Among the problems confronting the developing countries, rural reform has received increasing attention from a variety of social scientists. There are several reasons for this new emphasis. In the pasts decade most of the struggles for independence have ended and the newly formed nations are beginning to focus on the complex issues of political integration and economic growth. Few areas reflect this change as dramatically as the Maghreb.

This article suggests that a ‘politics of security’ characterised white South Africa from 1961 to at least the time of the death of Prime Minister H. F. Verwoerd in 1966. It is still too early to know whether under Dr Verwoerd's successor, B. J. Vorster, South African politics will assume another character, although at the end of the article I will suggest that change is unlikely. I wish to argue, however, that over the last five years of the Verwoerd premiership politics in South Africa was qualitatively different from that which existed before the creation of the Republic in 1961.

The recurrent crisis in the (ex-Belgian) Congo, which first exploded soon after the country's independence on 30 June 1960, was the main event in the history both of the United Nations (U.N.) and of Africa during the 1960s. Its first phase (with which this paper largely deals) opened with the mutiny of the Force publique on 5 July, the intervention of Belgian troops on 10 July, and the proclamation of Katanga's independence on 11 July; it came to an end with the suppression of Katanga's secession, tentatively in December 1961 and conclusively in January 1963. The Opération des Nations Unies au Congo (O.N.U.C.) was authorised by the Security Council on 14 July, on the independent initiative of the U.N. Secretary-General, Dag Hammarskjold, and in response to the Congo Government's appeals to the U.N. for technical and military assistance. The operation was the biggest and costliest by far in the life of the U.N.; 1 and its course was marked by political as well as financial ruin, from which the U.N. has never quite recovered. Evidence for this was furnished early. By the time the operation formally came to an end on 30 June 1964, the Congo was already in the thick of the second phase of the crisis; this phase, which began with the outbreak of rebellion in Kwilu in January 1964, was brought to an end of sorts by the Belgian-American military intervention in Stanleyville in November 1964, which produced few signs of activity by the U.N.

On 11 November 1965 the Rhodesian Front Government of Mr Ian Smith unilaterally declared Rhodesia to be independent of the residual jurisdiction of the United Kingdom.

The British Government understandably regarded U.D.I, as illegal and unacceptable, and sought ways to terminate the rule of Smith's party. In the absence of an internal uprising, the British Government, having eschewed the use of force, resorted to a policy of economic sanctions to effect the desired political and social changes. These were intended to affect incomes, employment, and economic activity generally, so as to generate dissent and disaffection among the white population, who, it was hoped, would either emigrate or force a return to legality, the negotiating table, and progress towards a mutually acceptable form of independence.

This article concerns two important arenas of political competition in Zambia: on the one hand, between parties and, on the other, within the ruling party itself. Competition between political parties exists especially between the United National Independence Party (U.N.I.P.) and two small party rivals, the African National Congress (A.N.C.) and the United Party (U.P.). Many U.N.I.P. officials at various levels have looked forward to the establishment of a one-party state in Zambia, on the familiar grounds that minor opposition parties appeal to parochial loyalties: that they oppose constructive programmes irresponsibly and hamper their implementation: and that political opposition is a luxury which diverts time, energy, and money away from the important tasks of development. In pursuit of its objective of eliminating inter-party competition, U.N.I.P. has generally employed two different sets of tactics, based on different assumptions about the strength and potential of the two minor parties.

This article is concerned with an analysis of the causes of the poverty of the developing countries. The decade of the 1960s opened with a new wave of optimistic expectations for the periphery.1 There were, first of all, the massive decolonisation efforts, which to many implied the eclipse of imperialism and the possibility of meaningful economic reconstruction by the former colonial people, now that political power was in our own hands. ‘Seek ye first the political kingdom and all things shall be added unto you’, succinctly if unaptly captured the prevailing mood of the time.

The omnipresence of ethnic factors as a determinant in Nigerian politics during the first republic appears almost as a truism for Africansts today. The fragmentation of Nigeria into two units with the secession of Biafra on 30 May 1967 constitutes the most tragic and vivid manifestation of the consequences of ethnic confrontation. But in addition to these well-known ethnic-bloc politics at the macropolitical— Federal—level, competition based on ethnic groups also characterised the regional and local political systems. After all, the separate identities of such ethnic groups as the Ibo, the Yoruba, and the Hausa—Fulani only became relevant and generally accepted subsequent to the Introduction of a representative political system after World War II.

