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 Cover
 Editorial staff
 Table of Contents
 Introduction
 Exorcising Hegel's ghost: Africa's...
 Toward decolonizing African philosophy...
 The African queen: Metonymic site...
 Is US cooperation with the UN criminal...
 Book reviews














Title: African studies quarterly
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Publication Date: 1998
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Abstract: Presents "African Studies Quarterly," an electronic journal published quarterly by the Center for African Studies at the University of Florida in Gainesville. Posts contact information for the editorial office via street address, telephone number, and e-mail. Lists advisory board and staff members. Offers access to the current issue, as well as to previous issues. Contains articles and related book reviews. Provides information on submissions and links to "African Anthropology."
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Table of Contents
    Cover
        Page i
    Editorial staff
        Page ii
        Page iii
    Table of Contents
        Page iv
    Introduction
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Exorcising Hegel's ghost: Africa's challenge to philosophy
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    Toward decolonizing African philosophy and religion
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    The African queen: Metonymic site of transformation
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
    Is US cooperation with the UN criminal tribunal for Rwanda unconstitutional?
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
    Book reviews
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
Full Text















African Studies Quarterly



Volume 1, Issue 4
1998





Special Issue

Religion and Philosophy in Africa
Guest Editor: Olabiyi Babalola Yai





Published by the Center for African Studies, University of Florida


ISSN: 2152-2448








African Studies Quarterly

Editorial Staff

Michael Chege
Carol Lauriault
Errol Henderson
Kriston Jacobson
Chris Johnson
Andy Lyons
Richard Marcus
Victoria Michener
Janet Puhalla













































African Studies Quarterly I Volume 1, Issue 4 I 1998
http://www.africa.ufl.edu/asq









































University of Florida Board of Trustees, a public corporation of the State of Florida; permission is hereby granted for
individuals to download articles for their own personal use. Published by the Center for African Studies, University of Florida.








































African Studies Quarterly I Volume 1, Issue 4 I 1998
http://www.africa.ufl.edu/asq










Table of Contents


Introduction
Olabiyi Babalola Yai (1-2)

Exorcising Hegel's Ghost: Africa's Challenge To Philosophy
Olufemi Taiwo (3-16)

Toward Decolonizing African Philosophy And Religion
Kwasi Wiredu (17-46)

The Africanized Queen: Metonymic Site Of Transformation
Nkiru Nzegwu (47-56)

At Issue
Is US Cooperation With The UN Criminal Tribunal For Rwanda Unconstitutional?
Paul Magnarella (57-62)



Book Reviews

The Myth of Continents: A Critique of Metageography. Martin W. Lewis and Karen E.
Wigen. Berkeley: University of California Press. 1997
Barney Warf (63-64)

Mau Mau From Below. Greet Kershaw. Athens: Ohio University Press. 1997
E.S. Odhiambo (65-67)

Bureaucracy and Race, Native Administration in South Africa. Ivan Evans. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1997
Diana Wylie (67-69)

Confronting Leviathan: Mozambique since Independence. Margaret Hall and Tom Young.
Athens: Ohio University Press. 1997
Kathleen Sheldon (69-72)














African Studies Quarterly I Volume 1, Issue 4 I 1998
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African Studies Quarterly I Volume 1, Issue 4 I 1998


Introduction


OLABIYI BABALOLA YAI

The articles in this issue of African Studies Quarterly are entirely devoted to studies of
religion and philosophy in Africa. This is a wise decision at this juncture in the history of the
cluster of disciplines called "African Studies". For, as it is generally admitted, African
worldviews and religions inform all other aspects of African life. Consequently, African
religious studies and philosophy, as second order discourses, are expected to provide
conceptual tools for other disciplines. But, even before the term was invented, they have been
infected by an earlier variety of "Afro-pessimism." Admittedly, the malady was not easily
diagnosable, as it was often not acknowledged and, indeed, sometimes disguised as
triumphalism.
Thus, the "we too have it" syndrome was rampant in African religious studies in the
decades of 1960 and 1970 as a reaction to the colonial pejoration of African Traditional Religion
(ATR). With due respect for their pioneering work, we must now admit that Bolaji Idowu and
John Mbiti, the two giants in the field, have invented a paradigm mostly characterized by what
Kwasi Wiredu in this issue aptly termed "unrigorous analogies of a foreign inspiration."
African professional philosophers did not fare better. Barry Hallen, a professional
philosopher, was generous in his assessment when he said: "Most of the material that has been
published to date under the rubric of African Philosophy has been methodological in character"
(Hallen, 1995: 377). Olufemi Taiwo, his colleague, agrees with him when he asserts in this issue
that "a good part of the current mention (of African Philosophy) is preoccupied with issues of
pedigree." The title of D. A. Masolo's opus says it all: African Philosophy in Search of Identity.
The essays in this issue constitute a marked departure from the approaches summarized
above. Firmly rooted in the African philosophical traditions and armed with the sharpest
critical instruments of the Western tradition, their authors engage issues in African philosophy
and religion. They do philosophize. Of recent, what has often been advertised as "African
philosophy" are ruminations of African epigones of Derrida and Foucault, with little or no
African content and concerns. If truth be said, the African philosophy establishment in African
Studies circles preys on the francomaniac bulimia of the American academia, resulting,
sometimes, in quasi-charlatanism. The essays in this issue constitute a healthy departure from
this neocolonial turn in African philosophical studies. They are all traversed by a decolonization
ethos.
Taiwo meticulously deconstructs Hegel. His essay convinces one that if one philosopher
ever deserved the appellation "ethno-philosopher", it was surely Hegel. Says Taiwo: "neither
Hegel nor many of his successors who are quick to dismiss African religion can be said to know
from the inside the phenomena they so eagerly dismiss." This is to be meditated by all of us,
including our African New Hegelians.


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to download articles for their own personal use. Published by the Center for African Studies, University of Florida.
ISSN: 2152-2448






2 I Yai


Wiredu's article is indeed an invitation to decolonization by example. Going against the
grain of some critics of so-called ethnophilosophy who deem African oral traditions
philosophically uninteresting, Wiredu affirms that "In the study of a culture ..., customs can be a
veritable philosophical text", and he urges philosophers to "pursue the universal by way of the
particular."
In African religious studies, he calls for a thorough critique of such unproblematized
concepts as "spirit", "animism", "creation", and "supernatural" using indigenous African
discourses.
In her contribution, Nkiru Nzegwu makes a compelling case for considering African art as
a possible philosophical text. Her example is the celebrated Nigerian artist, Ben Enwowu. The
latter, using the Igbo concept of nka, effectively combatted racism and colonialism "without
sacrificing artistic excellence for political expediency."
With these four profound and thought-provoking essays, ASQ is proud to contribute to
new directions in African philosophical and religious studies. The dialogue continues.

References

Hallen, Barry, "Indeterminacy, Ethnophilosophy, Linguistic Philosophy, African Philosophy" in
Philosophy 70, 1995, pages 377-393.

Idowu, Bolaji, Olodumare: God in Yoruba Belief. 1994 (1962), WAZOBIA: New York NY.

Masolo, D. A., African Philosophy in Search of Identity. 1994. Indiana University Press:
Bloomington IN.

Mbiti, John, African Religions and Philosophy. 1970. Anchor: New York NY.


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African Studies Quarterly I Volume 1, Issue 4 I 1998


Exorcising Hegel's Ghost: Africa's Challenge to Philosophy*


OLUFEMI TAIWO


Anyone who has lived with, worked on, and generally hung out with philosophy as long
as I have and who, and this is a very important element, inhabits the epidermal world that it has
pleased fate to put me in, and is as engaged with both the history of that epidermal world and
that of philosophy, must at a certain point come upon the presence of a peculiar absence: the
absence of Africa 1 from the discourse of philosophy. In the basic areas of philosophy (e.g..
epistemology, metaphysics, axiology, and logic) and in the many derivative divisions of the
subject (e.g., the philosophy of ...) once one begins to look, once one trains one's eyes to
apprehend it, one is struck by the absence of Africa from the disquisitions of its practitioners.
Now, I don't want you to get me wrong, for it is very easy to point out that Africa is neither the
only region nor the only one whose discourse never shows on philosophy radar screens. It
could be said that Indian, Chinese, Mayan, Inuit or Indonesian philosophies never appear
either. That is true, but I would argue in what follows that although these others too may
constitute an absence in the way that I have described it, they make their presence in other
ways. It has always been the case that one might find references to Asian philosophy, Chinese
philosophy, Indian philosophy, Buddhist philosophy, and the like in the philosophical
taxonomy. This was never the case with African philosophy until very recently and such limited
references as exist are the product of the last twenty, or at the most twenty-five, years. Even
then, a good part of the current mention is preoccupied with issues of pedigree. Is African
Philosophy philosophy? Or of the conditions of its possibility, or whether it ever was, is, or is a
thing of the future? Perhaps others who know the comparative literature better can inform us
whether or not questions of the sort just identified ever formed part of the discourse of Indian
Philosophy or Chinese Philosophy. Worse still, even among those who are most generous in
their deployment of the term "African Philosophy", their purview does not extend beyond the
corpus of work that has been produced by contemporary professional philosophers. So we are
talking about a quite significant peculiar absence.
For us laborers in the intellectual vineyard, the peculiar absence is very telling and jarring.
For example, I remember once saying something concerning African Philosophy in a third-year
philosophy of law class that I taught a few years ago. One of the students assumed a puzzled
look and said, in effect, "I hope you do not take offense at what I am about to say, but when you
referred just now to 'African Philosophy' it was the first time I've ever heard anyone put those
two words together in a phrase."
This encounter took place in Chicago and it was rich in ironies. In the first place, Chicago's
population is almost evenly divided between whites and blacks. So think of my student's
putative view of his African-American fellow citizens' intellectual capabilities. In the second
place, I happen to teach in a Jesuit university, a significant order in the Catholic Church.

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4 I Taiwo


Meanwhile, Africa is one of the few areas of the world where the Catholic Church is enjoying its
most spectacular growth especially in terms of recruitment to the ministry. But there we were.
The student, who is probably Catholic, had absolutely no clue about African contributions to
global culture, including the fact that the future of his Church may depend upon African
priests.
In all areas of philosophy, basic and derivative, Africa is a peculiar, almost total absence.
This absence can be explained in several ways. One explanation might be that Africans have no
philosophy or that nothing they do or say or write has any resonances in philosophy. Such an
explanation would be counterintuitive. Were we to grant for purposes of argument that
Africans have no philosophy, it is absurd to suggest that nothing in the African world resonates
for or in philosophy. It is an abject understanding of philosophy that would resort to such a
desperate move to save itself. Yet one cannot help the feeling that denials of both types--
Africans have no philosophy, or nothing Africans do holds any interest for philosophy--have
played a very large role in the absence we identify.
Another explanation might be that philosophy is simply not interested in what those
blighted Africans think, say, or do. As a Yoruba proverb has it, the mouth of the poor person is
no better than a machete; the only thing it is good for is to cut a path through the bush. Here we
come to the big question: Why is there so little, if any, respect for and, as a consequence, interest in
African phenomena and their philosophical resonances 2? Different answers are possible. I would like
to argue that the roots of the peculiar absence may be traced to a signal event in the history of
philosophy and that this event may actually be the inspiration for the absence, but before I
introduce this single event, a word of caution is in order.
I do not suggest that there is a mega or mini conspiracy to shut Africa out of the discourses
of philosophy. Nor am I saying that if we asked any of the participants in these discourses they
would trace the ancestry of their views to the source that I am about to identify. Indeed, I
contend that the random appearance of the exclusions that constitute the peculiar absence, and
the fact that one cannot point to any study that specifically traces its genealogy in the way that I
propose, may deceptively suggest that this is a mere accident. But accidents have causes and the
identification of one such cause below is meant to induce us to look more closely at other
elements of the tradition that is indicted herein.
So far I have spoken of philosophy as a generic term. It has not been identified with any
particular area or tradition. It is time to so identify it. We are talking of Western Philosophy.
This should not be a surprise. It is only insofar as Western Philosophy has passed itself off as
Universal Philosophy that we may talk of the peculiar absence. It is only insofar as we confront,
or have to deal with, or inhabit a world constructed by Western Philosophy that we are forced
to think of an absence and of how to make sense of it. And we must confront our absence from
the history of this tradition because, no thanks to colonialism and Christianization, we are
inheritors and perpetrators of this heritage. Additionally, given that the "West" presents itself as
the embodiment and inventor of the "universal," we must protest even more loudly that its
universal is so peculiar and that its global is so local. That is, the West, in constructing the
universal, instead of truly embracing all that there is, or at least what of it can be so embraced,
has merely puffed itself up and invited the rest of humanity, or the educated segment of it, to be
complicit in this historical swindle.


