A Frequent error in foreign policy analysis is to allow government to set the agenda of inquiry. Officials invariably define the terrain too narrowly. Their concerns are short term, not only because of the immediacy of problems stalking policy-makers, but also because averting fundamental questions about the social forces that shape the day-to-day agenda of government redounds to the advantage of those who control state power. Consequently, the task of the analyst is to overcome the inhibiting parameters of public discourse. Without trivialising matters of practical politics, the analyst must transpose prefabricated questions into more productive lines of inquiry.

At the beginning of this century only two African countries, Liberia and Ethiopia, were recognised as independent states which could be fully involved in international law. Both participated in the activities of the League of Nations. Today, with the exception of Namibia, the face of Africa is covered by sovereign states.

The appalling experience of most African countries has led many observers to conclude that the continent has now reached a critical stage in its development, and that a political, social, and economic ‘nightmare’ by the turn of the century cannot be ruled out.1 One pessimistic scenario suggests that even with fundamental improvements in domestic economic management, up to four-fifths of Africa's population in 1995 will be below the poverty line compared with three-fifths today.2 This is the context in which African leaders enunciated new development priorities in their 1980 Lagos Plan of Action, notably greater self-reliance and industrialisation geared to domestic markets. Outside the continent, a growing concern with dismal African prospects has generated two action programmes by the World Bank,3 while new guidelines have recently been produced in the European Community for supporting African development.4 Without exception, all of these appraisals see a major role for regional co-operation and economic integration.

An earlier contribution to this Journal addressed itself to the question of how Kwame Nkrumah tried to subordinate his military forces to the civil authority of the Convention People's Party during the Ghanaian First Republic, 1960–6.1 It was argued that the pattern of objective control inherited from the British colonial authorities was cast aside in favour of an entirely new subjective mechanism: ‘This involved the orchestration of a programme of military diversification in which new security organisations were formed and existing ones split up’.2 Thisarticle will continue that theme by examining how civilian politicians attempted to confront the same dilemma in the Second and Third Republics during 1969–72 and 1979–81, respectively.

Any consideration of the process of decolonisation must be primarily concerned with the question of to whom power was transferred. Who inherited the colonial state and how did they establish their claim? The basic thesis of this article is that in order to understand the nature of the post-colonial state in Swaziland it is necessary to look back at least as far as the 1930s, and to trace the roots of Swazi ‘traditionalism’, the ideology which triumphed over competing forms of African nationalism during the 1960s.

Migrant labour from external sources has been exploited by South Africa during the past century for obvious economic reasons: it is cheap, easily available, and largely controllable. Short-run fluctuations may arise for a variety of reasons, but in the long run, as W. G. Martin has attempted to demonstrate, demand patterns for foreign migrant workers, particularly on the mines, have generally reflected prevailing economic conditions.1. Events over the past decade or so have, however, made it difficult to distinguish between the effects of economic and political influences which have so dramatically altered the face of migration in Southern Africa.

The post-colonial evolution of the Tanzanian economy has been strongly influenced by public policy, notably since the adoption of the Arusha Declaration in 1967,1 which established the following guidelines:

1. Self-reliance, albeit not self-sufficiency or autarky, since, at least in theory, selected foreign assistance may be the catalyst rather than the basis of development.

2. General social equality, aimed at regional, inter-personal, and rural—urban equity.

3. Socialist and co-operative economic activities, emphasising priority for rural development per se, with a bias towards co-operative work through communal ujamaa villages.

4. Public ownership and control of the ‘commanding heights’ of the economy.

This author made her first study of the Muslim brotherhoods in 1966, and then ten years later reassessed their political position.1 Now, after almost a similar length of time since 1976, this brief evaluation is written in the hope of illustrating the gradually changing position of Muslim leaders or marabouts, and their rôle in Senegalese life and politics.

Thirty years ago, Sir Godfrey Huggins retired as Prime Minister of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland. The Queen raised him to the peerage as Viscount Malvern of Rhodesia and of Bexley in the county of Kent – his choice of title characteristically giving expression first of all to his old public school, then his country of adoption, and finally his birthplace in England. Great universities showered him with honorary doctorates and, quite surprisingly, David Low, the most distinguished of Labour political artists, creator of the archetypal figure Colonel Blimp, published a cartoon that showed Huggins proudly stepping into the pages of history, together with Sir Robert Walpole and Mackenzie King, the only English-speaking Prime Ministers to have shared his political longevity.