Connect with us

Op-Eds

Legalise It: The Absurd Ban on Marijuana as a Metaphor for Maendeleo-Development

9 min read.

Why marijuana remains illegal (in most of Africa) and tobacco legal speaks volumes about the contradictions of capitalism. Why native enterprises remain ‘informal’ while foreign investment is favoured and sought after by African governments is an old, insidious trick of imperialism. DAVID NDII pens an anti-development manifesto.

Published

on

Legalise It: The Absurd Ban on Marijuana as a Metaphor for Maendeleo-Development
Download PDFPrint Article

A few weeks ago I made what I thought was an innocuous comment on a Twitter news post in response to a news post reporting that police had intercepted a 17 kg marijuana haul, to which I commented “legalize marijuana”, thereby unleashing a tweetstorm that went on for days.

Why is marijuana illegal? Consumption of marijuana is a victimless crime. It has proven therapeutic value, while tobacco is a proven carcinogen that harms both the smoker and third parties through second hand smoke, yet cigarette smoking is legal but marijuana is criminalized? Is it perhaps because, as I opined in the Twitter debate, tobacco is a big global capitalist enterprise, but everyone can roll their own joint?

This article is not about marijuana. It is a critical reflection on the phenomenon we call development. I will be arguing that the phenomenon we call development shares the same historical DNA as the criminalization of marijuana. The case for decriminalization of marijuana is a metaphor for the deconstruction of this thing we call development. This DNA consists of three things: colonialism, Christianity and capitalism. I will reflect on each in turn.

Why is marijuana illegal? Consumption of marijuana is a victimless crime. It has proven therapeutic value, while tobacco is a proven carcinogen that harms both the smoker and third parties through second hand smoke, yet cigarette smoking is legal but marijuana is criminalized? Is it perhaps because, as I opined in the Twitter debate, tobacco is a big global capitalist enterprise, but everyone can roll their own joint?

In her irreverent and hilarious novel, Red Strangers, Espelth Huxley subjects European superiority complex to Kikuyu customary law. When Karue sends his insolent young son to collect a long overdue bride-price debt that was the subject of a running feud, a fight breaks out and the young man is killed. The family sets about collecting the “blood money”, a hundred and seventeen goats, to compensate the Karue clan for the loss of their son. But the white man has already arrived and Matu is arrested for the murder of the young man and taken to Tetu to face the white man’s justice.

Karue testifies against Matu (though he was not at the scene) but to his great consternation, he learns that his clan will not be paid blood money. Even though it is Matu’s brother Muthengi’s sword which killed the young man, they agree that Matu will confess to the crime since they are brothers – it does not matter; it could as well have been Matu – only to learn that Matu will belong to the white man for six seasons:

The phenomenon we call development shares the same historical DNA as the criminalization of marijuana. The case for decriminalization of marijuana is a metaphor for the deconstruction of this thing we call development. This DNA consists of three things: colonialism, Christianity and capitalism.

Matu said nothing, for the words did not seem to make sense. He supposed that the interpreter had made a mistake. Muthengi however asked: “But why is Matu to stay here in Tetu? The affair of the young man’s death is between Karue and my father Waseru. What has the stranger to do with it?”

“That is the stranger’s law. Matu killed the evil man. Therefore he stays with stranger.”

“Does the stranger give him to Karue?” Muthengi persisted.

“No, he stays here.”

“Who gives him food?”

“The stranger gives him food.”

“Then what does Karue receive in compensation for his son, who is dead?”

“He does not receive anything.”

“That I cannot understand!” Muthengi exclaimed. “If a man loses his son, or a child his father, must not his family be given compensation for their loss? How else can justice be done?”

“Stranger’s justice is different,” the interpreter said. “Matu must stay here.”

“Then the stranger gets something for Karue’s loss, and Karue’s clan gets nothing at all,” Muthengi said. “This seems to me to be a very peculiar law, and one with no justice in it at all. Now I understand how these strangers have become so exceedingly rich; when they sit in judgement they award nothing to the injured person, but everything to themselves.”

“That is the law nonetheless.” The interpreter said.

A law with no justice at all. Law without justice is the essence of colonialism.

The Agikuyu also concluded that Gūtirī mūthūngū na mūbīa (the white man and the priest are one and the same), by which they meant that the church was part of the colonizing mission. I can attest to this.