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Exorcising Hegel's Ghost I 5


I submit that one source for the birth certificate of this false universal is to be found in
Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel's The Philosophy of History 3. The architectonic of exclusion that
the history of Western Philosophy manifests, especially in the form of the peculiar absence, is
contained in the Introduction to that book which one commentator has described thus: "the
Philosophy of History remains the heart and center of Hegel's philosophy 4. 1 would like to
suggest that this text is one possible source for an explanation of the peculiar absence. It is as if
Hegel's successors have somehow internalized his injunctions and have adhered strictly to them
ever since.
Hegel is dead! Long live Hegel! The ghost of Hegel dominates the hallways, institutions,
syllabi, instructional practices, and journals of Euro-American philosophy. The chilling
presence of this ghost can be observed in the eloquent absences as well as the subtle and not-so-
subtle exclusions in the philosophical exertions of Hegel's descendants. The absences and
exclusions are to be seen in the repeated association of Africa with the pervasiveness of
immediacy, a very Hegelian idea if there be any 5. Given this association, we can see why Africa
is where Nature, another very Hegelian category, rules in its blindest fury in form of famine, or
the continual recrudescence or persistence of disease and pestilences of unknown origins and
severe repercussions, or "intertribal" wars that on occasion bring genocide in their wake, or in
unrestricted "breeding", or in -_ -you may fill in the blank 6.
Africa is the land that Time forgot, a veritable museum where there are to be found the
relics of the race, the human race, that is: hence the anthropological preoccupation with hunting
down (very apt phrase) exotic practices, primitive rituals, superceded customs.
According to legend, the African continent is suffused with gods, the Yoruba pantheon
alone is reputed to have four hundred plus one! Yet, curiously, Africa lacks God. It is the land
where, in light of the prevalence of disease and pestilence and war, death is a lived experience
but not a philosophical challenge. Ultimately, it is the land where there is a surfeit of Traditional
Thought but, amazingly, no philosophy. I have chosen just a few of the themes that are
considered the perennials of philosophy anywhere--Nature, Time, Evolution, Ritual, God,
Death-- to show that one can find some possible source-heads in Hegel for how subsequent
non-reference to Africa came to be framed. Let us go to the text.
According to the plan of The Philosophy of History 7 there is no "African World." But there is
Africa in the book and we shall come to it momentarily. In a style with which we are much too
familiar by now, the author announces in the Introduction: "The subject of this course of
Lectures is the Philosophical History of the World. And by this must be understood, not a
collection of general observations respecting it, suggested by the study of its records, and
proposed to be illustrated by its facts, but Universal History"8.
Notice how Hegel proclaims to give us the World without the slightest hint that his might
represent just one way of telling the story of the world, that this telling may be a victim of its
teller's parti pris which may not exclude possible other tellers' parti pris. No; such modesty
would have been unbecoming of a writer who had the temerity to say later in the same text:
"The History of the World travels from East to West, for Europe is absolutely the end of History,
Asia the beginning"9. Europe is the end of History in at least two senses: 1) it is the end, as in the
terminus, the point beyond which there is no other, the culmination of all that came prior to it;
and 2), it is the end, as in the goal, the purpose, the final product to the achievement of which all


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6 I Taiwo


earlier efforts were tending. On either interpretation, the triumphalist import of Hegel's
assertions are unmistakable. And the object of the Philosophy of History is to bring to "the
completion of History ... the simple conception of Reason; that Reason is the Sovereign of the
World; that the history of the world, therefore, presents us with a rational process"'1. But what is
History itself?
We have been told that History is a rational process, that it tends towards an end, and that
it is the object of philosophy to apprehend this movement in its various stages. The ultimate
subject of History is Spirit and the essence to which it tends, towards the realization of which its
movement is directed, is Freedom. But to make this journey, Spirit gets itself embodied in
Peoples, Nations, Volk, and peoples are to be judged by how much and in what way they have
apprehended this essence of Spirit in them. This is the way Hegel put it:
According to this abstract definition it may be said of Universal History, that it is the
exhibition of Spirit in the process of working out the knowledge of that which it is potentially.
And as the germ bears in itself the whole nature of the tree, and the taste and form of its fruits,
so do the first traces of Spirit virtually contain the whole of that History. The Orientals have not
attained the knowledge that Spirit--Man as such --is free; and because they do not know this,
they are not free. They only know that one is free. But on this very account, the freedom of that
one is only caprice; ... That one is therefore only a Despot; not a free man. The consciousness of
Freedom first arose among the Greeks, and therefore they were free; but they, and the Romans
like wise, knew only that some are free--not man as such. Even Plato and Aristotle did not
know this. The Greeks, therefore, had slaves; and their whole life and the maintenance of their
splendid liberty, was implicated with the institution of slavery: a fact, moreover, which made
that liberty on the one hand only an accidental, transient and limited growth; on the other hand,
constituted it a rigorous thralldom of our common nature--of the Human. The German nations,
under the influence of Christianity, were the first to attain the consciousness, that man, is free:
that it is the freedom of Spirit which constitutes its essence 11.
Hence the conclusion: "The History of the world is none other than the progress of the
consciousness of Freedom; a progress whose development according to the necessity of its
nature it is our business to investigate"12.
We have to fast forward at this point. Although the passages that I have cited hold promise
of some fecund analyses, this is not the occasion for them. A few deductions may be made,
however. For instance, for Hegel, only a few peoples are what he calls "world-historical"
peoples. These are peoples who may rightly be adjudged to belong in History and to participate
in its march towards that attainment of it final end. The "Orientals" caught a glimpse of Spirit
and therefore made history only through the despot. The Greeks and the Romans saw it some
more but missed out on the works. As it turns out, thanks to Christianity, only the Germans or
northern Europeans saw Spirit in its full glory and secured a patent on Freedom as a result.
The picture is not yet complete. The Spirit of a People is the subject of History. But Spirit
also requires space within which to unfold itself and enact its drama. To that extent, we must as
part of the Philosophy of History be interested in its "Geographical Basis". "It is not our concern
to become acquainted with the land occupied by nations as an external locale, but with the
natural type of the locality, as intimately connected with the type and character of the people
which is the offspring of such soil. This character is nothing more nor less than the mode of and


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Exorcising Hegel's Ghost I 7


form in which nations make their appearance in History, and take place and position in it"13.
Although Hegel went on to warn that we should not make too much of Nature, he insisted that
"the type of locality" does remain intimately connected with how much and in what way people
apprehend freedom:
In the extreme zones man cannot come to free movement; cold and heat are here too
powerful to allow Spirit to build up a world for itself. Aristotle said long ago, 'when pressing
needs are sat-isfied, man turns to the general and more elevated.' But in the extreme zones such
pressure may be said never to cease, never to be warded off; men are constantly impelled to
direct attention to nature, to the glowing rays of the sun, and the icy frost. The true theater of
History is therefore the temperate zone; or rather its northern half, because the earth there
presents itself in a continental form, and has a broad breast, as the Greeks say 14.
This completes the exposition of the nature of History, its philosophical study and its
enabling conditions. Having shown why the New World could not be considered part of
History--at that time--Hegel proceeded to examine the "three positions of the globe with which
History is considered: Africa = Upland; Asia = the contrast of river regions with Upland; Europe
= characterized by the mingling of these several elements"15. From this point on, and for the next
nine pages, we are treated to a harangue, a collective libel against Africa which, I insist,
anticipated even if it did not inaugurate the different exclusions and show the possible
antecedents in Hegel's "Introduction".
Many who read this are familiar with the phrases: "Africa South of the Sahara," "Sub-
Saharan Africa," "Black Africa." They also probably know that Egypt is not in Africa; it is in the
"Near East" or the "Middle East". "North Africa" is really not Africa. And in what must remain
an incredible feat of geographical sleight of hand, South Africa suddenly became an "African"
country in April 1994 with the election of Nelson Mandela and the overthrow of the bastard
apartheid regime. Certain behavioral consequences follow from these identifications. I shall say
more about them in a moment. For now let us turn back to Hegel.
According to Hegel, "Africa must be divided into three parts: one is that which lies south of
the desert of Sahara--Africa proper--the Upland almost entirely unknown to us, with narrow
coast-tracts along the sea; the second is that to the north of the desert--European Africa (if we
may so call it)--a coastland; the third is the river region of the Nile, the only valley-land of
Africa, and which is in connection with Asia"16.
The reader may begin to see what agenda Herr Hegel had in mind in resorting to the
taxonomy contained in the passage just quoted. Recall that he had said earlier that in the
"extreme zones man cannot come to free movement" and that "the true theater of History is
therefore the temperate zone." Were North Africa to be included in Africa, Hegel would have
had to deny that History found a station there. But such a denial would have flown in the
presence of incontrovertible evidence of the many civilizations that had been domiciled there
for millennia. It would have meant denying the glory that was Egypt, Carthage, Cyrenaica, and
so on. He was not prepared to go this far. So why not reconfigure the geography so that Egypt
is intellectually excised from Africa and make it safe for History? And there are indications in
the text that this was the course that Hegel was compelled to take: The second portion of Africa
is ... --Egypt; which was adapted to become a mighty center of independent civilization, and
therefore is as isolated and singular in Africa as Africa itself appears in relation to the other


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8 I Taiwo


parts of the world. The northern part of Africa, which may be specially called that of the coast
territory ... lies on the Mediterranean and the Atlantic; a magnificent territory, on which
Carthage once lay--the site of the modern Morocco, Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli. This part was to
be--must be attached to Europe ... 17.
We are not told what Hegel meant by his statement that the northern part of Africa was "to
be attached to Europe." Hegel had no doubt that this job deserved completion and that part of
Africa must be attached to Europe. And it has remained attached to Europe ever since. The
phrases that I adumbrated earlier manifest this sundering of Egypt from Africa and its forcible
attachment to Europe in the imagination of both Hegel and his descendants. There are other
manifestations of this attachment. For example, the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto, Canada,
for a long time did not have an African pavilion. Yet this did not prevent it from having a very
impressive display of artifacts from Ancient Egypt as part of the "Near East" pavilion!
Having severed Egypt from Africa and making it safe for History, Hegel was free to zero in
on what he called "Africa proper" and single it out for an extremely malicious libel, the outlines,
if not the exact content, of which have continued to structure the understanding of Africa in the
consciousness and institutions of Hegel's descendants. According to Hegel,
Africa proper, as far as History goes back, has remained-for all purposes of connection with
the rest of the World-shut up; it is the Gold-land compressed within itself-the land of childhood,
which lying beyond the day of history, is enveloped in the dark mantle of Night. Its isolated
character originates, not merely in its tropical nature, but essentially in its geographical
condition 18.
We can now see why it was so important for Hegel to excise Egypt from Africa. It would
have been not merely incongruous but also false to say of an area that enfolds Egypt, Carthage,
and so on within its boundaries that it "is the Gold-land compressed within itself" or that it is
"lying beyond the day of history." Egypt must be separated so that the racist attack to follow
will have a veneer of respectability. How strong that veneer is can be seen in the persistence of
this view of Africa in the imagination and discourses of Hegel's descendants.
It should be noted that Hegel had earlier written that "Africa proper--the Upland [is]
almost entirely unknown to us." Yet that did not stop him from proclaiming that Africa proper
"is enveloped in the dark mantle of Night". It would not have occurred to Hegel, and it still does
not occur to his descendants, that there is nothing African about the "dark mantle of Night" that
they remark but that it is the mantle of their own ignorance. And while this ignorance might
have been excusable in Hegel's time, it is execrable now. But writing under the darkness of this
mantle, Hegel went on to inform us of these Africans proper: "The peculiarly African character
is difficult to comprehend, for the very reason that in reference to it, we must give up the
principle which naturally accompanies all our ideas--the category of Universality" 19
Given the agenda that Hegel had, there was no way that he could have come to a different
conclusion about the African character. Had he availed himself of the material available in
Europe at the time he was writing respecting African achievements, he would have been forced
to a radically different conclusion. More significant is the fact that consistent with the practice
that still dominates discourse about Africa in Euro-America, the irony completely escaped
Hegel that he had puffed his peculiarity into a universality and that giving up the principle,
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required if the African world is to be treated with the requisite respect for its integrity and
heteronomy. Treating Africa with respect for its integrity and heteronomy does not translate
into the kinds of deductions that Hegel proceeded to make about the African situation. Let us
examine some of them.
According to Hegel, Africans lack the category of Universality. This arises from the fact
that they are one with their existence; they are arrested in immediacy. This means that they
have not separated themselves from nature. "The Negro," Hegel wrote, "exhibits the natural
man in his completely wild and untamed state"20. As such, the African is shorn of the idea of a
self that is separate from his needs and, simultaneously, has no knowledge of "an absolute
Being, an Other and a Higher than his individual Self" 21. Under this conception, central to
religion is the idea of transcendence 22, the idea that there is some reality that is beyond us,
beyond our understanding, before which we submit ourselves in supplication; in short a
Mysterium. This mysterium, however conceived, is the concern of Theology and of the
Philosophy of Religion to reveal, to make sense of, as a condition for unearthing the place of
humans in the scheme of things. In other words, Africans supposedly lack any Theos to the
revelation of whose Logos Philosophy is dedicated. For Hegel, Negroes are mired in sorcery,
worship of graven images that are easily perishable, and worship of the dead 23. They do not
possess a mysterium; they lack transcendence, and are without a Theos whose Logos they
might have constituted a philosophy to reveal.
That was Hegel. How do things stand with his descendants?
One would be hard pressed to find any text in standard Philosophy of Religion 24 in which
African Religions are represented. Nor would one find too many anthologies and textbooks on
world religions in which African religious practices rate a significant, if any, mention at all. The
absence is a manifestation of the kind of absence Hegel inaugurated. The primary reason is that
for most of the writers concerned, even when they cannot be understood to have been directly
influenced by Hegel, his rationalization for denying religious status to African religious
practices is adequate 25. For the most part the reasoning is that there are those things that Hegel
already talked about and some others that represent, at best, further explications of his
submissions. African religion is dismissed as ancestor worship or spirit worship.
This should not surprise us. In the tradition that framed Hegel's theoretical postulations,
abstraction is privileged and highly rated; historical phenomena attract little spiritual
significance. But in Yoruba religion, the ancestors that are supposed to be the recipients of
supplication range from forebears in remote antiquity to the parent who recently passed away.
Such a tradition in which those who lived recently are regarded as deserving of reverence
cannot expect to have its claim to religious status taken seriously by another which considers
this practice as bereft of transcendence or mysterium.
Related to this is the idea that African gods are infinitely expendable and are vulnerable to
swapping. Finally, it is alleged that the proliferation of gods, polytheism, in African cultures is a
mark of backwardness of the One Mysterium, the Being than which Nothing Greater can be
Conceived! Thanks to this mindset, every time that an African intellectual writes about "African
Religion" he/she is called upon to justify the attachment of the epithet "African" to the
substantive "Religion". We are bogged down in arguments about pedigree that it should be
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The reason is simple; pedigree arguments always serve an imperialist purpose. The person
who demands to be convinced that what his interlocutor is canvassing deserves to be admitted
to the hallowed spaces that bear the name "religion", or some other equivalent, already
presupposes that his characterization is unproblematic, is not particular, is universal, and
therefore, supplies the metric by which all others must be measured. Even when it is
unintended, especially when it is unintended, this sort of demand smacks of the kind of bastard
Universality that we already encountered in Hegel at the beginning of his enterprise.
Additionally, neither Hegel nor many of his successors who are quick to dismiss African
religion can be said to know from the inside the phenomena they so eagerly dismiss. In the
absence of some thorough investigation of the meanings of the practices concerned, the logic
that animates them, and what theoretical analyses are offered by the intellectuals of the culture
concerned, one could not tell whether or not the destruction of the icons of individual gods is
construed as the destruction of the gods themselves. It is as if one were to accuse, as many
Africans did when they first encountered Christianity, Christians of cannibalism every time
they participate in the Eucharist.
In the final section of this paper, I shall provide some analysis that shows that Yoruba
intellectuals did not think that their gods and the icons in which they are represented are one
and the same. Unfortunately, the same attitude as Hegel's continues to dominate the mindset of
his successors: pronouncing judgment on the basis of inadequate or nonexistent evidence or
prior to an examination of the evidence. That in the closing years of the twentieth century we
descendants of those libeled by Hegel are still being challenged by Hegel's descendants to show
only on terms acceptable to them that we are part of the concert of humanity is an indicator of how
strong the cold hands of Hegel remain more than a century after his death.
A closely connected idea that has remained firmly entrenched in the consciousness and
practices of Hegel's descendants is that the African does not possess a knowledge of the
immortality of the soul. Nor does he exhibit any awareness of or respect for justice and
morality. Hegel again set the tone for his descendants. According to him, because the African is
without the consciousness or recognition of a "Higher Being" that would have inspired[] him
with real reverence"26, he installs himself as Supreme Being, possessed of the power to "judge
the quick and the dead". "The Negroes indulge, ..., that perfect contempt for humanity, which in
its bearing on Justice and Morality is the fundamental characteristic of the race. They have
moreover no knowledge of the immortality of the soul, although specters are supposed to
appear"27. From this lack follow the many manifestations of this contempt for humanity,
cannibalism being the most offensive.
There are many possible responses to these charges. One is to try to advance evidences that
refute Hegel's statements and undermine his arguments. But to do so will be to bow to an
intellectual arrogance and an insufferable imperialism that already have seized the high ground
of determining the contours of human being and are merely challenging the African thinker to
show that she and her people deserve to be admitted to the concert of humanity. This could
have been a fruitful way of answering the challenge had it come from the vantage point of
knowledge and thorough grounding in the basics and intricacies of the cultures that were being
denigrated such that we might say that the challenge arose from a thorough study and was
based on a genuine disappointment that, after some serious searching, nothing of value was


