A worried friend called me about a situation he has observed in his neighbourhood somewhere in Kileleshwa. The part-time house-helps who work in the neighbourhood are now jobless. Their clients are at home and can do their own domestic chores, and also limit contact with outsiders in keeping with social distancing. The desperate ladies are now congregating at the roadside perhaps hoping to catch the eye of a passing client to lend a helping hand.
At the onset of the COVID-19 crisis, some influential voices in the West, Bill Gates and the UN Secretary General Guterres notably, expressed concerns for Africa and called on the world to prepare to stave of the unimaginable tragedy should the pandemic spread to these shores. Bill Gates talked of 10 million deaths. It may be early days yet, but it has so far not panned out that way, touch wood.
The 2019 Global Health Security Index lists the United States and the United Kingdom as the countries most prepared to handle a pandemic in the world. As I write, the two Anglo-Saxon transatlantic allies account for 35 per cent of confirmed cases, and 40 per cent of fatalities. The UK and Ireland are as similar as any two countries, yet the UK has 11,000 deaths, Ireland 340. Post-COVID-19, the UK and the US will probably end up at the bottom of the heap. The index, now destined for disrepute, is compiled by the Nuclear Threat Initiative and the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security in collaboration with the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU), all of them US/UK institutions—imperial hubris and navel gazing.
I fear that many well-to-do Kenyans—those I occasionally chide as #UpperDeckPeopleKE— have a similar blindspot, namely, projecting the crisis onto those less privileged than themselves, wanting to believe that as long as they are properly social-distancing and working remotely, they are insulated from the crisis, and the charitably predisposed can do what they are able to do to extend a helping hand to the less priveleged who (like Africa) are the most exposed. Indeed, when I proposed a Lifeline Fund to cushion businesses and jobs in my open letter to the president three weeks ago, one of the most common reactions was, how would it help mama mboga (the vegetable woman, i.e. vendor)? It was lost to these people that mama mboga would continue to be in business, and might in fact benefit from the switch from eating out to eating at home. Not a single person who engaged me on this issue came across as worried for themselves.
In this column, I will endeavour to put some numbers to the COVID-19 economic shock. I will start with the structure of expenditure in the economy, which we also refer to in economics as aggregate demand. It consists of private consumption, private investment, government consumption, government investment and exports. Everything produced in or imported into Kenya ends up in one of these aggregates. Private consumption is two-thirds of final demand, private investment and exports combined account for just under a quarter, and government spending for just over 10 per cent (see chart below).
What is COVID-19’s impact on each of these?
Private consumption: Food accounts for a third of private consumption, so that will survive, although not the restaurant business. In the US, restaurants account for 60 per cent of the jobs lost so far. Over and above food, most people are only spending money on essential household items. The leisure economy—tourism and sports notably—is out for the count. Best-case scenario: a 60 per cent contraction.
Private investment: Of the five components, investment is the most sensitive to uncertainty. Some businesses will complete projects that are underway, if they are able, but new capital projects will be put on hold. Best-case scenario 75 per cent contraction.
Exports: Horticulture is Kenya’s second-largest export industry after tea, earning $1.2 billion (Sh120 billion), accounting for 20 per cent of exports of goods. The industry has been severely disrupted. The East African Community and COMESA (Common Market for Eastern and Southern Africa) countries, which account for a third of exports, are as disrupted as we are. Just as we are not consuming or investing much, they also will not be buying much. Every other export industry is disrupted to some extent. We also need to factor in diaspora remittances, which are not directly captured in the national income accounts. Diaspora remittances are estimated at US$2 billion a year, which translates to 2.5-3.0 per cent of private consumption. Best-case scenario: 50 per cent contraction.
Government consumption: This aggregate consists primarily of recurrent operations and maintenance (O&M) expenditure, i.e. the goods and services that the government uses to provide services. In principle, the COVID-19 shock may not affect it too much because the government can move money from low to high-priority spending, for example from travel to health. Best-case scenario: no disruption.
Government investment: The government could in principle continue with its development projects, although they will be slowed down by the physical disruption, and the logistical challenges created by the partial lockdown of Nairobi. Best-case scenario 25 per cent disruption.
These disruptions add up to 35 per cent expenditure contraction, which I estimate to translate to Sh390 billion a month. The next question is, for how long? Again, the best-case scenario for the pandemic appears to be another two to three months before the global curve flattens sufficiently for countries to risk letting their guard down a little. But the best-case scenario for a vaccine to become available is six months to a year.
