Life is filled with tiny ironies; or as the old ones steeped in the tradition of the church would say, “the Lord sometimes moves in mysterious ways.”

More than twenty-five years ago, after completing the two year city college degree, I applied to the BA program in history at Roosevelt University located in downtown Chicago and at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. Northwestern invited me to take a series of tests. The first set of tests was to determine my intelligence quotient; the second set was designed to measure manual dexterity.

Your Excellency, Ali Hassan Mwinyi, the President of the United Republic of Tanzania, Cabinet ministers, ambassadors and high commissioners, publishers, representatives of Kodansha Ltd., distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen. It fills me with great pleasure to be here today to receive the 1994 Noma Award for Publishing in Africa.

Is there an African Studies establishment in the United States? Of course there is. The academic study of Africa has mushroomed since the end of the Second World War as federal dollars were invested in graduate training programs so that the United States would be able to cope with the challenges posed by the coming to independence of former colonial territories in Africa from 1956 onward. Most of this money went to major research universities. Accordingly, the training in African Studies that evolved at these centers was rooted in the historical development of western academic disciplines, the history of race and power in America, and hegemonic control over the discourse on Africa in America.

Doing Western-type studies of Africa will always be problematic until we are able to wrest control of the paradigm from narrow Western objectives in order to satisfy the fundamental needs of Africa and not of the West. The late Cheikh Anta Diop, the greatest African scholar of the twentieth century, put forth the idea that Western scholars as a whole would find themselves unable to extricate their research from the intellectual interests of the West in order to serve the social and cultural aims of knowledge for Africa. Whether Cheikh Anta Diop was correct or not remains to be seen. However, from what we have already witnessed the most anti-African elements, whether in terms of the research priorities, projects, careers and programmatic orientations, structures, and objectives in the field, continue to have the most awesome hold on studies of Africa. The travesty is that it has lasted for so long.

Christopher Waterman quotes a Yoruba popular performer: “Our tradition is a very modern tradition.” The Study of Africa in the U.S. is a very modern tradition in several senses. In the great scale of things, it is very recent. During the presentation of a National Academy of Sciences project on The Population Dynamics of Sub-Saharan Africa last year, it was pointed out that only ten years ago the Academy had postponed work on this topic simply because the data were judged insufficient for a scientific synthesis. And it is a modern tradition in the sense of lively expansion and mutation. Most notably, over those same ten years or so the participants in both academic and non-academic study, and in popular culture, have become far more diverse.

The utility of postmodern thinking to the study of Africa continues to be a matter of hot debate. Some authors see postmodernism, particularly colonial discourse analysis, as a threat to well established historical methods for studying African societies. Others draw on postmodern insights while warning of its shortcomings, especially the lack of attention to political and economic structures. This brief discussion cannot fully explore such a complicated subject; rather it is intended as a personal view on some of the key issues at hand.

In the latter 1940s, a growing number of American intellectuals, including scholars in various academic disciplines, were attracted to the study of Africa by two powerful incentives. First, African nationalism created a new horizon for the advancement of democracy, the twentieth century's preeminent political ideal. Second, many intellectuals were anxious to reconstruct the prevailing theories of society so that they would fairly represent the aspirations and problems of people everywhere on earth. From this perspective, due regard for the contributions of Africa was deemed to be a scientific, as well as a moral, imperative. These goals, democracy and universalism, were embraced and combined by the theorists of modernization.

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, the study of Africa in the United States was a very rare and obscure practice, engaged in almost exclusively by African-American (then called Negro) intellectuals. They published scholarly articles primarily in quite specialized journals, notably Phylon, and their books were never reviewed in the New York Times. As a matter of fact, at this time (that is, before 1945) there weren't even very many books written about African-Americans in the U.S., although the library acquisitions were not quite as rare as those for books about Africa.

Our thesis may be simply stated: There is a specter hanging over African studies: the specter of irrelevance both within and outside the academy. Indeed, African studies, as constructed in the North American academy over the past four decades, is dying.

Three years ago I presented a paper on the canonical status of African literature at a conference on canonicity sponsored by Binghamton University. As the only paper on African literature at the conference, my paper, like an orphan, was placed in the care of a panel on German literature. Although my paper was the last to be given in the last session on the last day of the conference, its reading was well attended and enthusiastically received by colleagues, all non-Africanists, who have a real interest in learning and disseminating more information about a body of literature outside the scope of their own research.

I returned to the United States in 1988 in order to get a graduate education in the social sciences. Three years in rural Kasulu, Tanzania, had taught me that how western social science framed development problems was inadequate. I had some hopes that good social science could address how relief and development workers viewed the African society that surrounded them. To me the close relationships that should exist between the two seemed obvious. I had seen enough PhD. students and consultants to know that their Swahili skills and bush savvy were lacking. But I had also seen enough savvy field workers whose inability to generalize beyond their own project, or systematically frame a problem within a broader context meant that their knowledge would never contribute to a broader understanding of anything outside their small corner of the world.

We start with a fundamental duality in the paradigm of Pan-Africanism, the distinction between Pan-Africanism of liberation and Pan-Africanism of integration. Under both headings the name of Ghana's founder-president, Kwame Nkrumah, is immortalized.

In recent times Africa has been a favourite quarry of American social scientists and humanities scholars. It has served Africanist scholars, mostly white, as a springboard for their eminently successful careers, as objects of study, and as cartographic points to which some of them could lay claim as theirs, trespass on which is often the equivalent of a capital offence in African Studies. Many of us have often been lectured, harangued, sometimes nearly insulted, because we dared to suggest that a subject on which a particular Africanist is “expert,” or one that happens to excite her or him has little relevance to the scholarly concerns of African scholars or the lives of Africans! There are variations on this theme: it wasn't so long ago that feminists of different persuasions kept looking to Africa for primal, originary matriarchies.