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found. Unfortunately, this was not the way that Hegel arrived at his challenge. The most that
we can say for him is that where he seemed to have cited any evidence, we have cause to
consider it to be of dubious value. The lectures on which the book was based were written at a
time when the African continent remained largely unknown to Europeans and the darkness that
enveloped them in their ignorance about Africa was projected upon the continent in their
preferred sobriquet for her: "The Dark Continent". Thus much of what he wrote was fantasy.
But let us for purposes of argument suppose that Hegel had access to archaeological,
historical, and other relevant information about Africa. In light of the state of Europe's
knowledge of Africa at that time, such a supposition is plausible. In fact, where that is
concerned, he represented a serious advance over his successors. One could at least find in his
work references to "Dahomey" (even though the practice he attributed to the Kingdom was
actually that of Oyo), and "Ashantee" (Asante), a rare occurrence in the writings of his
descendants.
The possession of relevant information would be insufficient; interpretations must be
offered. Where interpretations are concerned, Hegel's dilettantish glosses on the information
available to him are embarrassing. The intricate justifications for the practices against which he
inveighed, the nuances of the languages in which ideas of transcendence, or of immortality of
the soul, or of justice and morality, and the complexity of life and thought among African
peoples, some of whom had created Empires were, to be sure, unavailable to him. To try
therefore to respond to the ratings of the uninformed is inadvertently to confer unwarranted
respectability on what in more respectable discussions would be considered rubbish.
A different response to Hegel's challenge is conditioned by the need of those who seriously
want to learn about Africa and who, while unappraised of the intellectual traditions of the
continent, do not a priori assume their absence. And for such people help is easily available. The
presence of such knowledge seekers in and out of the academy in North America is one good
reason to look seriously at what damage is done by the contemporary practices of Hegel's
descendants. How do things stand at the present time with respect to reflections concerning
immortality of the soul, respect for humanity and its bearing on justice and morality? To what
extent do Hegel's descendants take seriously the reflections of Africans on the issues just
mentioned?
As with other areas, the peculiar absence asserts itself. It is difficult even now, in spite of
recent progress, to find anthologies in which any efforts are made to include materials by
Africans or on African responses to the questions raised by immortality of the soul, justice, and
morality. When such efforts are made they are half-hearted, tokenist, or so perfunctory that one
sometimes wonders why the material is included. In other cases, they are conveniently grouped
together with others in a kind of gathering of the unwanted or the marginal. While it is no
longer in fashion to assert that Africans are without knowledge of the immortality of the soul,
and so on, there remains little to offer the eager seekers after this knowledge in Euro-American
academies, especially in Philosophy.
The new form in which the peculiar absence is manifested is in the consigning to areas like
Anthropology, Political Science, or Folklore what African materials are available. When this is
not the case, African knowledge products are consigned to the dubious discipline of "African
Studies." In African Studies the metaphysics of difference is supreme and overarching,


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sometimes grotesque efforts to twist African reality out of sync with the rest of humanity--a
back-hand way of affirming the African's non-membership of the concert of humanity without
having to contend with accusations of racism. Thus the African remains on the edge of
humanity's town. As a result textbooks on ethics, law, and metaphysics are unlikely to feature
chapters on Africa or references to African answers to the perennial questions that are raised by
them.
What is worse, even the limited presence in the form of libel that members of Hegel's
generation represented in their writings has been expunged by their contemporary numbers:
hence the peculiar absence. Africa is not overtly condemned as it was in Hegel's day; it is simply
ignored or made to suffer the ultimate insult of having its being unacknowledged. One is right
to wonder whether it is worse to be libeled than to be passed over in silence. All too often, when
African scholars answer philosophy's questions, they are called upon to justify their claim to
philosophical status. And when this status is grudgingly conferred, their theories are consigned
to serving as appendices to the main discussions dominated by the perorations of the "Western
Tradition."
Having laid out the many ways in which the African is supposed to fall short of the glory
of Man, Hegel concluded: "From these various traits it is manifest that want of self-control
distinguishes the character of the Negroes. This condition is capable of no development or
culture, and as we see them at this day, such have they always been. The only essential
connection that has existed and continued between the Negroes and the Europeans is that of
slavery ... 28.
From what I have argued so far it should be obvious that although Hegel's descendants no
longer brazenly affirm the garden variety of racism that Hegel embraced in their attitude
towards African intellectual production, a more benign but no less pernicious variety of racism
continues to permeate the relationship between Euro-America and Africa. Of greater relevance
for our claim that Hegel authored the frame in which Africa is perceived and related to by his
descendants is his declaration concerning Africa's place in the discourse of world history. My
argument is that the continuing failure to accommodate Africa, without qualification, in the
concert of humanity in ways that this has been done for Asia, for example, illustrates the
continuing impact of the reach of Hegel's ghost. Here is Hegel's finale:
At this point we leave Africa, not to mention it again. For it is no historical part of the
World; it has no movement or development to exhibit. Historical movements in it-that is in its
northern part-belong to the Asiatic or European World. Carthage displayed there an important
transitionary phase of civilization; but, as a Phoenician colony, it belongs to Asia. Egypt will be
considered in reference to the passage of the human mind from its Eastern to its Western phase,
but it does not belong to the African Spirit. What we properly understand by Africa, is the
Unhistorical, Undeveloped Spirit, still involved in the conditions of mere nature, and which had
to be presented here only as on the threshold of the World's History 29.
Let us grant that Hegel's ignorance and crudities reflected in part the state of Europe's
knowledge of Africa then. How do we explain his descendants' behavior now? It is only
recently that Hegel's descendants began to come back to Africa. For until now, it is as if Euro-
American Philosophy had remained in the cold vise of Hegel's ghost. There are many ways in
which the peculiar absence reflects the Hegelian declaration of leaving Africa, not to mention it


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again. For example all locutions concerning "Africa South of the Sahara," "Sub-Saharan Africa,"
"Black Africa" are, in their different ways, reflective of the Hegelian insistence that the areas so
designated are "Africa proper" that must be deemed of no interest to World History. In this
connection, one may cite the ongoing acrimonious debate on the epidermal character of ancient
Egyptian civilization.
I argue that all efforts to show that Egypt was not an African civilization are geared
towards affirming any or all of the following theses: (a) Egypt was not in Africa so it, prima facie,
could not have been an African civilization; (b) even if Egypt had been an African country,
geographically speaking, the principal constructors of its civilization were Hamitic peoples who
were not original to Africa. If this is true, then Hegel was right that "Egypt does not belong to
the African Spirit;" (c) a combination of (a) and (b). But the debate illustrates another aspect of
the peculiar absence. The immediate occasion for the current fulminations over the paternity of
Egyptian civilization was the publication of Martin Bernal's The Afro-Asiatic Roots of Greek
Civilization 30. A similar and more original precursor based on first-hand investigation of the
evidence conducted by a trained African Egyptologist, Cheikh Anta Diop, had been published
earlier 31. Diop was dismissed and little attention was paid to his submissions in this country.
That is, Diop was not even considered worthy of being refuted-- he suffered the insult of being
passed over in silence. It took Bernal, who looks right, to generate a storm of protests about the
paternity of Egyptian civilization. It matters little that Bernal cobbled his work from secondary
sources--he is not an Egyptologist. But he has not only attracted attention, he has managed to
spawn a whole new industry devoted to refuting his thesis that Western civilization has afro-
asiatic roots.
The declaration that Africa's condition "is capable of no development or culture, and as we
see them at this day, such have they always been" frames all discourses in which Africa is
presented as unhistorical, as if its history is one seamless web with no periodization or any of
the normal highs and lows of historical time that are characteristic of other areas of the world.
Hence the prevalence in discourses about Africa of theoretical shibboleths like "traditional
Africa," precoloniall Africa," and so on where what is being talked about would stretch, in the
one case, from the beginning of time to when the first white man set foot in Africa or when
colonialism was imposed.
Until recently, Hegel's descendants went one better than their ancestor. Because South
Africa was for so long under apartheid they kept up the pretense that South Africa was either
not part of Africa or was not considered an "African" country! We find the peculiar absence in
the repeated disjunctions that one finds between: "ancestor worship" (African) and "religion"
(the rest of the world); "tribalism" (African) and "nationalism" (the rest of the world);
"traditional thought" or "modes of thought" (African) and "philosophy" (the rest of the world);
"simple societies" (African) and "complex societies" (the rest of the world); "lineage division"
(African) and "class division" (the rest of the world); "order of custom" (African) and "rule of
law" (the rest of the world); etc. 32
We have said that Hegel's descendants are beginning to come back to Africa. For the most
part they are coming back, not because they have come to acknowledge Africa's full
membership of the concert of humanity, witness the preceding divisions just adumbrated, but
because many within the Euro-American tradition have begun to put pressure on the dominant


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forces in society, especially those in the academy, to begin to put some substance in their much-
vaunted commitment to liberal education. Nevertheless, we should not make the mistake of
thinking that Africa should be in the curriculum because students of African descent demand
that their stories too be recognized or because some misguided elements in the dominant
culture insist on learning about other cultures. Others in the academy outside of these
categories too should be grateful that the students of African descent have elected to catalyze
the bringing of the promise of liberal education to fruition. If it remains true, and I think it is,
that the goal of a liberal education is to put before its recipients the study of humanity and its
achievements wherever humanity happens to reside, and to create graduates who are required
to learn as much as they can of as much as there is to know of as many themes as are available
for investigation, then the present situation in which we permit Hegel's ghost to stalk the halls
of the contemporary academy must be deemed unacceptable.
I conclude by offering a few suggestions on how the ghost may be exorcised 33. I should
warn that this is one mean ghost that will be tough to exorcise. In the past when it was
fashionable to be racist, there were many who openly celebrated the sightings of the ghost as a
much welcome reminder that Africans should know their place and stay there. How times have
changed! The ghost has now insinuated itself into the innermost recesses of the academy and it
is more likely now that Hegel's descendants will plead pragmatic considerations for why the
peculiar absence persists. Such an explanation would likely blunt the edge of our criticisms
because, as we all know, these are lean times and we must deploy limited resources for
maximal uses. One can see how the ghost continues to stalk the present: the unspoken
assumption is that Africa does not offer a good enough return to justify deploying resources to
its study. It is a different strategy but the outcome is the same.
Another way in which the ghost affects the present is in the repeated suggestions that there
are no appropriate texts or that none are good enough to occupy our philosophical energies.
Recall how Hegel too knew that Africa had never developed even though he acknowledged
that the area was "almost entirely unknown to [him]". How do you know without reading or
finding the texts whether or not they are good or bad? This subverts a cardinal principle of
scientific rationality--that one does not pass judgment in advance of weighing the evidence.
I have refrained in this paper from the usual response of waving before you what Africans
have done. Until it is taken for granted that Africa is part of History, that the study of anything
cannot be complete unless it encompasses this significant part of the world, no amount of
iteration of what Africans have done will move the victims of Hegel's ghost. Until they get rid
of the voice of the Hegelian ghost whispering in their inner ear that Africa is not worth it, that
Africa has nothing worthwhile to offer, they will continue to botch the challenge that Africa
poses to philosophy.