A four-month disruption scenario, i.e. to July, works out to a contraction of Sh1.56 trillion. But, of course, the economy will not bounce back immediately, so if we factor in a 50 per cent recovery to December, it goes up to Sh2.3 trillion, which is in the order of 20 per cent of nominal GDP (i.e. before inflation adjustment). Roughly, a one percentage point in nominal GDP translates to 0.4 per cent real (i.e. inflation adjusted) growth, the figure that is normally reported as the annual economic growth rate of between 4 and 6 per cent in recent years. A 20 per cent nominal GDP contraction thus translates to an eight percentage points drop in real GDP growth, which takes us into negative three per cent territory. We have no precedent of an economic shock of this magnitude to compare with.
This is the situation unfolding the world over. Sixteen million people, 10 per cent of the US workforce, have lost their jobs in less than a month. The Penn Wharton Budget Model, a Wharton Business School fiscal policy analysis project, estimates that even with the mammoth $2.2 trillion stimulus, the economy will still shrink by 30 per cent in the second quarter. If borne out, it will be the largest quarterly contraction since World War II. With no end in sight, the language has changed from recession to depression.
Last week the Canadian government recalled parliament and passed a C$73 billion emergency wage subsidy bill, to augment the $103 billion emergency relief package passed a few weeks ago. The first relief package was equivalent to 4.4 per cent of GDP. This increase takes it up to 7.5 per cent. Such was the sense of urgency that the bill was processed by both houses on a Saturday afternoon, and signed into law at 9.30 p.m. that same night.
I am still hopeful that we will dodge the pandemic bullet, or that if it does hit, it will not be cataclysmic. But the economic consequences are inescapable. As this column has observed, the epidemiological and economic dynamics of the pandemic have decoupled. The economy is being ravaged by our self-preservation instinct. The economy thrives on venturesome behaviour—the willingness to trade risk for reward. But seldom is this trade-off a life and death issue—although to be sure some people, gangsters for example, do take life and death risks to make a buck. For the overwhelming majority, making a living is not life threatening. The coronavirus is making it so. We do not know how long it will be before venturing into nightclubs, huge weddings, spectator sports and international travel becomes routine again.
I am still hopeful that we will dodge the pandemic bullet, or that if it does hit, it will not be cataclysmic
A contraction of this scale will shed a lot of jobs. Cities and towns, Nairobi in particular, will be the most badly hit. In another month, a quarter of the Nairobi metropolitan area population—about 1.5 million people—may not have a penny to their name. Even a daily survival budget of Sh50 works out to Sh75 million a day. It is doubtful that private charity can sustain this for a week, and we are talking months.
In a prolonged crisis, formal establishment workers are more exposed to job losses and financial insecurity than those in the micro and small enterprise informal sector, and the higher up the managerial ladder, the more the exposure. Why so? In the micro and small enterprise economy (MSMEs), jua kali as we call it, many enterprises engage own-account workers, for instance, hairdressers, mechanics and carpenters who work for themselves and pay a portion to the business owners. When business is down, people work fewer hours and earn less, but no-one is laid off since they are not on a payroll in the first place. We would characterise jua kali as a flexible wage economy, while the corporate sector as a rigid wage economy.
In economics, wage rigidity/flexibility is a very big deal. If wages were as flexible as the prices of goods, earnings would rise in boom time and decline during downturns. The problem with a contract wage economy is that workers get pay rises when the economy is doing well, but are wont to take pay cuts during downturns (we say that wages are “sticky downwards”) so the only way businesses can reduce costs when business is low is to lay off some workers. The jua kali economy is better cushioned because they share the work available and get a lower income instead of some earning a lot and others nothing. Moreover, given these flexible arrangements and volatile incomes, many of these workers are diversified, that is, they seldom depend on one income stream. As counter-intuitive as it may sound, the “job insecure” jua kali workers are more economically secure.
In another month, a quarter of the Nairobi metropolitan area population— about 1.5 million people—may not have a penny to their name
There is also the supply side. The market economy is an integrated and complex autonomous system whose workings we take for granted. The entire edifice is built on, and operated by only two impulses: self-interest and price signals—the impulses that Adam Smith famously named the invisible hand. The invisible hand is the trader who aggregates livestock, takes it to market, returning home with groceries and other supplies for his customers deep in Maasailand. The markets are now closed. It is the much-maligned middleman in that sukuma wiki-laden jalopy that appears out of nowhere in foggy Kinungi. It is tough enough turning a profit in normal times, let alone when one is being shaken down and beaten by police at every turn.