I spent a considerable part of my childhood and youth at my grandparents’ home in Kijabe, a Christian mission hamlet sad to be the third largest missionary centre in the world, run by the African Inland Mission, the parent of the African Inland Church (AIC). It is, to the best of my knowledge, the only alcohol-free community in Kenya. There is not a single bar in the town, and the shops do not stock alcohol and cigarettes either.

The town belongs to the church. With the exception of public schools, all other formal institutions in the town are part of the church establishment. There’s the Kijabe Mission Hospital, a bible school, a radio station, printing press and the Rift Valley Academy, an international school. Formal wage jobs and business opportunities are given on the basis of religiosity.

Kijabe, a Christian mission hamlet sad to be the third largest missionary centre in the world, run by the African Inland Mission…the town belongs to the church…[and] the community is divided into two: the “saved” and the “unsaved.” My grandfather who was a rebel of sorts designated the Holy Joes as either “hinga” (hypocrites) or “njuhiga” (opportunists). The combination of the two he reserved for the clergy.

The community is divided into two: the “saved” and the “unsaved.” My grandfather who was a rebel of sorts (he was a school teacher far away and only came home on occasional weekends and school holidays) designated the Holy Joes as either “hinga” (hypocrites) or “njuhiga” (opportunists). The combination of the two he reserved for the clergy. Four decades on, not much has changed. It is still a place where drunkards are upright, honorable people, and obsequious sanctimonious scoundrels are the pillars of society. Kijabe is a microcosm of the damage that the Church has wrought in Africa.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines capitalism as “an economic system in which a country’s trade and industry are controlled by private owners for profit, rather than the state”. The Marriam-Webster is more elaborate. It defines capitalism as “an economic system characterized by private or corporate ownership of capital goods, by investments that are determined by private decision and by prices, production and distribution of goods that are determined mainly by competition in a free market”.

According to these definitions we would be compelled to conclude that pre-colonial Africa was capitalist. Being largely stateless, trade was unregulated and the means of production privately owned by default. We would be wrong. These dictionary definitions are flawed. What they define are contemporary and mostly Western market economics. The juxtaposition of private and state ownership already points to the capitalism/socialism dichotomy, a 20th century phenomenon.

Capitalism as a distinct economic system was introduced in the political lexicon by Karl Marx. Marx refers to it variously as the “capitalist mode of production” or “capitalist system,” and it is thus defined in the Communist Manifesto co-authored by Marx and Friedrich Engels:

“The directing motive, the end and aim of capitalist production is to extract the greatest possible amount of surplus value, and consequently to exploit labour power to the greatest possible extent.”

Abraham Lincoln, in a speech to the US congress, weighed in on the presumption of capitalism as the default of market economy thus:

“It is not needed, nor fitting here that a general argument should be made in favor of popular institutions; but there is one point, with its connections, not so hackneyed as most others, to which I ask a brief attention. It is the effect to place capital on an equal footing with, if not above, labor, in the structure of government. It is assumed that labor is available only in connection with capital; that nobody labors unless somebody else, owning capital, somehow by the use of it induces him to labor. Now, there is no such relation between capital and labor as assumed, nor is there any such thing as a free man being fixed for life in the condition of a hired laborer. Both these assumptions are false, and all inferences from them are groundless. Labor is prior to, and independent of, capital. Capital is only the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if labor had not first existed. Labor is the superior of capital, and deserves much the higher consideration. Capital has its rights, which are as worthy of protection as any other rights. Nor is it denied that there is, and probably always will be, a relation between labor and capital, producing mutual benefits. The error is in assuming that the whole labor of community exists within that relation.”

Although Lincoln’s speech, given in 1861, predates his famed correspondence with Marx, Lincoln was very likely influenced by his ideas, since Marx was a prolific contributor to the US press in the 1850s.

The dictionary definition’s most dangerous flaw is that of conflating capitalism with a market economy. It gives the market economy a bad name. The defining feature of capitalism is one where capital employs wage labour. A market economy on the other hand, does not prescribe which factor of production employs the other. Capital can hire labour, or labour can hire capital. To illustrate, consider the boda boda industry. One will find riders (labour) who hire motorcycles (capital) at a fixed fee, owner-operators and even riders who have invested in motorcycles that they lease out.

The defining feature of capitalism is one where capital employs wage labour. A market economy on the other hand, does not prescribe which factor of production employs the other. Capital can hire labour, or labour can hire capital.