Notes

*This is a revised version of a public lecture delivered to the Association of Students of African
Descent at Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, B.C., Canada, on Friday, 21st February, 1997.

1. Throughout this paper I shall mean by "Africa" the continent and its diaspora.


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2. Of course there is interest in Africa's flora and fauna. Safari vacations are always a top
draw. This preoccupation with nature in Africa in the popular imagination has its
intellectual expression. This will be examined presently.
3. G.W.F. Hegel, The Philosophy of History, trans. J. Sibree, introduction C.J. Friedrich (New
York: Dover Publications, 1956.
4. C.J. Friedrich, "Introduction" to Dover edition.
5. I shall have more to say about this anon.
6. The same nature in its benign face, wild, beautiful is what attracts safari tourists and
safari scholars alike.
7. See Appendix 1.
8. Hegel, The Philosophy of History, p.1.
9. Hegel, p. 103.
10. Hegel, p. 9.
11. Hegel, pp.17-18.
12. Hegel, p. 19.
13. Hegel, pp. 80-81.
14. Hegel, p. 80. Emphasis added.
15. Hegel, p.91.
16. Hegel, p. 91 Emphasis added.
17. Hegel, pp. 92-93.
18. Hegel, p.91.
19. Hegel, p.93.
20. Hegel, p. 93.
21. Hegel, p.93.
22. For contrary views, see Kwasi Wiredu, Cultural Universals and Particulars (Bloomington
Indiana University Press, 1997.
23. Hegel, pp. 93-95.
24. I shall limit myself to the situation in Philosophy.
25. For those who are interested, see the discussions in E. Bolaji Idowu, African Traditional
Religion: A Definition; Olodumare: God in Yoruba Belief; John S. Mbiti, African
Religions and Philosophy; Olupona, J.K.; Benjamin Ray, Concepts of God in Africa;
Geoffrey Parrinder, African Traditional Religion.
26. Hegel, p. 95.
27. Hegel, p. 95.
28. Hegel, p. 98.
29. Hegel, p. 99.
30. Bernal, M. 1987. Black Athena: The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization. Vol. I, The
Fabrication of Ancient Greece 1785-1985. London: Free Association Books; New
Brunswick: Rutgers University Press.
31. Cheikh Anta Diop,
32. I have explored the consequences of this difference-dominated way of framing
discourses about Africa for the possibilities of genuine learning across cultural divides in


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16 I Taiwo


"African and Africanist Scholars, and Knowledge Production in African Studies",
forthcoming.
33. I have done this in some detail in "On Diversifying the Philosophy Curriculum,"
Teaching Philosophy 16, no. 4 1993: 287-299.


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Toward Decolonizing African Philosophy and Religion


KWASI WIREDU


I. PARTICULARISTIC STUDIES OF AFRICAN PHILOSOPHIES AS AN AID TO
DECOLONIZATION

Let me begin by defining what I mean by decolonization in African philosophy. By
decolonization, I mean divesting African philosophical thinking of all undue influences
emanating from our colonial past. The crucial word in this formulation is "undue". Obviously, it
would not be rational to try to reject everything of a colonial ancestry. Conceivably, a thought
or a mode of inquiry spearheaded by our erstwhile colonizers may be valid or in some way
beneficial to humankind. Are we called upon to reject or ignore it? That would be a madness
having neither rhyme nor reason.
Yet there are reasons for adopting a doubly critical stance toward the problems and
theories of Western philosophy--particularly toward the categories of thought embedded
therein. The reasons are historical. Colonialism was not only a political imposition, but also a
cultural one. Gravely affected, or even perhaps infected, were our religions and systems of
education. I will address the question of religion later, but I want directly to notice an aspect of
the system of education introduced by colonialism that is of a particular philosophical
relevance. It consists in the fact that education was delivered in the medium of one foreign
language or another.
Now if you learn philosophy in a given language, that is the language in which you
naturally philosophize, not just during the learning period but also, all things being equal, for
life. But a language, most assuredly, is not conceptually neutral; syntax and vocabulary are apt
to suggest definite modes of conceptualization. Note, however, that I say "suggest" not
"compel", for, if the phenomenon had the element of necessitation implied by the latter word,
no decolonization would be possible. Nevertheless, the starting point of the problem is that the
African who has learned philosophy in English, for example, has most likely become
conceptually westernized to a large extent not by choice but by the force of historical
circumstances. To that same extent he may have become de-Africanized. It does not matter if
the philosophy learned was African philosophy. If that philosophy was academically
formulated in English and articulated therein, the message was already substantially
westernized, unless there was a conscious effort toward cross-cultural filtration. Of course, in
colonial times such concerns were not the order of the day, to say the least, nor have they, even
now in post-colonial times, acquired that status. This gives the present conference a special
significance; for, as far as I know, it is the first conference on decolonization in African
philosophy.



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18 I Wiredu


It would have been gathered already that philosophical decolonization is necessarily a
conceptual enterprise; it is not just a critique of doctrine but also of fundamental
conceptualization. I use "critique" here in the sense of an examination of validity rather than the
exposure of invalidity. Indeed, philosophy, or at any rate the best kind of philosophy, is a
critique, for the most part, of fundamental conceptualization. That is to say, it is the critical
examination of the conceptual framework upon which the thought of a culture is erected.
English philosophers, for example, brought up on the Western tradition of thought, are not
supposed to take Western categories for granted. That would be to wallow in the unexamined
life. They are expected to examine their conceptual inheritance afresh, as far as practicable, and
this must be done on two fronts. First, they must review the accumulation of technical
vocabularies presented in the tradition together, of course, with the associated theories. These
often depart, sometimes quite radically, from common modes of conceptualization, although
they may have some basic links with them. A technical heritage can have quite a commanding
influence in the life of a culture. Yet, there is nothing sacrosanct about it, and philosophical
genius sometimes consists in subverting good portions of it.
There is also a common-language front, for technical vocabulary is a specialization of
common language and may owe some of its characteristics to that origin. It is this link that gives
technical philosophy much of its cultural identity. Consider, for example, the use of the word
"idea" in British empiricism. By "idea" Locke says he means the immediate object of our
perception. But it turns out that he takes this to mean a sensation. Since a sensation is a
condition of the human body, this means that the table I perceive is a state of myself, if it is an
idea. Locke wavered on this, but Berkeley and Hume asserted it without any inhibition. Indeed,
by the time we reach Hume, the perceived table has become a momentary state, not a perduring
object, and the perceiver too has become nothing but the same momentary state without a
possessor. This concept of a perceived object would puzzle any ordinary native speaker
innocent of empiricist sophistication into fits. Yet, on the other hand, the straightforwardly
substantive status of the word "idea" in English and its objectual idioms seem to facilitate
making it into an object in an ontologically serious sense, at least to start with. The point now is
that an analogue of this does not occur in every language. Obviously, in languages of a contrary
tendency it would take an uncommon taste for paradox for one to come up with the empiricist
idea. This suggests that in examining conceptual formations at the level of the technical
discourse, philosophers need also to keep a critical eye on the conceptual intimations of the
natural languages in which they work.
The situation is more complex in the case of Africans who have been trained in some
foreign philosophical tradition, for instance, English-speaking philosophy, for there is now a
cross-cultural dimension. They must assume both of the critical duties just noticed. But in
addition, they must not forget that they have their own languages which have their own
conceptual suggestiveness calling for critical study; which is why I said early on that African
philosophers have to be doubly critical. Clearly, African philosophy at this historical juncture
has of necessity to be comparative. This comparative approach is required not only when
African philosophers work in areas of discourse called African philosophy in so many words
but also in all philosophical work on all philosophical topics whatsoever. In particular, African
philosophers should not wait until they are doing courses specifically designated African


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philosophy before they bring their African conceptual resources to bear on their treatments of
issues. Whether it be in logic, or epistemology, or ethics, or metaphysics, or whatever, they must
introduce African inputs wherever feasible.
I think that it is a colonial type of mentality that regards African philosophy as something
that should be kept apart from the mainstream of philosophical thinking. Compare how things
stand or might stand in, say, the study of British philosophy. Surely, it would be more than
mildly idiosyncratic for a British teacher of philosophy in a British university to propose, in his
teaching of, Metaphysics, for example, to hold in abeyance all metaphysical insights deriving
from British sources until s/he has the occasion to teach a course on British philosophy. In fact,
there may be no such course in the given British university for the good reason that there may
be no need for it. It would be a great day for African philosophy when the same becomes true of
an African university, for it would mean that African insights have become fully integrated into
the principal branches of philosophy.
That time has not come yet. In colonial times little, if anything, was heard about African
philosophy. I finished my undergraduate studies in Philosophy in Ghana in 1958 just a year
after our independence from Britain. In the whole of that period of philosophical study not a
single word was said about African philosophy, nor, indeed, was the phrase "African
philosophy" ever mentioned. In all fairness, my teachers cannot be blamed for this. They were
hired to teach us Western philosophy, and that is what they did. Actually, it probably would
have been an advantage if contemporary African philosophers had had to begin with a totally
clean slate when they began in post-independence times to research into African philosophy.
But, as it happens, religious and anthropological studies had been made of African world views
in departments of religion and anthropology, and these tended to contain elements relevant to
African philosophy. Now, although these studies were not technically philosophical, they were
conducted not only in foreign languages, such as English, French and German, but also in terms
of categories of Western metaphysical thought that have become widely received in Western
culture. To take only a few examples, consider such categories of thought as those contained in
the following dichotomies: the spiritual versus the physical, the supernatural versus the natural,
the mystical versus the non-mystical, the religious versus the secular, being versus nothingness.
These are modes of conceptualization that are very deeply entrenched in Western thought. I do
not mean to suggest that every Western thinker believes that there are things falling under one
side or the other of each of these dichotomies. What I think is the case is that most Western
thinkers would find these dichotomies at least intelligible. Thus even a Western religious
skeptic, while denying that there are any spiritual or supernatural beings, may, nevertheless, at
the same time grant that the notion of a spiritual entity is not meaningless. Only logical
positivists, and perhaps a few others, have wanted to say that such notions are meaningless. But
the requiem for logical positivism is generally considered to be concluded.
When African thought was approached with intellectual categories such as the ones just
mentioned some quite lopsided results ensued, although they did not seem to bother people
much. Some of the findings of this sort of study of African thought that were, and still are,
assiduously disseminated are that Africans see the world as being full of spiritual entities, that
Africans are religious in all things, not even separating the secular from the religious, that
African thought is, through and through, mystical, and so on. Some African philosophers have


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followed this way of talking of African thought quite cheerfully. One reason may be that in their
academic training they may themselves have come to internalize such accounts of African
thought so thoroughly that they have become part of the furniture of their minds. Such minds
are what may justly be called colonized. They are minds that think about and expound their
own culture in terms of categories of a colonial origin without any qualms as to any possible
conceptual incongruities. Such a mode of thinking may correctly be said to be unduly
influenced by the historical accident of colonization. It may well be that if the concepts in
question had been critically examined, they might have been found to be appropriate, but it
may very well also be that they might have been found to be inapplicable in the context of
African thought. In either case, an important preliminary question would have been answered
and the way cleared for potentially enlightening accounts of African thought and its
continuation in the modern world. In either case, moreover, the old accounts would have been
decolonized.
In the negative case, that is, in the case in which critical inquiry discovers a foreign
category of thought to be inapplicable within African thinking, an additional question of the
greatest philosophical interest arises. If those categories do not make sense in African thought,
does the fault lie in the concepts themselves or in African thought? I suspect that sometimes it
will be the one and other times, the other. But we won't find out if we don't investigate, and if
we don't investigate, then we wallow in colonized thinking. What makes the difference, then,
between decolonized and colonized thinking is what I am in the habit of calling due reflection
in our approach to discourses about African thought framed in foreign categories.
I have so far been talking of categories of thought, that is, fundamental concepts by means
of which whole ranges of issues are formulated and discussed. But the question of
decolonization also affects particular propositions expressed in terms of those categories. As an
intellectual package, Christianity, for example, consists of particular metaphysical and ethical
propositions. Any African who espouses Christianity without critical examination at some point
of the truth or falsity of its propositions, or the validity of their supporting arguments, where
there are any, must incur the label of being an intellectually colonized African. (I say "at some
point" because many of us are already Christians by the time we have emerged from elementary
school without ever having had the occasion to pose the question.)
On the other hand, if one goes along with the Christian package after due reflection, then
one is entitled to be exempted from the colonized description. This point is worth emphasizing.
An African is not to be debited with the colonial mentality merely because s/he espouses
Christianity or Islam or any other foreign religion. It just may be that salvation lies elsewhere
than in African religions. But an African should not take it for granted that this is the case
simply from having been brought up in a foreign religion. The issue, in other words, needs to be
confronted in the spirit of due reflection.
One way in which some Africans have seemed to want to evade this intellectual
responsibility has been to say that religion is a matter of faith rather than reason and that,
therefore, any critical probing is out of place. This expedient can be viewed from more than one
unflattering perspective, but the following consideration should expose adequately the logical
futility of the maneuver. Where two religions are in question, in this case, the indigenous
African religion and Christianity, the suggestion that religion is a matter of faith is clearly