To paraphrase Smith, it is not from the benevolence of the farmer or the trader that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own self-interest. Once they can’t turn a profit, the dinner will simply not appear, without notice. Only then will we know that social-distanced online work cannot actually feed us, food delivery apps notwithstanding. A critical piece of equipment for medical supplies has broken down, but the maintenance company has shut shop, the fundis have dispersed upcountry, and spare parts are stuck in Dubai. It will take a week at least to get the operation up. Day by day, the coronavirus ravages the economy just as it is ravaging people.
Canadian economist Armine Yalnizyan calls the COVID-19 shock “a completely different economics”. “We’re into something else entirely, and the sooner Canada’s decision-makers and news-shapers recognize the contours of this new landscape the sooner we will be able to make sense of the world on the other side”.
The jua kali economy is better cushioned because they share the work available and get a lower income instead of some earning a lot
The sooner decision makers recognize the contours of this new landscape . . . She couldn’t have put it better. Earlier this week the Africa Union appointed some eminent person to mobilise resources. As I write, Africa has lost 790 people, 0.7 per cent of the fatalities. Europe and North America have lost over 100,000, and the toll is still rising. It is not just their economies that are devastated, societies are traumatised. We are going to beg from shell-shocked people who are hanging in by the skin of their teeth; just how helpless, insensitive and entitled can we be?
The most dismal prognosis of “the other side” that I have come across has been put forward by financial economics professor John H. Cochrane, who characterises the coronavirus as a negative permanent technology shock. Technology shocks in economics are transformational innovations—such as steamships, the internal combustion engine, aviation, the microchip—which have propelled modernity since the industrial revolution. Technology shocks have long impulses, for example, from the telegraph to the internet, and from the Wright Brothers to ubiquitous international aviation—and a jet-borne pandemic. A permanent negative technology shock, therefore, is a euphemism for a long-term productivity slowdown, a great leap backwards if you like.
My own sense is that the coronavirus will accelerate a “post-industrial world” that will indeed have elements of going back to basics. How might this “other side” look like?
As the economy convulses, many of the lower income urban workers—who are at any rate temporary migrants—will go back home, as they do during economic downturns and political upheavals. Many will not come back. Over time, self-reliance and resilience will replace preoccupation with getting ahead in the rat race. Development “silver bullets” such as rapid industrialisation, megastructures and growth über alles will lose their allure. Health and nature will matter more. People will be content with life on the slow lane. In this back-to-the-future world, it is the farmers, the fundis and the social workers—teachers, healers, artists—who will be in their element, and the managerial layers of paper pushers—bureaucrats and brokers—who will struggle to find footing and purpose.
Only then will we know that social-distanced online work cannot actually feed us, food delivery apps notwithstanding
The state-society relationship will also be up for critical examination. So far, the national government’s heavy-handed law-and-order approach to a health crisis—its colonial DNA—has ensured that it has not wasted a single opportunity that it has been afforded by the coronavirus to aggravate and further alienate citizens. The only people-centred state responses we’ve seen are from the county governments that the Jubilee administration has been doing its best to undermine and turn the people against. The national political class, parliament notably, has jumped ship and abandoned the people— vanished. But the Jubilee bigwigs have found time for skulduggery over their moribund political party, while Raila Odinga found it wise to give reassurance that the coronavirus is a minor storm and the reggae tsunami will be resuming in no time at all. A more tawdry and inopportune display of mindless obsession with power is hard to contemplate.
With every passing day, the prescience of Singaporean Foreign Minister Vivian Balakrishnan’s assertion that the coronavirus will test and mercilessly expose the shortcomings of every country’s health system, governance standards and social capital, is affirmed.
Which entrails of our dysfunctional governance, our venal political class, and the patronage oligarchy writ large—the hollow men—the coronavirus will bare is sure to become clear in the coming days. As to the nature of the beast that will come out on the other side, only time will tell.
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The G20 Is Gathering. Debt Justice Is Our Demand
As the G20 meet to discuss the global economic recovery, the Debt Justice group calls for a radical break with extraction and austerity — and proposes a new system in its place.
A tsunami of debt has crashed over the world, and billions of people are drowning. This week, the G20 will meet to decide the direction of global economic recovery. Their power — and their responsibility — point in one direction: drop debt, drive investment, and deliver justice for all peoples of the world.
The pandemic has accelerated inequalities across the planet. Workers have lost $3.7 trillion in income, while billionaires have increased their wealth by $3.9 trillion. Wealthy countries have invested trillions of dollars to inflate their economies. But poor countries have been paralyzed by a $2.5 trillion financing gap that has prevented sufficient pandemic response.
