Disappointed with the development performance of most Third-World countries during the past two decades, many scholars and public officials have looked for a more effective strategy. They are concerned not merely with the extent of growth, but where it has occurred, with evidence that relatively little of the benefits of increased productivity has ‘trickled down’ to the poorer half of the populations of these lands. Capital-intensive methods have raised expectations in both the urban and the rural areas without generating adequate employment opportunities or distributing the benefits of growth equitably. As a consequence, the many poor remain as desperately disadvantaged as they ever were, making a re-evaluation of development priorities, within as well as outside of Africa, of the utmost importance at this juncture.

Patrick McAuslan, Bringing the Law Back In: essays in land, law and development (Aldershot: Ashgate. 2003)

The title of the book sums up my overall stance: there is an important role for law in development generally and in land reform in particular and it is, in my view, wholly beneficial that after almost three decades of virtually ignoring the role of law in development … international financial institutions, aid agencies and scholars in the West are beginning to appreciate and reaffirm both its centrality to development in practice and its centrality to understanding the process of development and change in societies in developing countries. (McAuslan 2003: vii)

He who is able to translate others' interests into his own language carries the day. (Latour 1983: 144)

When the details of the ‘Kissinger proposals for the transition to majority rule in Zimbabwe were made public in October 1976, containing generous proposals for the compensation of white Rhodesian settlers, a chord was struck among observers of African politics that the history of decolonisation in Kenya was about to repeat itself. There the British Government and international monetary agencies lent funds to the new African Government to compensate white settlers for the expropriation of their farms in the highland regions. The similarity between the Kenyan and Rhodesian colonial situations goes far deeper than the willingness of the western powers to bail out white settlers in a time of adversity. External financial assistance in Kenya ensured a smooth transition to a neo-colonial economy in which international capital was permitted expanded access to the resources and markets of Kenya and the East African region. Similarly the sudden concern of the western bloc for majority rule in Rhodesia and for the establishment of a ‘Zimbabwe Development Fund’ has been motivated by the prospect of the removal from the western sphere of economic control of the rich resources and markets of Southern Africa.

This article considers the diplomatic strategies of African states within an evolving United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD). It proposes that the prominence of certain ideas about economic development rises and falls not so much as a result of the nature of the ideas themselves, but as a result of opportunities made and unmade by the world economy. The world economy in turn changes the work mandates of international economic organisations like UNCTAD. The trajectory of African diplomatic strategies is important because it calls into question recent literature in international relations theory focusing almost exclusively on the experiences of industrialised states. In the case of African ideas in UNCTAD, underlying variables associated with the world economy destroyed the remnants of the Group of 77 coalition which had served as an agent for African representatives in UNCTAD. African diplomats have tried to realise whatever objectives they can in the changed circumstances without necessarily changing their ideas about development.

‘In the national interest we have decided to take 51% of the shares of the Standard Bank and Barclays Bank.’

Political analysts often tend to focus upon periods of high-level diplomatic tension or ‘crises’ when examining and attempting to draw conclusions about foreign policy. Since these critical and highly visible episodes generally bring to the foreground the underlying combinations of geo-political, strategic, economic, ideological, and bureaucratic elements, as well as individual styles of leadership which affect interstate relations, this attraction to political drama is understandable. But in adopting a ‘crisis’ approach for determining when and what events merit serious exploration, consequential changes may be overlooked, or recognised belatedly, which have subtly crept into a particular government-to-government relationship during relatively uneventful times. The need for scholars to look to the past with more discerning eyes, as well as for foreign policy decision-makers to keep abreast with the day-to-day non-crisis international affairs of state, can be illustrated by the long-term impact of fundamental changes which occurred in the policy of the United States towards the Horn of Africa during the relative calm of the mid-1960s.

How do some places with weak institutional capacity avoid being caught in the cycles of violence and criminality so often associated with African institutions in the ‘failed states’ literature? This paper exploits in-country variation in piracy incidence across different regions of Somalia to investigate how some territories with low state capacity can nonetheless deter piracy and provide relative order. We find that the usual explanation – state ‘failure’ in Somalia, compared with a reasonably functional government in Somaliland – does not withstand scrutiny. Somaliland's lack of piracy was not due to ‘strong’ state institutions, but can be attributed to the strength of a discourse that emphasises Somaliland's ‘inherent’ capacity for order against the disorder supposedly endemic to the rest of Somalia. The exploration of the discursive underpinnings of Somaliland's supposed ‘piratelessness’ has implications for understanding the relationship between state institutions, political order and violence, particularly where the state does not exercise a monopoly on force.

Of the rising tide of refugees in the world, the greatest number originate from Ethiopia. The largest continent consists of those from the Ogaden who have fled to Somalia, followed by Eritreans who have sought refuge in the Sudan. Out of a total of 520,000 refugees in the Sudan at the end of 1981, approximately 425,000 are Ethiopians or Eritreans, with the much larger number being Eritreans. The Eritreans have fled their homes to escape the prolonged warfare between the Ethiopian forces and the Eritrean liberation movements, a conflict which dates back to 1962.

In the modern global economy, transnational corporations have become important sources of technology, market access and capital – all of which states seek in propelling economic growth. States themselves provide territory, and establish the ‘rules of the game’ by which corporations may operate within that territory. However, with the commodification and commercialisation of indigenous cultural and intellectual property, states are bypassed and negotiations emerge between corporations and sub-state actors who claim to represent population segments. May the bypassing of the state further weaken national or state identity among indigenous groups? Such is the case that may be emerging in Africa with groups who claim profits derived from the development and marketing of indigenous cultural and intellectual property. This paper explores the possibility that profit-sharing agreements between transnational corporations and sub-state groups may contribute to the widening of ethnic cleavages in African states by promoting inequalities between groups.