It is tempting to dismiss the boda boda industry as a jua kali anomaly, an exception rather than the rule. Here in Kenya we have cooperatives and other collective commercial enterprises operating in many sectors, including one of the largest and most successful financial cooperatives (SACCOs) sectors in the world. SACCOs operate in the market economy, for profit, but they really don’t compete with each other—the serve their members. The smallholder farmer-owned KTDA conglomerate is Kenya’s largest manufacturing concern, and the single largest exporter of black teas on the world. These enterprises operate in the market, they really do not compete with each other, they coexist and cooperate, as each seeks to serve their respective members.

Their objective is not to maximize profit but rather, to improve the welfare of their members. It is possible to conceive of a market economy consisting of a boda boda-style industrial organization, cooperatives and KTDA-type concerns. It is also readily apparent that such an economy would not have the malevolent character we associate with modern-day globalized capitalism.

In Marx and Engels’ day, capital meant industrial capital—machinery and equipment. When he talks of mutual benefits, Lincoln is talking about industrial capital. The malevolence of capitalism is rooted in the nature of finance capital — what Costas Lapavistas has termed “profiting without producing”. Financial capitalism separates profits from production and seeks only a return on money. The malevolence of finance capitalism was postulated most forcefully by Lenin in his 1917 essay Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism. E.K Hunt’s textbook History of Economic Thought provides a cogent and most pertinent summary of the thesis:

“When productive capacity grew faster than consumer demand, there was very soon an excess of this capacity and hence there were very few profitable domestic investment outlets. Foreign investment was the only answer. But in so far as the same problem existed in every industrialized capitalist country, such foreign investment was only possible if [the] non-capitalized could be “civilized”, “Christianized” and “uplifted” — that is, if their traditional institutions could be forcefully destroyed, and the people coercively brought under the domain of the “invisible hand” of market capitalism.”

“Uplifted.” Is this not the thing we now call development?

As regards destruction of traditional institutions, it is instructive that when colonialism introduced wage labour, the Agikuyu devised a name for it, guthukuma (verb), as distinct from wiira (work). Gūthūkūma which is most likely a corruption of the swahili word sukuma (to push) conveys involuntary toil. Work was not sold. Even destitute people were not subjected to wage labour. They were adopted as tenants (ahoi), and given an opportunity to work for themselves. When extra hands were needed, such as walling a hut (gūthinga), one invited community members to help (gūtūmana wiira meaning “invitation to work”). The only obligation was to feed the people generously. Even today, if you serve someone a large helping, they might exclaim kari ithinga? (is it for walling work). But over time the distinction disappeared, and wage labour appropriated wiira. People conscripted into servitude and undignified chores resigned themselves to the pragramism of wiira ni wiira, (“work is work”, kazi ni kazi in Kiswahili), which you still hear today. But hidden in the pragmatism is a psychology of resistance that makes Africans problematic wage labour. Deep down, we resent it.

When productive capacity grew faster than consumer demand, there was very soon an excess of this capacity and hence there were very few profitable domestic investment outlets. Foreign investment was the only answer. But in so far as the same problem existed in every industrialized capitalist country, such foreign investment was only possible if [the] non-capitalized could be “civilized”, “Christianized” and “uplifted” — that is, if their traditional institutions could be forcefully destroyed, and the people coercively brought under the domain of the “invisible hand” of market capitalism.

We need not revisit European imperialism to validate the thesis. With its US$ 3.2 trillion trade surplus and excess production capacity at home, China’s unfolding debt imperialism is as textbook a case of Lenin’s capitalist imperative as it can get. It is instructive that China’s imperial ambitions are propelled by the State, rather than private capital — the China Roads and Bridges Corporation is the new Imperial British East Africa Company. This is further repudiation of the dictionary definition of capitalism.

Not to be outdone, the whats-her-name-again Brexit-befuddled British premier was out here hawking “upliftment” aid and investment. The Iron Chancellor, Angela Merkel, is touring West Africa. Last year, Germany published a report proposing a Marshall Plan for Africa. It is a sloppy, callous offensive document, down to dredging up slavery and the 1884 Berlin Conference, as if we need a reminder. That aside, the big idea of the Marshal plan is surprise, surprise, to leverage aid to increase German private investment in Africa.