Of more than $13 trillion spent on pandemic recovery worldwide, less than one per cent has gone to the Global South.
But things can get much worse. Before the pandemic, 64 lower-income countries were already spending more to service their international debts than on strengthening their local health systems. Now, the burden of their public debts has increased by around $1.9 trillion — four times the size of Sub-Saharan economy.
The ability to borrow money is critical to government capacity. The domination of imperial currencies like the US dollar, however, means that governments in the Global South must borrow in a foreign currency — and these debts come with higher interest rates than those of their foreign neighbors.
Even in good times, the global economy works to extract cash from the South to deliver to the North.
But when crises hit, Southern currencies lose value against the dollar at the same time that public revenues dry up. The result is a deadly trade-off. To repay debt means shredding the social safety net — a net that stands between billions of people and severe poverty. But failure to pay may be even worse: poor countries risk losing their ability to borrow in the future — all but guaranteeing the disappearance of the safety net they have now.
As the major creditors to the world, the G20 governments have done little to address this deadly trade-off. In 2020, the G20 suspended only 1.66% of the total debt payments due by lower income countries. Instead, they protected the power of vulture funds and holdout creditors to collect money that is desperately needed for response, recovery and climate action.
The G20 have now offered a ‘Common Framework’ to address the emerging debt crisis. This offer is an ultimatum. Either renew the vicious cycle — of indebtedness, austerity, and privatisation — or enter complete financial meltdown.
The G20 Common Framework is not a lifeline for the governments of the Global South. It is their debtors’ prison.
We need to break this system of neo-colonial exploitation — and replace it with a system centred on debt justice and the delivery of green and just transitions everywhere.
What, then, are our demands of the G20?
First, every creditor must participate. In the last ten years alone, private creditors like BlackRock and Glencore have doubled their share of lower income government debt. The G20 must compel all creditors to come to the table and end their exploitation of government desperation.
Second, the G20 must give all countries the chance to restructure their debt — not just those deemed cheap enough by creditors. The G20 system of debt relief serves creditors who give feeble concessions for ‘cheaper’ countries while leaving others to descend deeper into crisis. A debt workout process must be available to any country that asks for it.
Third, the debt workout system must move out of the hands of creditors and into transparent, multilateral oversight. Secrecy and complexity only protect creditors at the expense of self-determination.
Fourth, the system cannot be measured by a ‘Debt Sustainability Framework’ that is designed by the creditors themselves. We need independent debt assessments that incorporate debtors’ basic concerns for health, welfare, and development.
Fifth — and crucially — the G20 must move ahead with real debt cancellation. This is not a short-term liquidity crisis. Only large-scale write-offs will get debt to sustainable levels and kickstart recovery.
Sixth, the G20 must put a final end to austerity. Austerity conditionalities have exposed countries to waves of crises, intensified inequalities, and hollowed out public health systems. It is time to turn on the taps to secure green and just transitions everywhere.
The G20 will try and tell us that they’re doing everything they can — that we should be thankful for their efforts. But the world is not suffering from a lack of resource. We suffer because gargantuan amounts of cash are funneled into the pockets of the few. There is no shortage of ideas we can pursue to reverse this flow. What we lack is the political will, and we won’t stop until we get it.
USA: For Right-Wing Extremists the Attack on Capitol Hill Was a Victory
The successful attack on Capitol Hill will fuel years of recruitment and mythologising for post-Trump extremists.
This article was first published by Atlantic Council’s Digital Forensic Research Lab.
As attacks grow more shocking and dramatic, the size of their audience increases accordingly. While most observers are terrified and outraged by such violence, a small minority become inspired enough to plan attacks of their own. This is how extremist movements grow. This is how they seek to bend the world to their will.
Social media has dramatically increased the effectiveness of spectacular acts of terror. In 2014, ISIS militants used the viral executions of two American hostages to declare war on the United States. They were rewarded with an exponential increase in Western media coverage and tens of thousands of recruits from more than 100 countries. In 2019, a New Zealand-based white supremacist livestreamed his murder of 51 Muslim congregants in the city of Christchurch. His actions prompted numerous copycat attacks and a global resurgence of white ethno-nationalism.