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incapable of explaining a preference of one over the other. Moreover, ordinary common sense
dictates that one should not jettison what is one's own in favor of what has come from abroad
for no reason at all. It is, accordingly, difficult to see the faith defense as anything other than the
rationalization of an intellectual inertia born of an early subjection to evangelism, that is to say,
a colonized condition of the mind.
It is, as noted above, possible for Africans to be Christians in a non-colonized manner, but
it is not clear that such Africans are always eager to acknowledge the widespread consequences
of that persuasion for the evaluation of African religions. There are, as I will suggest later,
definite incompatibilities between Christianity and various African religions. These are not
incompatibilities that lie at the peripheries of these religions; they go to the roots. Consequently,
an African who espouses Christianity on due reflection may have to admit frankly, and with
stated reasons, that s/he rejects the religion indigenous to his or her culture. There is nothing
wrong with this in principle. What is wrong is the apparent attempt on the part of some African
Christians to have it both ways.
It is probably clear without further argument that the exorcising of the colonial mentality in
African philosophy is going to involve conceptually critical studies of African traditional
philosophies. I might mention that African philosophy consists of both a traditional and a
modern component. It would have been unnecessary to make a point that, in the abstract,
sounds so trite, were it not for the fact that some people seem to equate African philosophy with
traditional African philosophy. It is, in any case, perhaps not so trite to insist that the imperative
of decolonization applies to both phases of African philosophy.
As far as contemporary African philosophizing is concerned, it is important to understand
that the imperative of decolonization does not enjoin anything like parochialism. There are
cardinal branches of philosophical learning that were not developed in African traditions in
most parts of Africa south of the Sahara. These include the disciplines of logic and its
philosophy and the philosophy of mathematics and natural science. I have called for the
domestication, in Africa, of disciplines such as these in previous writings, and I would like to
take this opportunity to make a clarification. By domestication I do not mean the mindless
copying of conclusions arrived at somewhere else. I mean taking up broad intellectual concerns
relating to certain subject matters.
Consider logic. In our traditional life we do argue and we do evaluate arguments both with
respect to their validity and soundness. In their disputations our elders are even wont to
enunciate fundamental logical principles such as the laws of non-contradiction (viz. nothing is
both the case and not the case) and excluded middle (viz. something is either the case or not the
case). For example, among the Akans of Ghana inconsistent talk before any group of elders
would be likely to invite the reminder that Nokware mu nni abra, literally, there is no conflict in
truth, which, evidently, is an invocation of the principle of non-contradiction. And trying to
evade an option as well as its contradictory will earn you the censure Kosi a enkosi, koda a enkoda,
that is, you will not stand and you will not lie! The latter form of remonstrance, which is a stern
way of trying to wake somebody up to the principle of excluded middle, is, in fact, so common
that the logical carelessness in question will trigger it among almost any group of Akans, not
just the elders.


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Nevertheless, we do not, to my knowledge, have in Ghana the tradition of logical study as
a formal discipline. It does not appear that we have formed within our traditions the habit of
trying to set out the principles of reasoning, among which non-contradiction and excluded
middle are of a very basic importance, in the manner of a system (as in logic). Nor,
consequently, have we tended to investigate the assortment of theoretical questions that arise in
such an enterprise (as in the philosophy of logic). For Africans to apply their minds to these
projects, taking advantage of whatever insights may currently be available internationally in
these areas of investigation, is for them to try to domesticate the disciplines concerned, in this
case logic and the philosophy of logic. Since in the modern world Western logicians and
philosophers have been engaged in these kinds of researches for a considerable time, there is no
doubt but that the African who looks at their results might find something useful to build on. In
this sort of thing, to be sure, there would be no wisdom in trying to reinvent the wheel.
Even so, in any such pursuits Africans will have to be doubly critical in the manner already
explained. To attend to logic a little further: this discipline is a certain kind of study in syntax
and semantics. Although it is fashionable to call the systems that are constructed and studied
therein artificial languages, it cannot be supposed that these "languages" are totally
independent of the natural languages in which the constructions are initiated. It is not
inconceivable, therefore, that some aspects of the results obtained, especially in the
philosophical reaches of the researches, may depend on characteristics of the syntax and
semantics of the particular natural languages involved that are neither universal nor necessary
to all natural languages. Africans working in these areas will have to be especially alert to this
possibility lest they multiply concepts and concerns beyond necessity. Still, it is eminently
reasonable to expect that there are some things of a universal validity in these disciplines, cross-
culturally speaking. For example, if the simplest form of conditionality required for defining the
relation between the premises and the conclusion of a valid argument must involve the notion
of necessity, this will be so in Europe and America as well as in Africa, China, Japan, etc.
Whatever the truth in regard to this question, it is of no consequence where its discoverer comes
from. This is at once the basis of the possibility that we in Africa can learn something from the
West and that the West, too, can learn something from us.
Decolonization, then, has nothing to do with the attitude which implies that Africans
should steer clear of those philosophical disciplines that have at this particular point in human
history received their greatest development in the West. Any Africans who take this view
cannot, in any case, hold it consistently across all academic disciplines. They will have to have a
strange mentality indeed to advocate, for example, stopping the study of mathematics and
natural science in African universities. But if these disciplines are admitted, then why stop short
of their philosophies? If Africans do not enter these ares of philosophy and make their presence
felt in them, they will in perpetuity remain outsiders to the project of understanding and
clarifying modes of thought that have played a huge part in the making of the modern world.
Worse, they will have to call, at least occasionally, upon the help of those peoples who have
mastered the relevant specialities; this means that they will be in a state of perpetual
dependence.
Without prejudice to the foregoing reflections, however, it is clear that, for historical
reasons, this is the time for the greatest decolonizing attention to be paid to the study of


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traditional African philosophy. Since, as already noted, decolonization is a highly conceptual
process, this implies that there will have to be intensive studies of those elements of culture that
play significant roles in the constitution of meanings in the various African world views. Of
these, language stands pre-eminent. One cannot hope to disentangle the conceptual impositions
that have historically been made upon African thought-formations without a close
understanding of the indigenous languages concerned. This immediately prescribes a certain
methodology in the study of African traditional philosophy. Put simply, it stipulates that
emphasis should be given to detailed, in-depth, studies of the traditional philosophies of
specific African peoples by researchers who know the languages involved well. (This, I might
emphasize, is a policy of emphasis not of exclusion. Other types of work, such as those of the
domesticating type alluded to above, will also have to go on.)
Sometimes there are pressures on African philosophers to venture continent-wide
generalizations about African philosophy. Perhaps, sometimes available information permits
judicious generalizations of this scope. For example, a communalist outlook seems to be quite
widespread in traditional life on the continent. This would lead one to expect a certain type of
ethical orientation, but any such inferences, even if they seem to be supported by the
anthropological data, will still need to be substantiated by linguistically informed and
conceptually critical philosophical studies of the particular people concerned.
Such studies are what I call particularistic studies. They take the form of inquiries into topics
such as "The Yoruba Conception of a Person", "The Chewa Notion of the Afterlife", "The Akan
Conception of God", "The Nuer Notion of Spirit", "The Zulu Conception of Morality," and so on.
Notice the concepts involved in these titles: Person, Afterlife, God, Spirit, Morality. Do these
concepts have unproblematic counterparts in the language and thought of the people
concerned? In any case, how do the African concepts that one has in mind compare and contrast
with these concepts as they occur in Western thought or, more strictly, in various brands of
Western thought? (This verbal circumspection is necessary owing to the fact that Western
thought is not a monolithic structure but rather a variegated one, rich in diverse modes of
conceptualization.)
The questions just raised are preliminary issues needing to be settled before we can take up
issues of validity or truth. Clearly, they are issues whose treatment will require extensive
knowledge of the relevant languages. That knowledge will have to be brought to bear upon the
evaluation of specific philosophical attributions to various African peoples couched in terms of
concepts such as the ones noted above. At present, particularistic studies in the literature have
tended too precipitously to take cross-cultural equivalences for granted with regard to the
concepts mentioned and a large range of others. This has meant that wittingly or, most likely
unwittingly, African conceptions of the relevant subjects have been assimilated to Western ones.
It is a remarkable fact that this conceptual superimposition can occur even in the process of an
attempt to point out differences.
Consider the following example. Father Tempels in his Bantu Philosophy explains that the
Western conception of being is static while the African counterpart is dynamic. The latter is, he
says, dynamic in the following sense. For Africans "Being is force and force is being." In the face
of a message of this sort, formulated in a foreign language, I recommend that African
philosophers should ask themselves the following question, which, on the face of it, but perhaps


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only on the face of it, is quite a simple question. How is the thesis proffered to be expressed in
my vernacular? This is a question that our training in foreign languages tends to make us forget
to ask. By contrast, many other peoples think philosophically in their own vernaculars as a
matter of course.
In this matter I have tried to do as I preach with the following result: Zero! The thing
cannot be done. The thesis cannot be expressed in my language, namely, the Akan language
spoken in Ghana and the Ivory Coast. In this language, unlike, say, English, there is no such
thing as the existential verb "to be". The only possible renditions of the notion of "being" are
either predicative or adverbial. To be or being always prompts the question "To be what,
where?" or "Being what, where?." The Akan expression for "to be" is wo ho or ye. The word wo in
this context is syncategorematic; it is incomplete, requiring some specification of place, however
indeterminate. Thus wo ho means "is there, at some place." Similarly, ye cannot stand alone; it
needs a complement, such as in ye onipa (is a person) or ye tenten (is long). Thus the best that one
can do in rendering the existential use of "being" would be to say something like "Se biribi wo ho"
which translates back to English as "The circumstance that something is there, at some place."
Good sense forbids trying to go any further in the experiment of casting "Being is force and
force is being" in Akan.
The conclusion to which this ill-fated thought experiment brings us is that the thesis in
question cannot rightly be attributed to the Akans. Apart from the intrinsic interest of this
finding, it is of some relevance to the evaluation of Tempels' account as he often writes as if he
thought that what is true of the Bantu is true of all Africans. We, on our part, however, do
recognize that if it cannot be attributed to the Akans, it does not follow that it cannot be
attributed to the Bantus that Tempels studied. Decolonization in African philosophy does not
imply forcing philosophical unanimity upon the diverse peoples of Africa. As it happens,
however, the late Alexis Kagame, a Bantu philosopher and scientific linguist, also argued that
the existential verb "to be" does not occur in the Bantu group of languages, and pointed out that
the Bantu analogue of "to be" always prompts the question "to be what where?" If Kagame is
right, then whatever it was that Tempels noticed about Bantu thought was radically mis-stated
by the use of an inapplicable Western category of thought, namely, the concept of being as
existentially construed. It is a concept that was obviously deeply ingrained in Tempels' own
manner of thinking, and he very well may have thought it universal to all human thinking.
Since some concepts are actually universal, no necessary opprobrium should attach to Tempels'
apparent procedure. Nevertheless, the necessity for a critical examination of accounts of African
thought such as Tempels', with an eye to the unraveling of any conceptual superimpositions
remains undiminished. And it is fair to say that any Africans who go about disseminating
Tempels' claim without confronting the conceptual issue are simply advertising their colonial
mentality for all who have eyes to see.
Let us be clear about one thing. That the existential notion of being cannot be rendered in
Akan or, if Kagame is right, in the Bantu group of languages, does not in itself show that there
is anything wrong with it. As previously suggested, it may possibly be that these African
languages are inadequate and are in need of a supplementation in this regard. On the other
hand, it may be that this existential concept of being is a semantically defective concept,
notwithstanding its great currency in Western metaphysics. This is a separate question. All that


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our remarks show, if they are right, is that the view that "Being is force and force is being"
cannot be attributed to the Akans or the Bantus for a deep semantical reason. Should it enter the
head of an Akan or Bantu metaphysician to argue that the Akan or Bantu way of expressing the
notion ostensibly expressed in English by the existential verb "to be" is metaphysically superior
to the Western construal as evidenced in Tempels' sentence and in certain even more famous
sentences in Western metaphysics, that contention will have to be argued on what I have called
independent grounds. I mean by that, considerations that are independent of the peculiarities of
the given vernaculars and are, therefore, intelligible to all concerned irrespective of language,
race, persuasion, etc. The possibility of independent considerations, by the way, is a
precondition of inter-cultural dialogue. And the possibility of this last, we might note
parenthetically, is the refutation of relativism.
Another thing we ought to be clear about in this connection is that the linguistic
considerations involved in any African philosopher's attempts at conceptual decolonization
need not be above debate. On the contrary, any such debate is a sign of a decolonizing vitality;
for, remember, the hallmark of decolonized thinking is due reflection not durable deference
among African thinkers.
There are still other things to be noted. The very idea of a communal philosophy that is
entailed in the notion of particularistic studies of traditional African philosophies might be put
in question. It might be suggested that to talk of the Bantu conception of this or the Zulu
conception of that is to postulate a unanimity or consensus in philosophical belief among the
traditional peoples for which there is not, and probably can never be, sufficient evidence. It is
necessary, in response to this, to explain at once that talk of the communal philosophy of an
ethnic group does not necessarily imply that the conceptions involved are entertained by all
members of the group. What it means is that anybody thoughtfully knowledgeable about the
culture will know that such conceptions are customary in the culture though s/he may not
subscribe to it. The evidence for a communal philosophy is very much like that for the customs
of a culture. In fact, in quite some cases customs are encapsulations of some aspects of a
communal philosophy.
It is important, however, to note that a communal philosophy is the result of the pooling
together over a considerable length of time the thoughts of individual thinkers. Propositions
about, say, the constituents of human personality or the nature of time just don't materialize
impromptu out of a cosmological bang, big, small, or medium. They emanate from human
brains. In an oral tradition the names of the thinkers are often forgotten. This is not always so,
however. In Ghana, for example, it is not at all rare for a proverb to be prefaced with the name
of its author. Nor is it unusual for such sayings to evince originality and independence of mind.
It goes without saying, therefore, that a communal philosophy is a gathering together of inputs
from thinkers who may not have agreed on all points. And this, perhaps, accounts for the
apparent inconsistencies that one sometimes notices in such bodies of belief.
Two lessons emerge. The first is this. There is nothing necessarily impeccable about a
communal philosophy. It is the combining, in an almost imponderable process, of the opinions
of fallible individuals. Moreover, these opinions are often only the most striking of the
conclusions of the thinkers in question, preserved in the popular imagination in separation from
the possibly complex and subtle reasoning that may have given rise to them. Such underlying