With its US$ 3.2 trillion trade surplus and excess production capacity at home, China’s unfolding debt imperialism is as textbook a case of Lenin’s capitalist imperative as it can get. It is instructive that China’s imperial ambitions are propelled by the State, rather than private capital — the China Roads and Bridges Corporation is the new Imperial British East Africa Company.

Development is but another name for imperialism.

Support The Elephant.

The Elephant is helping to build a truly public platform, while producing consistent, quality investigations, opinions and analysis. The Elephant cannot survive and grow without your participation. Now, more than ever, it is vital for The Elephant to reach as many people as possible.

Your support helps protect The Elephant's independence and it means we can continue keeping the democratic space free, open and robust. Every contribution, however big or small, is so valuable for our collective future.

By

David Ndii is a leading Kenyan economist and public intellectual.

Op-Eds

Twitter: Let It Burn!

Whether or not Twitter survives should be irrelevant to those committed to building a democratic public sphere.

Published

on

Twitter: Let It Burn!
Download PDFPrint Article

Elon Musk finally bought Twitter. Although everyone expected the move to quickly prove foolhardy, the speed of the implosion has been impressive. The latest gaffe is a failed attempt to monetize verification by requiring paid subscriptions for them, which has led to all manner of comical impersonations (one macabre highlight was a “verified” George W. Bush account tweeting “I miss killing Iraqis. “Tony Blair” responded with “Same tbh”). Some are watching with shock and horror and wondering if Twitter can be saved. But, when sulfur and fire rains, it is best not to look back.

Africa Is a Country managing editor, Boima Tucker, put it best some years ago: “Contrary to the utopian dreams of the early internet, the idea of a more democratic communications space has given way to a system of capitalist exploitation.” The thing to reckon with is the extent to which we have exaggerated the emancipatory potential of networked communication and social media, partly owing to our own psychic overinvestments in it. Which is not to deny that it has never shown democratic and egalitarian potential, but that’s never been what Twitter is forThere can be no right platform in the wrong world.

What was Twitter for then? In the New York Review of Books, Ben Tarnoff describes it as a “network of influence.” In a world characterized by the economization of everything, social media is the place to commodify the self, to transform one’s unique traits and personality into a product for public display. The main imperative online is to “stay on brand,” to cultivate an appealing enough persona in the endless “production of new genres of being human.”

The key contradiction of social media use, of course, is that even though these platforms appear to us as complete products that we participate in and consume, we are the ones responsible for ensuring their possibility in the first place. As the media scholar Christian Fuchs notes, “Digital work is the organization of human experiences with the help of the human brain, digital media and speech in such a way that new products are created. These products can be online information, meanings, social relations, artifacts or social systems.” Thus, it is us who create the value of these platforms.

In a better world, these digital communications platforms would be democratically owned and operated. But one also wonders if in a better world they would be as necessary. Perhaps, when we are less socially disaffected, living in societies with social provision, an abundance of recreational public goods and less exploitative, dignifying work, then we would all have less reason to be online. For now, the question is: in a time when this ideal is nowhere close to being within view, how best can we use platforms like Twitter as tools to get us to that world?

The possible answers here are murky. Twitter seems like a critical piece of infrastructure for modern political life. Musk is not alone in thinking of it as a marketplace of ideas, as something like a digital town square. Yet, and especially in Africa, Twitter is not as popular a platform, and even on it, a minority of Twiteratti exert an outsized influence in terms of setting the discursive agenda. But setting aside the question of who is excluded from the digitalized public sphere of which Twitter is a cornerstone, the important question is whether the quality of political debate that takes place is healthy or desirable at all. Granted, it can be fun and cathartic, but at the best of times, amounts to hyper-politics. In Anton Jager’s explanation, this:

can only occur at a discursive level or within the prism of mediatic politics: every major event is scrutinized for its ideological character, this produces controversies which play out among increasingly clearly delineated camps on social media platforms and are then rebounded through each side’s preferred media outlets. Through this process much is politicized, but little is achieved.

We would lack critical self-awareness if we did not admit that Africa Is A Country is a venue whose existence greatly benefits from an online presence—so it goes for every media outlet. Tarnoff points out that “… if Twitter is not all that populous in absolute terms, it does exert considerable power over popular and elite discourses.” To lack an online presence is to reconcile oneself to irrelevance. Although, the news cycle itself is a disorienting vortex of one topic du jour to the next. It makes difficult the kind of long, slow, and sustained discourse-over-time that is the lifeblood of politics, and instead reduces everything into fleeting soundbites.