Yet the media impact and symbolic power of these attacks are dwarfed by the events of January 6, 2021, during which far-right extremists stormed and occupied the U.S. Capitol at the encouragement of President Trump. Several carried firearms. Others reportedly planted improvised explosive devices. In less than two hours, they overwhelmed federal police and forced the Congress to flee. They breached the seat of American government that had stood inviolate for 211 years. It was a violent, extraordinary, unthinkable victory; one whose images and videos captivated the world.
This was the most spectacular domestic extremist attack in American history. The individuals who perpetrated this attack will be mythologized as heroes among future extremists. A generation of far-right recruits too young to have participated will spend their lives dreaming of again seizing the U.S. Capitol. In the words of writer Osita Nwanevu, this will become the “Woodstock” of the far-right — the victory and spectacle by which all future actions are measured.
Many of the individuals who directly participated in this action have undergone years of radicalization in extremist online communities and developed a unique culture steeped in ironic violence. They have come to venerate street fighting as the ultimate form of political expression and can name various skirmishes — the 2017 U.S. presidential inauguration, protests in Berkeley and Portland, the “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville, the deadly counter-protest in Kenosha, Wisconsin — as a veteran might count battles. Their ranks have swelled in recent months thanks to the popularity of the QAnon delusion and baseless claims of voter fraud that have been aggressively amplified by Trump and his allies.
In some ways, the attack on the U.S. Capitol was the culmination of this violent and conspiratorial movement of pro-Trump communities. Yet because the attack was so catastrophically effective, it also represents the birth of the post-Trump extremist movement. As casual Trump supporters peel away from the network in the weeks to come, they will be replaced by a new cadre who are less politically engaged but far more likely to undertake acts of violence. So it has been with the evolution of extremist movements around the world; so it will now be in the United States.
Two factors will make this post-Trump extremist movement uniquely dangerous. The first is the transition to anti-state violence. Participants in the January 6 attack routinely assaulted U.S. Capitol Police (often, ironically, while carrying pro-police paraphernalia). Following the killing of one female participant by law enforcement, online supporters of the attack darkly speculated that the police had been infiltrated by antifa “terrorists.” The woman was quickly recast as a martyr, one whose death might be the spark of a bloody revolution.
Previous far-right, anti-state movements have struggled to gain traction under the Trump presidency. The most successful of these — the so-called “Boogaloo” movement — hid its overt anti-state violence under layers of subtext and irony. When Boogaloo supporters did engage in acts of anti-state terrorism, as with the murder of two California security officers in June 2020, they sapped the movement of popular support. Under a Biden administration, however, this cognitive dissonance will no longer be an issue. If state authorities are seen to be corrupt and working at the behest of a Democratic administration, they will be targets.
The second factor is the mainstream popularity of the far-right extremist movement in the United States. For years, Trump has conditioned Republican voters to support violence as a means of settling political disputes. From the podium, Trump has regularly encouraged assaults on journalists and dehumanized racial and ethnic minorities. This rhetoric has carried terrible consequences. According to a January 6 YouGov poll, 45 percent of Republican voters supported the storming of the U.S. Capitol, seeing it as just another kind of political expression.
This means that a post-Trump extremist movement — even one that routinely engages in violence — may benefit from a level of political support not seen since that of the Ku Klux Klan in the Reconstruction-era American South. And so long as the movement remains politically popular, there will be politicians who seek to court it. As much could already be seen when the U.S. Congress reconvened early in the morning of January 7. In their remarks, several Republican legislators sought to trivialize or excuse the attack that had forced them from their chamber. Congressman Matt Gaetz (FL-1) went so far as to blame antifa activists, whom he alleged — without evidence — had initiated the attack to give Trump supporters a bad name.
The violent extremist movement inspired by the events of January 6 will rank as one of the great challenges of the Biden presidency. Diminishing the strength of this movement will require disentangling isolated, angry Trump supporters from the much smaller core of extremists who seek to do Americans harm. It will require sapping the January 6 attack of its myth-making potential and to ensure that it is viewed, rightly, as a national embarrassment. Most of all, it will require confronting the pundits and conspiracy theorists who will seek to boost the far-right extremist movement in a grasping bid to retain their relevancy.
This work must begin immediately. The stakes were high before. They are higher now.
The DFRLab team in Cape Town works in partnership with Code for Africa.
Dismantling and Transcending Colonialism’s Legacy
Nkrumah, Nyerere and Senghor were acutely aware of the need to displace the epistemic conditions of colonization in order to transcend it.