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argumentation is usually, although not invariably, forgotten. Yet it is this that gives a
philosophy its profundity when it has any. It is, accordingly, the responsibility of contemporary
African philosophers to delve beneath the communal beliefs to find their underlying reasons
wherever possible. That is a necessary preparation for evaluation and reconstruction, two
responsibilities complementary to the first.
Why is this a decolonizing program? It is because, ironically, the models of exposition in
African philosophy established by writers like Tempels, who directly or indirectly worked for
the colonization of the African mind, portrayed African communal philosophies as doctrinal
givens, unquestionable for the African consciousness, though otherwise extremely questionable
in themselves. An associated phenomenon, which is doubly ironic, is that in reaction to what is
perceived as the colonial denial of philosophical capabilities to the African psyche, some
contemporary African philosophers are apt to approach African communal philosophies in an
almost warlike spirit. Any criticism of any aspect of these philosophies is regarded as a racial
affront or, if it is by an African, as nothing short of a betrayal. This is a retrograde inflexibility
for which, by and large, we have colonialism to thank.
This inflexibility is particularly unphilosophical because a philosophical thesis is a
fundamental claim on the entire universe. It says what reality, whether social, physical or
spiritual, is like. Thus, when the Akans, for example, say that the life principle of a human being
is a speck of the divine substance, they cannot be understood to be characterizing Akan human
beings alone. They are claiming that all human beings--Chinese, Indians, Africans, Americans,
Europeans, etc.--are of that description. Then, for example, may not European or Chinese
thinkers subject the thesis to a critical examination, provided that they take the trouble to
inform themselves properly of its meaning and eschew any attitude of racial superiority?
To present African philosophy as an untouchable possession of Africans is to invite a
touristic approach from its foreign audiences. If the philosophies may not be evaluated as false,
they may not be evaluated as true either. In that case they might merely be noticed as cultural
curiosities. This would aggravate a situation which already is not very healthy, for one has the
distinct impression that many foreigners, particularly in the West, who have woken up to the
recognition that there is such an animal as African philosophy do not as yet manifest any
tendency to suspect that it is something from which they might conceivably have something to
learn.
The second of the two lessons lately foreshadowed is that it is important to search out and
study the thought of the individual indigenous philosophers who are contributors to the
communal philosophies of our traditional societies. Such original thinkers are, in any case,
worth studying in their own right. Studies of this kind, which are even more particularistic than
studies of African communal philosophies, have the following decolonizing potential. They are
likely to help erase the impression fostered in colonial and colonial-inspired treatments of
African thought that Africa is lacking in individual thinkers of philosophic originality. An
added bonus could be that the example of critical and reconstructive thinking on the part of our
own indigenous philosophers might also help to wean some of our contemporary African
philosophers from the merely narrative approach to the study of traditional African philosophy.
The work that Professor Odera Oruka of the University of Nairobi has done in this direction in


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his Sage Philosophy therefore invites urgent continuation by as many workers in African
philosophy in as many places on the continent as possible.
Since I mentioned customs at one point, let me repeat that, along with language, they
constitute an essential resource in the study of a communal philosophy. Indeed language might,
from one point of view, be seen as a kind of custom, a custom of symbolization. In the study of
a culture, therefore, customs can be a veritable philosophical text. All of which suggests that if
we want to correct any misapprehensions of a colonial origin about African philosophy, we
ought to settle down to detailed investigations into particular African cultures.
This is not to say that there are no problems in this program of decolonization by
particularization, so to speak. Take again the matter of language. Studies of the kind
recommended involve essential uses of specific African languages. But there is a great
multiplicity of languages in Africa, often inside a single African country. Thus if you take,
Akan, for example, it is spoken by only a minute proportion of the population of Africa. The
question naturally arises whether the particularistic approach would not create blockages in
inter-African philosophical communication, not to talk of philosophical communication further
afield. This is an important question. The answer is as follows. To begin with, particularistic
studies of various African peoples making such uses of particular African languages actually do
exist already, especially in the religious and anthropological literature, and they cry for a
decolonizing corrective. Furthermore, the philosophical interpretation of one African language
may lead African philosophers speaking other African languages to make analogous inquiries
into their own vernaculars with fruitful, if not necessarily corroborative, results. Actually, in my
experience such studies have tended to converge more often than diverge.
Another circumstance which makes particularistic studies based on a given language not
particularly impenetrable to non-speakers is that, as a rule, they consist of inferences from
primary data regarding which there is often little uncertainty and on which, consequently, the
non-insider can relatively safely depend. It is for this reason that non-speakers, whether they be
African or non-African, can often evaluate controversies among African philosophers speaking
the same language regarding the interpretation of aspects of their vernacular. For a quick
illustration, recall the information that in Akan "to be" in the sense of to exist can only be
expressed as "wo ho", i.e. to be at some place. Suppose that two Akan philosophers, noting this,
nevertheless disagree as to whether it follows that the notion of an immaterial substance is
incoherent in the Akan language. I suggest that only a sense of logic is required in any other
African or, for that matter, any member of the species homo sapiens, to deliberate on the issue.
It is worth emphasizing, besides, that African philosophers in our time cannot live by
decolonization alone but also by the direct interrogation of reality. What is truth, goodness,
freedom, time, causality, justice? What is the origin of the universe, the meaning of life, the
destiny of the human soul (whatever it is)? What are the principles of correct reasoning? What
are the best ways of acquiring knowledge? Grant that colonialism may have led to distorted
accounts of the conceptions of our forefathers and foremothers on many of these issues. Grant
that in some cases these issues may need recasting. Still, we contemporary Africans, too, have a
duty to venture suggestions on these matters. In doing so we will, of course, have to take due
account of our own heritage, as philosophers in other cultures routinely do. But we do not
always need to call explicit attention to the cultural roots of our theories of reality. In any case,


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we would need to offer independent justifications for them. It may be said, then, that although
at the present time we are still in an era of post-colonial reconstruction which calls for a large
dose of decolonization, we ought not to be oblivious to the other imperatives of philosophical
thinking. Decolonization, even as only one of our preoccupations, is not something that we will
be doing for ever in African philosophy. Of course, it will always make good sense in some
contexts to speak, say, of the Bantu conception of something or other just as it still makes good
sense for Western philosophers to talk of the ancient Greek conception of various things in
historical and even analytical investigations, but such discussions will eventually not have quite
the special urgency that they now have in African philosophy. The time will come when there
would be, for the most part, no pressing need for the kind of particularism discussed above
here.
For the time being, however, we in Africa have no option but to include in our projects, as a
matter of urgency, a decolonizing program of pursuing the universal by way of the particular.

II. THE PHILOSOPHICAL STUDY OF AFRICAN RELIGIONS

In the first part of this paper I looked at the decolonization of African philosophy mostly in
general terms. Now, I would like to examine decolonization with specific reference to the
philosophical study of African religions. As you might expect from my advocacy of strategic
particularism, my focus here will principally be on Akan religion as an example of African
religions. I invite others to compare and contrast (where appropriate) their own perceptions of
their indigenous religions. Religion is, indeed, an area in which there is a superabundance of
characterizations of African thought in terms of inappropriate or, at best, only half-appropriate
concepts. I shall examine concepts like creation out of nothing, omnipotence and eternity, and
categorial contrasts such as the natural versus the supernatural and the physical versus the
spiritual.
Africans nowadays frequently are said to be a profoundly religious people, not only by
themselves but also by foreign students of their culture. This was not always so. Some of the
early anthropologists felt that the concept of God, for example, was too sublime for the African
understanding, granting that they had any understanding at all. The present situation in which
indigenes as well as foreigners vie with one another to testify to the piety of the African mind is
a remarkable reversal of earlier attitudes and prepossessions. There is virtual unanimity, in
particular, on the report that Africans have a strong belief in the existence of God.
On all or virtually all hands it seems to be assumed that it speaks well of the mental
capabilities of a people if they can be shown to have a belief in God, especially a God of a
Christian likeness. Accordingly, the literature on African religions is replete with
generalizations about African beliefs in the Almighty. In this discussion I want to start with a
fairly extended look at the concept of God in the thought of the Akans of Ghana. Since this is
the group to which I belong and in which I was raised, I hope I may be excused some show of
confidence, although, of course, not dogmatism in making some conceptual suggestions about
their thought. I will also try, more briefly, to make some contrasts between Akan thought and
the thought of some other African peoples on the question of the belief in God, though this time


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more tentatively. It will emerge that not all African peoples entertain a belief in God and that
this is, moreover, without prejudice to their mental powers.
Any cursory study of the thought and talk of the Akans will indeed reveal an unmistakable
belief in a supreme being. This being is known under various names. I mention just a few here.
Nyame is the word most often used for this being. It means something like "Absolute satisfier".
Another of his names is Onyankopon, which means, literally, "He who is alone great", a notion
that reminds one of St. Anselm's "That than which a greater cannot be conceived", though this is
not to assume conceptual congruence in other respects. There is also the name Twediampon (He
upon whom you lean and do not fall). Cosmologically, perhaps, the most important name is
Oboade, which, for the time being, I will translate as Creator. Frequently, the word Nana is
added to either of the first two names. The word means grandparent, or ruler, or, in a more
general sense, honored personage. In this context all these meanings are available, but often it is
the grandfatherly connotation that is uppermost in the consciousness of people invoking the
name.
Indeed, in the literature this grandfatherly appellation of God has often been emphasized
by indigenous writers because some early European writers had suggested that the Akan (and,
more generally, the African) God was an aloof God, indifferent to the fate of his creatures. These
foreign observers even had the impression that this attitude of the supreme being was
reciprocated by the Akans when they (the visitors) found among them no evidences of the
worship of God, institutional or otherwise. In fact, however, the Akan have a strong sense of the
goodwill of God; only this sentiment is not supposed, cosmologically speaking, to be
manifested through ad hoc interventions in the order of nature.
The word "nature" is, perhaps, misleading in this context, in so far as it may suggest the
complementary contrast of supernature. Here we come face to face with an important aspect of
the cosmology of the Akans. God is the creator of the world, but he is not apart from the
universe: He together with the world constitutes the spatio-temporal "totality" of existence. In
the deepest sense, therefore, the ontological chasm indicated by the natural/supernatural
distinction does not exist within Akan cosmology. When God is spoken of as creator we must
remind ourselves that words can mislead. Creation is often thought of, at least in run-of-the-mill
Christianity, as the bringing into existence of things out of nothing. The Akan God is certainly
not thought of as such a creator. The notion of creation out of nothing does not even make sense
in the Akan language. The idea of nothing can only be expressed by some such phrase as se whee
nni ho, which means something like "the circumstance of there not being something there". The
word ho (there, at some place) is very important in the phrase; it indicates a spatial context. That
of which there is a lack in the given location is always relative to a universe of discourse
implicitly defined by the particular thought or communication. Thus, beholding a large expanse
of desolate desert, an Akan might say that whee nni ho. The meaning would be that there is a
lack there of the broad class of things that one expects to find on land surface of that magnitude.
The absolute nothingness entailed in the notion of creation out of nothing, however, scorns any
such context. This abolition of context effectively abolishes intelligibility, as far as the Akan
language is concerned.
But, it might be asked, does it not occur to the Akan that if God created the world, as s/he
supposes, then prior to the act of creation there must have been nothing in quite a strict sense?