The origins of African political consciousness in Southern Africa can be traced back to the first half of the nineteenth century, to the impact of the Christian missions and to the development of a non-racial constitution in the Cape. As the century progressed, mission-educated Africans came to exercise a limited but real influence within Cape politics, and the Native policy of that Colony was seen to contrast favourably with those policies developing in the Boer Republics and Natal. By the turn of the century a new African élite had emerged, committed to non-racial ideals gleaned from Christianity and supported by the theory, and to some extent the practice, of Cape politics.

The great achievements of the liberation movement in Africa in the late 1950s and early 1960s led to the winning of political independence by the majority of African countries. For the first time in their history they were able to determine for themselves their path to economic development. This happened at a period when the world was split into two socio-economic systems: socialism and capitalism. The broad distinction between them may be defined by the objective fact of the ownership of the means of production: a socialist society has decided to take in its hands all capital goods and to govern collectively the economic development of the country; a capitalist society still sticks to the principle of private ownership, thinking that individual interests may guarantee the prosperity of the whole society, but forgetting that only the socialisation of the means of production can stop the exploitation of the many by the few.

War and military institutions have played a crucial part in the history of Angola. Colonial wars, auxiliary armies, expeditions, and soldiergovernors fill the pages of this history, and it is no exaggeration to recall that military expenses have, except for some years during 1930–58, represented the major item in annual budgets since the sixteenth century, when the Portuguese began to conquer the Luanda hinterland. The character and role of the armed forces in Angola, however, have undergone changes: especially since 1961, new developments promise possibly important influences on future events in that territory, events which may not follow traditional patterns in history.

The convening of the constitutional conference on Southern Rhodesia early in 1961 was the summit of the African nationalists' achievement, from which they subsequently declined. The conference took place less than four years after the formation of the first modern nationalist party in the territory and only two years after the Government had banned it and arrested its leaders. The second nationalist party secured, a year after its inauguration and in the face of implacable hostility from the Government, the first of its major immediate aims, this constitutional conference, which its representatives attended with status equal to that of representatives from the government party. The nationalists had the opportunity at the conference to help modify the political system, in existence since 1923, from which Africans had been almost wholly excluded.

On St Patrick's Day 1967 Sierra Leone went to the polls to elect a new parliament. Four days later, on 21 March, Brigadier David Lansana, head of the Sierra Leone army, seized power. After two more days, on 23 March, Lansana was repudiated by a group of senior army officers; this second coup was followed by the creation of a National Reformation Council, including five army officers and two senior police officials, which was to take control of the government. Almost the last multi-party democracy in independent black Africa had come to an end, cancelling the first peaceful change of government through the ballot-box. Lansana's action was in some respects less defensible than Ian Smith's U.D.I. in Rhodesia. Smith acted against the presumed wishes of a majority of Rhodesians; Lansana acted against the majority wish which had just been expressed. Smith did not, within minutes of taking power, send troops to fire on protesting crowds in the streets of the capital.

Prior to the discovery of rich oil deposits, Libyan development prospects seemed markedly discouraging. In a primarily agricultural economy, cultivation was narrowly confined to two physically separated coastal belts constituting less than 3 per cent of the country's total land area. Under the combined influence of outmoded techniques and the hostility of an arid soil, agricultural productivity was low. Possibilities for developing other forms of economic activity were few and unpromising. Libya seemed destined for an existence of continued dependence upon foreign assistance.

Situated side by side on the west coast of Africa, of similar size, and having similar national incomes per capita and capacity for development at independence, Ghana and the Ivory Coast present marked contrasts in the development of both agriculture and industry.1 Ghanaian politicians led the African independence movement, with Ghana receiving independence in 1957. The Ivory Coast was granted independence in 1960 with little indigenous effort. In the early years of independence Ghana welcomed aid and technical assistance from both private and government sources in the west, but after 1961 turned more and more to the Communist world and a philosophy of socialisation of agriculture and industry.2 During the five-year period from 1961 until Nkrumah was overthrown in early 1966, the development emphasis was on state farms and factories: 125 of the former were established by the State Farms Corporation, 84 by the Workers' Brigade and Young Farmers' League, and 870 by the co-operatives.