In “decolonial” discourse, the African leadership landscape is flattened to the point of becoming a caricature. In an earlier variation of this caricature, Kwame Nkrumah’s injunction of “seek ye first the political kingdom” was presented by political scientist Ali Mazrui as a deficient obsession with political power to the neglect of the economic. In the current variation, the neglect of epistemic “decoloniality” is characterised as the deficient underbelly of the “nationalist” movement.
Kwame Nkrumah, Sédar Senghor, and Julius Nyerere are not only three of the most cerebral figures of Africa’s “nationalist” movement, but unlike Amilcar Cabral they lived to lead their countries in the aftermath of formal colonial rule.
Contrary declarations notwithstanding, Senghor, Nkrumah, and Nyerere were acutely aware of the colonial epistemological project and the need to transcend it. Indeed, philosopher Souleymane Bachir Diagne’s re-reading of Negritude as epistemology argued that its salience lies in the dissolution of the binary opposition of subject and object in the logic of René Descartes. Whatever one’s take on the specificity of Senghor’s claims of Africa’s modes of knowing—by insisting on the interconnectedness of subject and object—he deliberately sought to mark out what is deficient in modern European epistemology and valorise African systems of knowledge. This epistemological project is built on a distinct African ontological premise.
Nkrumah and Nyerere were most acutely aware of the urgent need to displace the epistemic conditions of colonisation. In the case of Nkrumah, the imperative of epistemic decolonisation was most forcefully expressed in the 1962 launch of the Encyclopedia Africana project, initially with W.E.B. Du Bois as editor, and the 1963 launch of the Institute of African Studies at the University of Ghana, Legon.
Nkrumah’s 1963 speech at the launch of the Institute stressed the epistemic erasure at the heart of colonialism, linking political and epistemic freedom. “It is only in conditions of total freedom and independence from foreign rule and interferences that the aspirations of our people will see real fulfillment and the African genius finds its best expression,” Nkrumah argued. If colonialism involves the study of Africa from the standpoint of the colonialist, the new Institute of African Studies was charged with studying Africa from the standpoint of Africans. Its responsibility, Nkrumah argued, is the excavation, validation, restoration, and valorisation of African knowledge systems.
Nkrumah exhorted the staff and students at the new Institute to “embrace and develop those aspirations and responsibilities which are clearly essential for maintaining a progressive and dynamic African society.” The study of Africa’s “history, culture, and institutions, languages and arts” must be done, Nkrumah insisted, in “new African centered ways—in entire freedom from the propositions and presuppositions of the colonial epoch.” It is also worth remembering that the subtitle of the most philosophical of Nkrumah’s writings, Consciencism, is “philosophy and ideology for de-colonization.”
Much is made about Nyerere surrounding “himself with foreign ‘Fabian socialists.’” Yet the most profound influence on Nyerere’s thoughts and practice was not the varieties of European “socialisms” but the “socialism” of the African village in which he was born and raised—with its norms of mutuality, convivial hospitality, and shared labour. Nyerere’s modes of sense-making (which after all is what epistemology means) was rooted in this ontology and norms of sociality.
For Nyerere, the ethics that are inherent in these norms of sociality stand in sharp contrast to the colonial project. It was, perhaps, in Education for Self-Reliance (1967) that Nyerere set out, most clearly, the task of the educational system in postcolonial Tanganyika, one that is not simply about the production of technical skill but the contents of its pedagogy. It is a pedagogy that requires the transformation of the inherited colonial system of education (Ujamaa: Essays on Socialism, 1968). The pedagogy is anchored on the three principles of Nyerere’s idea of a society framed by African socialism: “quality and respect for human dignity; sharing of the resources which are produced by our efforts; work by everyone and exploitation by none.” It frames the ethics of a new, postcolonial society.
Whatever their limitations, it was not for lack of aspiration and imagination. Nyerere is the one who most aptly communicated to us the responsibility of the current generation to pick up the baton where the older generation laid it down. The struggle for political independence was never understood as an end in itself. The ‘flag independence’ we so decry makes possible the task that subsequent generations must undertake and fulfill. The task of realising the postcolonial vision is as much a responsibility of the current generation as it was of the older generation.
Finally, as Mwalimu reminds us, on matters concerning Africa, “the sin of despair would be the most unforgivable.” Avoiding that sin starts with acknowledging and embracing the positive efforts of the older generation while advancing the pan-African project today.
This piece is part of the “Reclaiming Africa’s Early Post-Independence History” series from Post-Colonialisms Today (PCT), a research and advocacy project of activist-intellectuals on the continent recapturing progressive thought and policies from early post-independence Africa to address contemporary development challenges. Sign up for updates here.
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