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The answer is that it depends at least on what one means by "create". In the most usual sense
creation presupposes raw materials. A carpenter creates a chair out of wood and a novelist
creates fiction out of words and ideas. If God is conceived as a kind of cosmic architect who
fashions a world order out of indeterminate raw material, the idea of absolute nothingness
would seem to be avoidable. And this is, in fact, how the Akan metaphysicians seem to have
conceived the matter. Moreover, Oboade, the Akan word that I provisionally translated as
"creator", means the maker of things. Bo means to make and ade means thing, but in Akan to bo
ade is unambiguously instrumental; you only make something with something.
An almost automatic reaction to such an idea for many people is: If the "divine architect"
fashioned the world out of some pre-existing raw material, then, however indeterminate it may
have been, surely, somebody must have created it. But this takes it for granted that the concept
of creation out of absolute nothingness makes sense. Since this is the question at issue, the
reaction begs the question. If the concept of nothing in Akan is relative in the way explained,
then obviously the notion of absolute nothingness will not make sense. The fundamental reason
for this semantical situation in Akan is that, as pointed out in previous sections, in the Akan
language existence is necessarily spatial. To exist is to wo ho, be at some location. So if God exists,
he is somewhere. If nothingness excludes space, it has no accommodation in the Akan conceptual
framework. On the other hand, if nothingness accommodates space, it is no longer absolute.
Of course, as suggested earlier, if a concept is incoherent within a given language, it does
not necessarily mean that there is anything wrong with it, for it may be that the language in
question is expressively inadequate. In the case of the concept of creation out of nothing,
however, its coherence, even within English, is severely questionable. In English, the concept of
"there is"-note the "there"-which is equivalent to "exists" is quite clearly spatial. Because the
word "exists" does not wear its spatiality on its face, it has been possible in English to speak as if
existence is not necessarily spatial without prohibitive implausibility. Besides, the maxim that
Ex nihilo nihil fit (Out of nothing nothing comes), which, ironically, is championed by Christian
philosophers, such as Descartes, conflicts sharply with the notion of creation out of nothing.
That nothing can come out of nothing is not an empirical insight; it is a conceptual necessity,
just like the fact that two and two cannot add up to fifty. Thus to say that some being could
make something come out of nothing is of the same order of incoherence as saying that some
being could make two and two add up to fifty. Besides, as I have pointed out elsewhere, the
causal connotation of creation is incompatible with the circumstance or rather, non-
circumstance, of absolute nothingness. Causation makes sense only when it is, in principle,
possible to distinguish between post hoc and proper hoc (i.e., between mere sequence and causal
sequence). If there was one being and absolutely nothing besides him, then logically, that
distinction was impossible. If so, the notion of causation collapses and with it that of creation.
So the notion of creation out of nothing would seem to be incoherent not only in Akan, but
also absolutely. At least, the last reason given in evidence of its incoherence was an independent
consideration, in the sense that it was independent of the peculiarities of Akan or English. It
appealed only to a general logical principle. In fact, the conceptual difficulties in creation out of
nothing have not been lost on religious thinkers, which accounts for the fact that it is not very
unusual to find a sophisticated Christian metaphysician substituting some such rarefied notion
as "the transcendental ground of existence" for the literal idea of creation even while


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cooperating with the generality of pious Christians in speaking of God as the creator. Another
escape from the paradoxes of ex nihilo creation by some religious sophisticates, going far back
into history, has been by way of emanationism. It might be worth remembering also in this
connection that Plato's demiurge was an idea innocent of ex nihilo pretensions.
Be that as it may, it seems clear that the Akan supreme being is thought of as a cosmic
architect rather than a creator out of nothing. The world resulting from the process of divine
fashioning is conceived to contain all the potential for its development and bears all the marks
of God's good will once and for all. In this scheme there are postulated various orders of beings.
At the top of this hierarchy is God. Immediately below him are a host of extra-human beings
and forces. Then come human beings, the lower animals, vegetation and the inanimate world,
in that order. All these orders of being are believed to be subject to the universal reign of
(cosmic) law. And the absence of any notion of creation out of nothing reflects the Akan sense of
the ontological homogeneity of that hierarchy of existence.
Since I have mentioned inanimate things, I ought, perhaps, to dispose quickly of the
allegation, often heard, that Africans believe that everything has life. The Akans, at least, are a
counterexample. Some objects, such as particular rocks or rivers, may be thought to house an
extra-human force, but it is not supposed that every rock or stone has life. Among the Akans a
piece of dead wood, for example, is regarded as notoriously dead and is the humorous
paradigm of absolute lifelessness. A graver paradigm of the same thing is a dead body. Thus the
automatic attributions of animism to Africans manifests little empirical or conceptual wisdom.
To return to the subject of order. The strength of the Akan sense of order may be gauged
from the following cosmological drum text.

Odomankoma
He created the thing
"Hewer out" Creator
He created the thing
What did he create?
He created Order
He created Knowledge
He created Death
As its quintessence

I quote this from J. B. Danquah's The Akan Doctrine of God. The translation is Danquah's,
and it incorporates a bit of interpretation, but it is, I think, accurate. What we need particularly
to note is that to the Akan metaphysician, order comes first, cosmologically speaking. The
stanza is a statement, above all else, to quote Danquah again, of "the primordial orderliness of
creation."
This sense of order in phenomena is manifested at another level in the strong belief in the
law of universal causation. There is an Akan saying to the effect that if nothing had touched the
palm nut branches they would not have rattled (Se biribi ankoka papa a anka erenye kredede). This
is often quoted by writers on Akan thought as the Akan statement of universal causation. It is
right as far as it goes, but there are more explicit formulations of the principle, such as one


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quoted by Gyekye. Asem biara wo nefarebae, which, literally, means everything has what brought
it about. There is another formulation which, in addition to being more literal and explicit, is
also more comprehensive. It says simply that everything has its explanation (Biribiara wo
nenkyerease). The advantage of this formulation is that it discourages any impression that the
sense of order under study is only conversant with mechanical causation. In Akan thought this
kind of causation corresponds to only one kind of explanation; there are other kinds of
explanation that are taken to evince the orderliness of creation (understanding creation, of
course, in a quasi-demiurgic sense). These include psychological, rational, quasi-physical
explanations and their various combinations of them. As one might expect, they correspond to
the orders of being postulated in the Akan world view.
To illustrate with a case which combines all these, suppose that an illness is interpreted as
punishment from the ancestors for wrong conduct. There is here a cosmological dimension. The
ancestors are conceived to be the departed spirits of erstwhile elders of our societies who live in
a world analogous and contiguous to ours and work for the good of the living by watching over
their morals. On this showing, they are both like and unlike the living. Like the living, they have
an interest in morality of which they are, indeed, recognized as, in some ways, guardians.
Moreover, in so far as any imagery is annexed to the conception of the ancestors, it is person-
like. But unlike persons, they are not normally perceivable to the naked eye, and they can affect
human life in super-human ways for good or, in exceptional cases, as by the present hypothesis,
for ill. The explanation involved here, then, is at once psychological, rational, mechanical, and
quasi-physical. It is psychological because it is supposed that the hypothetical misconduct
incurs the displeasure of the ancestors, which is a matter of mental dynamics. It is rational in
conception, for the imagined punishment is viewed as a reformatory and deterrent measure,
which, in principle, is a reasonable objective for enforcing morals. It has a "mechanical" aspect in
that the illness being explained involves a physiological condition that will in many ways
exhibit scenarios of physical causality. Finally, it is quasi-physical because, as pointed out,
although the ancestors are psycho-physical in imagery, the manner of their operation is not
fully constrained by the dynamic and associated laws familiar in day-to-day experience.
That the activities of beings, such as the ancestors, are not supposed to be completely
amenable to "physical" laws is not to be taken to imply that they are regarded as contradicting
them. What, in Western thought, are called physical laws in the Akan word view are
understood to govern the phenomena of one sphere of existence. But that understanding, as
explained, also postulates another sphere of existence, which is believed to be governed, both
internally and in interaction with the human sphere of existence, by laws different in some
respects from physical or psychological laws and supplementary to them. Though generally
Akans do not pretend to understand many aspects of the modus operandi of the beings and forces
belonging to the super-human sphere, they still view them as regular denizens of the cosmos.
Moreover, there is no lack of 'specialists' in Akan (and other African) societies who are
supposed to have uncommon insights into the operations of such beings and enjoy expertise in
communicating with them. Thus, the idea of ancestors punishing misbehavior evokes no sense
of cosmological irregularity. On the contrary, it is perceived as exactly the kind of thing that
might happen if people misbehave in certain ways.


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Certain conceptual consequences flow immediately from these last considerations. To
begin with, since all the orders of being are conceived to interact in a law-like manner, the
natural/supernatural dichotomy will have no place in the Akan world view, which reinforces
our earlier remark on this issue made in a slightly different connection. Furthermore, the notion
of a miracle does not make sense in this context, if a miracle is something supposed to happen
contrary to the laws of "nature." Strange things may happen, of course, but in this system of
thought, if they cannot be accounted for on the basis of the laws of the familiar world, they will
be assumed to be accountable on some quasi-physical laws. This cosmological orientation seems
to be not at all uncommon in Africa.
Yet, in the literature on African religions there are profuse references to the supposed
African belief in the supernatural, which is frequently inspired by such things as ancestral
veneration, almost standardly misdescribed as "ancestor-worship." Obviously, these
misconceptualizations are the result of that superimposition of Western categories upon Akan
thought-formations which is also the quintessence of conceptual colonization. Through
education in colonial or neo-colonial circumstances, many Africans have come to assimilate
these modes of thought and, in some cases, have internalized them so completely that they
apparently can take great pride in propagating stories of the ubiquity of the supernatural in
African thought. Perhaps, none of us Africans can claim total freedom from this kind of
assimilation, but at least we can consciously initiate the struggle for conceptual self-exorcism.
Other aspects of the conceptual superimposition need to be noted. The beings I have, by
implication, described as super-human (but, note, not supernatural) are often called spirits. If
the notion of spirits is understood in a quasi-physical sense, as they sometimes are, in narratives
of ghostly apparitions even in Western thought, there is no problem of conceptual incongruity.
But if the word "spirit" is construed, as so often happens, in a Cartesian sense to designate an
immaterial substance, no such category can be fitted into the conceptual framework of Akan
thought. The fundamental reason for this is to be found in the spatial connotation of the Akan
concept of existence. Given the necessary spatiality of all existents, little reflection is required to
see that the absolute ontological cleavage between the material and the immaterial will not exist
in Akan metaphysics. Again, that Africans are constantly said to believe in spiritual entities in
the immaterial sense can be ascribed to the conceptual impositions in the accounts of African
thought during colonial times and their post-colonial aftermath.
It is, of course, an independent question whether the notion of an immaterial entity is
intellectually viable. I will not pursue that question here. What is urgent, though, is to note
certain further dimensions of the conceptual misdescriptions of African religions. One of the
best entrenched orthodoxies in the literature is the idea that Africans believe in a whole host of
lesser gods or lesser deities. That many Akans have bought this story of a pantheon of "lesser
gods" in their traditional religion must be due to a consistent forgetfulness of their own
language when thinking about such matters. There is no natural way of translating that phrase
into Akan. None of the names, as distinct from descriptions, for God in Akan has a plural. In
any case, it is very misleading to call the super-human beings and forces gods. Since the notion
of a god, however diminutive, is intimately connected with religion, the use of that word in this
context encourages the description of African attitudes to those entities as religious. Then, since


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Africans do often regard themselves as being in relationship with them, the stage is set for the
inference that their life is completely pervaded by religion.
African scholars have not left it to foreigners alone to proclaim this image of African
thought. Some of them have assumed eminent responsibilities in that direction. Thus, John
Mbiti, for example, in his African Religions and Philosophy, has said things like, "Wherever the
African is, there is his religion: he carries it to the fields where he is sowing seeds or harvesting
a new crop; he takes it with him to the beer party or to attend a funeral ceremony...," or "African
peoples do not know how to exist without religion," or "religion is their whole system of being."
At work here is an assimilation of African thought to Western categories.
At least as far as the Akans are concerned, it can be said that their attitude to those extra-
human beings generally called minor gods in the literature is not really religious. On the
contrary, it is utilitarian, for the most part. The powers in question are, as previously noted, a
regular part of the resources of the world. If human beings understand how these powers
function and are able to establish satisfactory relations with them, humans can exploit their
powers to their advantage. One has, of course, to be circumspect because falling afoul of them
could be dangerous. The way of establishing satisfactory relations with them is through those
procedures that are often called rituals. But these rituals are not regarded as anything other than
a method of making use of the super-human resources of the world. Because the powers that
are called lesser gods are conceived to be, in some ways, person-like, the "rituals" often have a
communicative component heavily laden with flattery. But the tactical character of the
procedure is manifest in the fact that a so-called god who is judged inefficient, by reason, for
example, of persistent inability to render help at the right time at the right place, is consigned to
obsolescence by the permanent averting of attention. An attitude of genuine religious devotion
cannot be thus conditional. Accordingly, it would seem inappropriate to call the 'rituals' in
question religious. Nor, for the same reason, can the procedures be called acts of worship unless
the word is used in so broad a sense as to make the concept of worship no longer inseparably
bound up with a religious attitude. That the attitude under discussion is not religious or that the
procedures do not amount to worship does not imply a judgment that the people concerned fall
short of some creditable practice; it simply means that the concepts of religion and worship
have been misapplied to aspects of the given culture on the basis of unrigorous analogies of a
foreign inspiration. It would, in any case, be hasty to assume that there is anything necessarily
meritorious about religious activities.
The Akans, in common with most other African peoples, nevertheless, do have a religious
aspect to their culture. The question is as to its proper characterization. I would say that Akan
religion consists solely in the unconditional veneration for God and trust in his power and
goodness-i.e., in his perfection. This religion is, most assuredly, not an institutional religion, and
there is nothing that can be called the worship of God in it. The insistence that any genuine
belief in God must be accompanied with a practice of God-worship is simply an arbitrary
universalization of the habits of religionists of a different culture. It is difficult, actually, to see
how a perfect being could welcome or approve of such things as the singing of his praises.
Another significant contrast with other religions, particularly certain influential forms of
Christianity, is that although God is held to be all-good, morality is not defined in Akan thought