The centenary of Mahatma Gandhi's birth during 1969 (October 2) provides a reason for reassessments of the Indian leader's thought and career. Among the matters which deserve reconsideration is his South African phase, which began in 1893, on his arrival in Natal as a fledgling barrister, and ended in 1914, when he left for India by way of England to begin his main work as an Indian nationalist. A reappraisal of this period is needed principally because there is a tendency in biographical studies and Gandhi's own account of his South African years to romanticise or simplify the record and to leave unanswered questions about the development of his ideas and activities during a critical two decades of his life.1 A reappraisal is possible chiefly because of the recent appearance of Gandhi's Collected Works as a rich source for newer interpretations of what he said and did in Natal and the Transvaal.2 As an effort to contribute to reconsiderations of Gandhi's African phase, this article will examine his views of Europeans and Africans and his protest policies and tactics as they emerged over 21 years. Special attention is given to Gandhi's outlook on Africans and the circumstances surrounding his first disobedience campaign. A close inquiry into these matters helps to explain better Gandhi's role in modern South African history and the nature of his legacy to continuing issues in the continent.

The company as a form of economic organisation is an essentially capitalist invention, and the privilege of limited liability which it confers is specifically designed to protect private investment and to ensure that such investment is kept at a reasonable level despite the vagaries of the capitalist environment. It is therefore topical and relevant to study the future of the company in an African context in which a more socialist approach to development is being increasingly advocated. This article attempts to examine the position in Tanzania—politically the most avant-garde of the new anglophone states of Africa—several months after government action which severely down-graded the significance of her private sector.1

‘THE story, the spirit of Pan-Africanism, although originating in America and France, was brought to our country by a man whose name and memory I should like to recall here. I am speaking of Marc Kodio Tovallo Queno, who—as an authentic African forerunner of the movement—claimed his negritude even before the word was coined. He brought us to know Marcus Garvey, Dr Du Bois, and so many others; when I was a child I heard my parents speak of these names and evoke these problems. That is to say, if the first sketch of this movement was begun in America and Paris, it had, before it was publicly evident, repercussions and an extension in Africa.’1

In 1904 just over 6 per cent of South Africa's Afrikaners lived in the towns. By 1936 the percentage had risen to 44, and 1960 to 76 per cent. Slightly less than half of this number live in smaller centres, regarded for census purposes as ‘urban’ although most of them are dorps or hamlets.1 The causes of this demographic revolution go back to the simultaneous crisis of farming and the rise of mining and other industries that led to the growth of towns. Rural poverty pushed people off the land while the possibilities of earning higher incomes drew them to the towns. In the folk-lore of Afrikanerdom, towns—particularly Johannesburg—were evil places: they were regarded as the seats of an ‘English—Jewish’ capitalism that was bent on ploughing the Afrikaner under, and as hotbeds of vice and crime.2

An ideological orientation on the part of a government is an important impetus to social change in many of the countries of the under-developed world. As Clifford Geertz has pointed out, an ideology is a model for the ideal arrangement of all aspects of life, and the active propagation of such a view of the world by those in positions of power and authority in a society is bound to have an effect on the normal processes of social change.1 In so far as this model is successfully turned into an effective programme for directed social change, we may observe the exciting spectacle of a people carrying out changes which they are convinced are necessary, and modernising themselves in an atmosphere of enthusiasm and progress. This process usually amounts to a social revolution. But there are many pitfalls, and it is easy for proposed programmes of social change to get bogged down in the intricate networks of political relations between leaders and people, or to founder on hard economic realities.

The spirit of geographical exploration in Africa is historically linked both to science as a social commitment and to anti-science as an intellectual rebellion. This article is a reflection on this basic ambivalence in the meaning and philosophical implications of a transient episode in African history. What needs to be remembered is that men cast in certain roles, such as explorers, become not merely historical figures but also intellectual symbols. I leave it to the historians to study the explorers as figures in history, being here concerned with them as symbols in thought. What have these men and their activities meant in the interplay of ideas between Europe and Africa? What impact have they had on African self-consciousness? What is their place in the evolution of the scientific spirit in Africa? What bearing do they have on the quest for a scientific approach to the study of Africa's past? These questions are, indeed, too large to be adequately handled in a short article. But they need to be asked, and may thus help to define its context.