Nowhere is the modern phenomenon of what Polish sociologist Zygmunt Bauman called “pointillist time” more apparent than on Twitter. For Bauman, pointillist time is the experience of temporality as a series of eternal instants, and the present moment’s connection to the past and future “turns into gaps—with no bridges, and hopefully unbridgeable.” The consequence of this, is that “there is no room for the idea of ‘progress.’” Living through a mode where everything seems to be happening all at once, is both to experience time as what Walter Benjamin called “a “time of possibilities, a random time, open at any moment to the unforeseeable irruption of the new,” but curiously, at the same time, for everything to feel inert, and for nothing to seem genuinely possible.

For a while, notions of historical progress have been passé on the left, associated with Eurocentric theories of modernity. Now, more than ever, the idea is worth reclaiming. The Right today is no longer straightforwardly conservative, but nihilistic and anti-social, thriving on sowing deeper communal mistrust and paranoia. These are pathologies that flourish on Twitter. The alternative to media-fuelled hyper-politics and anti-politics is not real politics per some ideal type. Politics, in the first instance, is not defined by content, but by form. The reason our politics are empty and shallow is not because today’s political subject lacks virtues possessed by the subjects of yore. It’s because today’s political subject is barely one in the first place, lacking rootedness in those institutions that would have ordinarily shaped an individual’s clear sense of values and commitments. The alternative to digitized human association, as noted by many, is mass politics: only when the majority of citizens are meaningfully mobilized through civic and political organizations can we create a vibrant and substantive public sphere.

AIAC editor Sean Jacobs observed in his book, Media In Post-apartheid South Africa: “the larger context for the growing role of media in political processes is the decline of mass political parties and social movements.” Whether Twitter dies or not, and if it does, whether we should mourn it or not, should be beside the point for those committed to building a world of three-dimensional solidarity and justice.

This post is from a partnership between Africa Is a Country and The Elephant. We will be publishing a series of posts from their site once a week.

Continue Reading

Op-Eds

COP 27: Climate Negotiations Repeatedly Flounder

The distribution of global pandemic deaths ignored existing country vulnerability assessments and dealt some of the heaviest blows to the best prepared countries in the world

Published

on

COP 27: Climate Negotiations Repeatedly Flounder
Download PDFPrint Article

As COP 27 in Egypt nears its end, I find it difficult, almost impossible, to talk to my children about climate change. The shame of our monumental failings as a global community to address the greatest crisis our planet has consciously faced weighs too heavy. The stakes have never been higher, the moral quivering of political leaders has never been more distressing.

“All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others,” goes the famous commandment from George Orwell’s political allegory Animal Farm. It applies with particular acuity to international negotiations, where each country has a seat, but seats hold very different weights. The outcome of the Sharm-El-Sheik conference will in large part depend on what Western governments are willing to commit to and follow up on. Rich European and other Western countries are historically responsible for the bulk of carbon emissions. The moral case for them being the first-movers and the biggest movers on cutting emissions is crystal clear, and genuine commitments on their part may hold the key to opening up the floodgate of policy innovation towards decarbonization in other countries.

In this context, viewed from the Global South, recent events in the country that still held the COP presidency until it was handed over to Egypt appear as signs of the madness that grips societies before a fall. In her short time as head of government in the UK, Liz Truss spoke as if she lived on another planet that did not show signs of collapsing under the battering of models of economic growth birthed under the British Empire, gleefully pronouncing that her three priorities for Britain were “growth, growth and growth.” Her successor, Rishi Sunak, announced that he would not attend the COP 27 climate summit because he had to focus on the UK economy. The silver lining is that Truss did not last long and Sunak was shamed into reversing his decision. In a scathing rebuke, the Spanish environment minister called the shenanigans of British political leaders “absurd” and pointed out that elections in Brazil and Australia show that voters are starting to punish leaders who ignore climate change.

I see another silver lining. Last week, the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) announced that Europe was warming twice as fast as other parts of the world. A similar report was not issued for North America, but other studies indicate faster than average temperature increases across the continent’s northeastern coast, and its west coast was home to one of the most striking heat waves last year, with a memorable summer temperature peak of 49.6°C recorded in British Columbia, Canada.

