, 192, 193, 196, 197 and left hand, 187, 188 origins of, 196 rise of, 188,192,195 and social change, 186,192,195,198 and sorcery, 185,188 and witch-finding, 196 wizardry, 185,188 Woe, 169-71,173,175 Yombe of Northern Zambia, 147,148 ancestor cult, 147-49, 153, 155, 156, 160-62

cihenela, 152 illness beliefs, 149, 151,158 minor prophets; 146, 147, 149-56, 15862 royal Wowo clan, 148,150,156 spirit possession, 154, 159 Yoruba, 221,223 associations, 221,223 esusu, 223,224 witches, 184