The European Union's Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) has long been criticised for its price-distorting impact on world markets. Pressure to reform the CAP emanated previously from domestic European concerns over the costs, efficacy and efficiency of the policy and, internationally, from countries whose competitive advantage was undermined. More recently developing countries, NGOs, multilateral institutions and development agencies have orchestrated a campaign to liberalise European agriculture, in the expectation that developing countries will benefit from a shift in production away from high-cost European producers. But it would be naïve to think of liberalisation as bringing universal benefits to the developing world. Inevitably, under any system of regulation, market or intervention, there will be a complex pattern of winners and losers. This paper examines the impacts of Europe's sugar policy on southern Africa and finds, somewhat surprisingly, that the region stands to benefit more from a preservation of the status quo than from liberalisation.

As one of the 25 countries listed as ‘least developed’ by the United Nations, considerable thought is at present being given in many quarters to various aspects of development in Lesotho. Agricultural schemes involving millions of dollars have been initiated, and experts in different disciplines are employed by the Government to help solve some of the seemingly intractable problems of this small country surrounded by the Republic of South Africa.

In the years that have elapsed since the ending of colonial rule, the newly independent states of Africa have been understandably preoccupied with a general resolve to achieve rapid and sustained economic growth. Certain countries have attached especial importance to investment in agriculture, others have devoted high proportions of their resources to material infrastructure, to the exploitation of minerals, or to education and training; whatever the immediate policy pursued, however, there has been general unanimity that at the far end of the development process each African state hopes to possess a growing number of economically viable manufacturing industries.1 Apart from the material benefits that industrialisation can bring there is a general belief, as Pierre Moussa has put it, that ‘the factory chimney has mythical value; it expresses a people's success on earth, their ability to cope with the modern world’.2

Writing in 1962, Professor Roland Young of Northwestern University observed, with reference to both rural and urban Africa, ‘In carrying on research in African politics an area which compels attention is the local community, defined however one wishes: tribal cluster, village, or adrninistrative district. One might wish that political scientists had become interested at an earlier date in the study of small political systems indigenous to Africa.’1 There should be little doubt that local government is important in Africa because its operations are more or less coterminous with the rural areas in which the majority of Africans live. Indigenous Africa does not lie in the westernised cities but in the rural areas, where central governments appear remote, impersonal, and incomprehensibly awesome. Because of its closeness to the community, local government is one of the most realistic agencies for the transformation of rural Africa. Local governments are thus strategically placed to playa crucial role in the politics of development.

It is generally recognised that governments and methods of controlling them can exist without formal opposition parties—as in a one-party state.1 At the same time, the first flush of enthusiasm for one-party states in Africa is dying away and people are beginning to question whether a monolithic party structure is the best or the only way to achieve political stability and economic development, two driving forces behind much of African politics today. At this juncture, Tanzania presents a peculiarly apt case study, for here is a state which has moved through successive constitutional changes since independence from a Westminster model to a dejure one-party state—and in this, constitutional forms have reflected political reality—yet at the same time has endeavoured to ensure that opportunities for control and criticism have remained open.

The ostensible purpose of intelligence collection and activity is the preservation of national security. A careful examination of what has been published in this field in recent years has convinced me that all African régimes and liberation movements have established some form of secret state-security apparatus, in many cases with considerable external assistance. As for foreign intelligence services, such as America's C.I.A., Russia's K.G.B., and Israel's Mossad, they have proved to be effective major mechanisms for influencing the internal affairs of African nations.

Population mobility in its various forms has long been recognised as a major determinant of social and economic policies in many transitional, which is the stage in a country's economic development that has been defined by W. W. Rostow as the ‘transitional era when a society prepares itself – or is prepared by external forces – for sustained growth’1 Although much has been published about population migration in Africa, little research has been conducted into the nature and frequency of periodic visits by rural inhabitants to the main urban centres. These journeys are of particular interest to those who are engaged in the physical planning of rural settlements as they provide a clue to the identification of those amenities and services that may be required in the future, as well as the level of demands upon the local transportation system.

In the years since the April Revolution of 1974 and the subsequent process of decolonisation, Portugal's relations with its former African colonies have undergone considerable strains, and on occasion have been marked by deep suspicion and acrimony. Yet, over the period, the general tendency has been one of accelerating rapprochement. The pace and depth of this re-engagement has, for numerous reasons, varied between the states involved. More or less cordial relations were established with Guiné-Bissau, for example, even before formal independence, whereas those with Mozambique were fraught with difficulties until the 1980s, and can still occasionally give way to mistrust and hostility. But, given the legacy of the wars of liberation and a world recession which developed simultaneously with the new relationships, the achievements have been considerable.

The rôle of foreign assistance in the development process is not only complex, because exogenous donors infuse ideas and capital into diverse and dynamic socio-economic settings, but also contentious, because the impact can alter the development prospects of recipient states and communities. Different perceptions and ideological underpinnings shape the parameters in which programmes are finally implemented, and the views of those most directly concerned affect the outcome of the intervention, often in ways unforeseen by the donor or state. The process of accumulation can be altered, whilst some classes and institutions may be strengthened over others.