Professor Petteri Taalas, the WMO secretary-general, emphasized that the findings highlighted that “even well-prepared societies are not safe from impacts of extreme weather events.” In other words, the report should make Europeans think it could happen to us, with “it” being devastating floods on the scale of what Pakistan and Bangladesh recently experienced, or the hunger-inducing droughts afflicting Madagascar and the Horn of Africa. While some may find it dismal that human beings remain relatively unmoved by the plight of other human beings considered too distant or too different, this is a part of human nature to reckon with. And reckoning with it can turn a sentiment of shared vulnerability into an opportunity for the planet.

Climate negotiations have repeatedly floundered on the unwillingness of rich countries to pay developing countries loss and damages to fund their transitions to greener energies and build crucially needed climate adaptability to limit deaths. Underlying such a position is a centuries-old smug belief that Europe and North America will never need to depend on solidarity from other parts of the world. The WMO report calls into question such hubris, as did the Covid 19 pandemic before that.

The distribution of global pandemic deaths ignored existing country vulnerability assessments and dealt some of the heaviest blows to the best prepared countries in the world. Europe and North America, where barely 15% of the world population resides, accounted for more than half of COVID deaths. Turning the normal direction of disaster statistics upside down, high- and upper-middle-income countries accounted for four out of five Covid deaths globally. While some scientists still pose questions over the real death toll in low-income countries, I was grateful to not live in the West during the pandemic. In Burkina Faso, Kenya and Senegal where I spent most of my pandemic months, I often encountered “COVID refugees,” young Europeans who had temporarily relocated to work remotely from Africa to escape pandemic despair at home.

We are at a point in our failures to fight climate change where fiction writers and other experts of human nature are often more useful than scientists in indicating what our priorities should be. Many fiction writers have turned their focus on what will be necessary for humans to remain humane as societies crumble. Before we get to that stage, let us hope that political leaders and delegates keep remembering that climate disaster could very concretely befall them personally at any time. Let us hope that the sense of equal—or more cynically, unpredictable—vulnerability instills a sense of global solidarity and a platform to negotiate in true good faith. Let us hope that we can start talking to our children again about what we adults are doing to avert the disaster that looms over their futures.

This post is from a partnership between Africa Is a Country and The Elephant. We will be publishing a series of posts from their site once a week.

Continue Reading

Op-Eds

The Specter of Foreign Forces in Haiti

The so-called ‘Haitian crisis’ is primarily about outsiders’ attempts force Haitians to live under an imposed order and the latter’s resistance to that order.

Published

on

The Specter of Foreign Forces in Haiti
Download PDFPrint Article

What actually happened on the nights of October 6th and 7th, 2022, remains unclear. What reverberated was the rather loud rumor of the resignation of Haiti’s acting prime minister  Ariel Henry. He was a member of President Jovenel Moïse’s pro-US Pati Ayisien Tèt Kale (PHTK) party. (Moïse was assassinated in July 2021.) Had Henry truly resigned? Or was it just a well-propagated rumor? Could it have perhaps been both at the same time: that Henry might have indeed resigned but had been coerced to stay, thus making the news of his resignation spread like gossip that the governmental communication machine had fabricated for public consumption?

Nevertheless, we witnessed the following the next day: in Henry’s address to the nation, he first requested the intervention of foreign military forces in Haiti. He then made a formal request to the United Nations. This call was picked up by international organizations, particularly the Secretary General of the United Nations, António Guterres. In the media coverage of the events, no relationship was established between the (rumored) resignation of the de facto Prime Minister and his request for military intervention. Was it a way to keep our minds occupied while waiting on a response from the international community? Or was the military intervention a promise made by the international community to Henry for the withdrawal of his letter of resignation?

Media coverage has seemingly obscured what happened on October 6th and 7th by choosing to focus solely on the request for military intervention, obscuring a chain of events in the process. Was the same request addressed to the UN and the US administration? Or were these two distinct approaches: one within a multilateral framework and the other within a bilateral framework? Supposing it was the latter, what does this tell us about the Haitian government’s domestic policy, about US foreign policy toward (or against) Haiti, or even about geopolitics (as part of a white-hot world order)—especially in light of US Assistant Secretary of State Brian Nichols’ visit to Haiti, his ensuing meetings, and the presence of US Coast Guard ships in Haitian waters?

At least one thing’s for sure. Since the request for formal intervention and the presence of the US in the form of its warships and its emissary, the question of military intervention has been swiftly framed as a discourse on the supposed “consensus between Haitians.” In reality, it refers to the convergence of interests between the representatives of the de facto Haitian government; the representatives of the Montana Accord (agreed on between civic and political groups in the wake of Moise’s assassination); and the president, Fritz Jean, and prime minister, Steven Benoit, agreed on as part of that accord. The message is clear: If you do not want a military intervention, side with Ariel Henry, who initiated the request himself. Any posture of self-determination must undergo review by Ariel Henry and his crew.

In these circumstances, there can be no self-determination. It is as though those truly responsible for the military intervention (which was already underway) aren’t those who asked for it, but rather those who were unable to thwart it by finding an agreement with the former group. In this sense, the “nationalist” label (the current catchall term which, among other things, is being made to include any praxis refuting the colonial apparatus) refers to doing everything possible to avoid military intervention—and that means doing exactly what the representatives of the “Colonial Capitalist Internationale” want.

American presence in Haiti—in the form of warships and a high-ranking emissary—takes after historical colonial endeavors such as the Napoleonic expedition for the reestablishment of slavery (1802) and King Charles X’s fleet, sent to demand ransom for Haiti’s independence (1825). Yet, in this case, the point is not to put pressure on those who hold the keys to institutions, but rather to avoid losing control in a context where those in government are not only misguided, but also display the greatest shortcomings in managing the lives of the population for the better. The US’s current presence thus more closely echoes the language of the English warship HMS Bulldog, sent to shell the city of Cap Haitien to support President Geffrard against the anti-government insurrection of Salnave.

The Henry government uses the same grammar as its tutelar powers to discuss the current situation. Much has been made of “efforts deployed by the United States and Canada”: they have consisted in flying police equipment into Haiti on Canadian and US military cargo aircraft. Henry and the Haitian National Police offered warm, public thanks for material paid for with Haitian funds some time ago; indeed, these deliveries have come very late, and only thanks to pressure from Haitian civil society actors. More problematic still, the presence of foreign military planes at the Toussaint Louverture Airport in Port-au-Prince has served both as evidence of an ongoing military intervention and as a subterfuge to obtain such an intervention.

This request for intervention, while it seeks to obfuscate this fact, nevertheless exposes the political illegitimacy of the Henry government—made up of members of Henry’s PHTK and former members of the opposition. Its illegitimacy doesn’t rest on the usual discussion (or lack thereof) and confrontation between the governors and the governed, nor on the classic power play between the political opposition and the authorities in place; rather, it is the result of the absolute rejection on the part of Haitians of an order controlled and engineered by the PHTK machine in Haiti for over 10 years with one purpose in mind: defending the neoliberal interests and projects of the Colonial Capitalist Internationale. The request for intervention reveals the fact that the rejection of the PHTK machine is but one part of a broader rejection of the neoliberal colonial order as it has manifested itself in various anti-popular economic projects, which themselves were made possible by many attempts at reconfiguring Haiti socially and constitutionally: consider, to name but a few, the financial project of privatization of the island of Gonâve, the referendum to replace the 1987 Constitution, and others.

For the first time since the US military intervention of 1915 (the centenary of which was silenced by the PHTK machine), we are witnessing a direct confrontation between the Colonial Capitalist Internationale and the Haitian people, as local political go-betweens aren’t in a position to mediate and local armed forces (whether the military, the militias, or the armed gangs) aren’t able to fully and totally repress unrest. In this colonial scenario—drafted in the past five years, maintained and fueled by the geopolitics of “natural disasters,” epidemics, pandemics, and the presence of gangs (simultaneously functioning as the armed extensions of political parties and materializing “disorder”)—the only possible solution to chaos is military intervention by foreign forces.

Yet one cannot pretend that such an intervention will help the Haitian people, and no agreement crafted in the language of the colonial system can stifle popular demands and aspirations which, in the past twelve years, have built what Haitian academic and activist Camille Chalmers calls a real “anti-imperialist conscience.”

What of late has breathlessly been labeled the “Haitian crisis” must instead be identified as the highest point of the contradiction which has brewed throughout the PHTK regime: between the International Colonial Capitalists’ will to force us to live under an imposed order and our resistance to that order.

This post is from a partnership between Africa Is a Country and The Elephant. We will be publishing a series of posts from their site once a week.

Continue Reading

Trending