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in terms of the will of God but rather in terms of human interests. Neither are procedures for
the promotion of morality attached to Akan religion; they belong primarily to the home.
The inclusion of the attitudes and practices associated with the Akan belief in various
super-human beings and forces in the scope of Akan religion is an adulteration of the
traditional religion that has exposed it quite severely to unconsidered judgment. It has helped
to eclipse the religion in certain layers of the consciousness of the average educated Akan. The
movement of thought has been as follows. When that overly inclusive view is taken of Akan
religion, the supposed worship of the supposed gods looms so large in it that the whole religion
becomes more or less identified with it. Thus it is that in Christian translation Akan religion is
called Abosomsom, that is, the worship of stones. The same system of pious translation, by the
way, called Christianity Anyamesom, that is, the worship of God. When, therefore ordinary
educated Akans, brought up in Christianity, come to think that they have shed belief in the
"lesser gods," they automatically see themselves as too enlightened for the traditional religion.
Actually, the shedding of the traditional mind-cast is often only superficial. But let that pass. We
were only concerned to illustrate what the uncritical assimilation of African categories by
Western ones has done to an African self-image.
Let us return to the Akan God himself. An important question is how the Akans suppose
that knowledge of him is obtained. In this connection there is an extremely interesting Akan
saying to the effect that no one teaches God to a child (Obi nkyere akwadaa Nyame). This is
sometimes interpreted to mean that knowledge of God is inborn and not the fruit of
argumentation. But this is inconsistent with the implications of some of the names or
descriptions for God in Akan.
One designation calls God Ananse Kokroko, meaning, the Stupendous Spider. The spider is
associated with ingenuity in designing, and therefore the designation is clearly a metaphorical
articulation of the notion of God as the Great Designer. Similarly, Oguah, citing an Akan
designation which calls God The Great Planner, comments that we have here a hint of an
argument which in Western philosophy is called a teleological argument. Oguah is, I think
right, and this shows that the Akans do think that reasoning is involved in the acquisition of the
knowledge of the existence of God. If so, the maxim cited above is unlikely to be one that seeks
to rule out the relevance of argument. Its most plausible interpretation is that the reasons for the
belief in God are so obvious that even a child can appreciate them unaided.
In my own experience the previous interpretation tallies best with the reactions of the
Akans not steeped in foreign philosophies that I have accosted from time to time on the
justification of the belief in God. They have never refused the invitation to reason, though they
have tended to be surprised that so obvious a point should be the object of earnest inquiry. The
following type of argument has often been proffered:
Surely, somebody must be responsible for the world. Were you not brought forth into this
world by your parents? And were they not, in turn, by their parents, and so on? Must there not,
therefore, be somebody who was responsible for everything?
Another type of argumentation that I have been supplied with is this:
Every household has a father, and every town or country a king, Surely, there must be
someone who rules the whole universe.


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In this last connection a very common Akan saying comes to mind, namely, "God is King"
(Onyame ne hene).
Regarding these arguments, no one can, or should, pretend that they are cogent pieces of
reasoning, especially the last one. It is relevant to note that these arguments were deliberately
solicited from ordinary Akans, not from their metaphysicians. But two points can be made; the
second is of special significance for our discussion. First, if these arguments were sound, they
would prove the conclusions advertised or something close. They would, that is, prove that
there is a cosmic architect or ruler of the universe or something like that. This is much more
than can be said for almost all the principal arguments for the existence of God in Western
philosophy. These arguments also are such that, if they were sound, they would only prove
some such being as a cosmic architect or governor. Yet, as a rule, there is, at the concluding
point, an inconceivable leap to the affirmation of an ex nihilo Creator-God! On this point Hume's
words should have been the last. He pointed out, in particular reference to teleological
arguments, otherwise known as the argument from design, that even if granted valid, it would
only prove a designer, not a creator [ex nihilo]. But "faith", even when it pretends to argue, is
apparently stronger than logic, and the concluding unphilosophical leap remains a favorite
exercise for some philosophers.
Second, and more importantly, the fact that even ordinary Akans are so willing to reason
about the basic proposition of their religion demonstrates a rational attitude to religion which
contrasts with the attitude which fundamentalist Christianity brought to many parts of Africa
through the missionaries. Their key idea in this regard seems to have been "faith" as belief
inaccessible to rational discussion. Many Africans have taken the idea to heart and have, in
some cases, even been born again. If you ask them for the reason behind their preference for the
new religion over the traditional one, the standard reply is that it is a matter of faith, not reason.
I explained in previous sections why this answer is not sufficient. The foregoing discussion
enables us to show also that this irrationality is uncharacteristic of the traditional outlook on
religion. In fact, the notion of faith as belief without, and inaccessible to, reason is untranslatable
into Akan except by an unflattering paraphrase-Gyidi hunu-literally, useless belief, is probably
all that is available, unless one preferred a more prolix circumlocution, which would be
something like Gyidi a enni nkyerease, that is, again literally, belief without explanation. The
pejorative connotation of the latter periphrasis, however, does not come through in the English
version. Thus within Akan semantics it is difficult to validate the idea of faith being
inhospitable to reason. In these circumstances one must admire the simplicity of the Christian
solution to the problem of translating faith (in the non-rational sense) into Akan. They say
simply Gyidi, which in genuine Akan means simply belief. Since this is patently inadequate, one
must assume that the translators may have put their faith in ad hoc evangelical glosses. But it is
also simple to see that decolonized thinking in religion must make short work of the evangelical
talk of faith.
Let us once again return to the concept of God. Oguah advances the interesting claim that
the Akan concept of God as the one who is alone great (Onyankopon) is the same as the concept
of the greatest conceivable being or that than which nothing greater can be conceived, which
formed the basis of Saint Anselm's ontological argument for the existence of God. In a formal
sense this is correct, for an Akan believer cannot consistently concede the possibility of any


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being greater or even equal to God. However, this formal identity pales into insignificance
when it is recalled that the Akan God is a cosmic architect while Anselm's is an ex nihilo creator.
These two concepts are so different that the chances are that the ingenious saint would have
considered the Akan concept quite atheistic. Accordingly, when we use the word God to
translate Nyame, we must bear the disparity in connotation between this and the orthodox
Christian concept of God firmly in mind.
This is particularly worth stressing in view of the tendency of many African writers on
African religions, proud of their African identity, to suggest that their peoples recognize the
same God as the Christians, since God is one. The origin of this tendency seems to me to be the
following: almost all these writers are themselves Christians, in most cases divines. Being
scandalized by the opinion of some of the early European visitors to Africa that the African was
too primitive to attain the belief in God unaided, they have sought to demonstrate that Africans
discovered God on their own before a European or any foreigner, for that matter, set foot in
Africa. However, since they themselves have been brought up to think that the Christian God is
the one true God, it has been natural for them to believe that the God of their ancestors is, in
fact, the same as the God of Christianity. Furthermore, they have been able to satisfy themselves
that, in accepting Christianity, they have not fundamentally forsaken the religion of their
ancestors. (Incidentally, in this respect, many African specialists of religious studies have
differed from average African Christians, who, if they are Akans, would probably, at least
verbally, declare traditional religion to be just abosomsom, the worship of stones.) Listen to what
one famous African authority on African religions says:
There is no being like "the African God" except in the imagination of those who use the
term, be they Africans or Europeans... there is only one God, and while there may be various
concepts of God, according to each peoples spiritual perception, it is wrong to limit God with an
adjective formed from the name of any race.
The writer was Professor Bolaji Idowu and the passage is cited in his African Traditional
Religion: A Definition. Idowu was for many years Professor of Religions at the University of
Ibadan and was in his retirement the Patriarch of the Methodist Church of Nigeria for some
years. He is the author of, perhaps, the most famous book on the religion of the Yorubas, a book
entitled Olodumare: God in Yoruba Belief. The Yorubas have a concept of God that is substantially
identical with that of the Akans. This is confirmed by a careful study of direct descriptions of
the Yoruba concept of God presented in the last mentioned book. In both cases what we have is
a cosmic architect. But if this is so, it is an implausible suggestion that either the Yoruba or the
Akan conception of God is just a different way of conceiving one and the same being as the God
of Christianity. To see the fallacy clearly, consider that it is conceivable that God as a cosmic
architect exists while an ex nihilo creator-God does not or cannot exist. Or, since Idowu's thesis is
quite general, imagine that Spinoza, on the verge of ex-communication from his synagogue on
account of his view that God and nature are one, had sought to placate the authorities by
proleptically taking a leaf out of Idowu's book and assuring them that God is one and that
therefore they were all, after all, talking of the same being. The inevitable aggravation of
tempers would, surely, have been blameable on no one but Spinoza himself. As it happened, the
gentle metaphysician knew better than to attempt any such misadventure. But in pure logic,
when Idowu tries to serve both Olodumare and the God of Christianity, he is embarking on a


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38 I Wiredu


similar misadventure. More frankly, he is trying to eat his cake and have it too. The obvious
lesson is that African thinkers will have to critically review both the conceptions-of god as ex
nihilo creator and god as a cosmic architect---and choose one or none, but not both. Otherwise,
colonized thinking must be admitted to retain its hold.
Since, by the present account, God is the beginning and the end of Akan religion, it may be
useful to probe still further the Akan doctrine of God. In doing so, it will be important to bear in
mind the point made at the end of the last paragraph about the attributes of the Akan God. I
had argued that there are Akan expressions of God that will warrant saying that he is conceived
to be omnipotent, omnibenevolent, omniscient, all-wise, and eternal. However, these attributes,
especially omnipotence and eternity, must be understood only in a sense applicable to the type
of being that a cosmic architect is. For example, the eternity of this being means simply that he
has always existed and will always exist. The pressure that some Christian thinkers have felt to
say that God is eternal in the sense of being timeless, that is, of not existing in time, is absent
from the Akan mind. This pressure acts on some Christian minds because if God created
everything out of nothing, then it might conceivably be wondered whether he did not create
time also (however time may be conceived). And if he did, he can hardly be said himself to have
been existing in time. It is well-known that Saint Augustine held that God created time along
with everything else. (This great divine, by the way, was an African, but his mind was soaked in
classical Roman culture. It is, indeed, speculated that his thought was not totally untouched by
his African origins. But, if so, this particular doctrine was not one of the ways in which that fact
may have manifested itself.)
Again, if we take the concept of omnipotence, we notice the same absence of the pressure
to push it to transcendental proportions. The Akan God is omnipotent in the sense that he is
thought capable of accomplishing any conceptually well-defined project. Thus, for example, he
will not be supposed capable of creating a person who is at once six foot tall and not six foot
tall, going by identical conventions of measurements. And this will not be taken to disclose a
limitation on God's powers because the task description discloses no well-defined project.
Perhaps, to many people this sounds unremarkable. But what about the following? It is
apparent from one of the most famous Akan metaphysical drum texts that God is not supposed
to be capable of reversing the laws of the cosmos. The question is whether the project is a
coherent one. The answer from the point of view of the metaphysic in question is: "Of course,
not!"
Here, then, is another illustration of formal identity amidst substantive disparities.
Formally, both the Akan and the Christian may subscribe to the same definition of omnipotence
as follows. "A being is omnipotent if and only if s/he or it can accomplish any well-defined
project." Substantive differences, however, emerge when information is volunteered on both
sides regarding the sorts of things that are or are not taken to be well-defined projects. It is
interesting to note, in the particular case of omnipotence, that even this formal identity
evaporates in the face of certain Christian interpretations of the concept. Omnipotence, for some
Christian thinkers, means that God can do absolutely anything, including (as in the example
mentioned above) creating a person who is both six foot tall and not six foot tall at the same
time. On this showing, omnipotence implies the power to do even self-contradictory things. So
powerful a Western Christian mind as Descartes was apparently attracted to this idea.


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To be sure, the Akans are innocent of such a solecism. But they are not free from the
intellectual difficulties that have plagued the Christian doctrine of omniscience,
omnibenevolence, omnipotence and unlimited wisdom. If God has all these qualities, couldn't
he have prevented the abundance of evil in the world? And ought he not to have done so? This
is the problem of evil. In discussing it one thing that will become clear is that the communal
philosophy of a traditional society need not always display unanimity, contrary to the
impression fostered by certain colonial-type studies of African life and thought.
It is sometimes suggested that the problem does not really arise in Akan thought. Helaine
Minkus, an American researcher who went and lived among the Akwapim Akans, learnt their
language and studied their philosophy, advances a view of this sort in her "Causal Theory in
Akwapim Akan Philosophy":
God's attribute of transcendence and the concomitant belief that he has delegated power to
the other agents that more directly interact with human beings pragmatically diminish His
omnipotence. The other agents are treated in practice as if endowed with an independent ability
to act... The postulation of a great number of beings empowered to affect events, joined with the
acceptance of evil as necessarily co-existing with good from creation obviates the problem of
evil so burdensome to those monotheistic theologians who define the Supreme Being as both
omnipotent and totally benevolent and attempt a reconciliation of these qualities with the
existence of evil.
Minkus talks here of the pragmatic diminution of God's omnipotence. But this represents a
dilemma rather than a dissolution. If the diminution of omnipotence is only "pragmatic", God,
as the ultimate source of the powers delegated to the "other agents", remains ultimately in
charge, and the original problem, equally ultimately, remains. If, on the other hand, the
diminution is real, this contradicts the well attested postulate of omnipotence in Akan
cosmology. Is the contradiction a feature of Minkus' exposition or of the Akan system
expounded? I shall return to this question below.
Interestingly, in an earlier exposition of Akan thought Busia had shifted the responsibility
for evil from God to the "other agents" not pragmatically but positively. He remarks,
the problem of evil so often discussed in Western philosophy and Christian theology does
not arise in the African concept of deity. It is when a God who is not only all-powerful and
omniscient but also perfect and loving is postulated that the problem of the existence of evil
becomes a philosophical hurdle. The Supreme being of the African is the Creator, the source of
life, but between him and man lie many powers and principalities good and bad, gods, spirits,
magical forces, witches to account for the strange happenings in the world.
Gyekye quotes this passage in his Essay and points out that if God is omnipotent, the
question still arises why he does not control the "lesser spirits". This, he rightly concludes,
shows that the problem of evil is not obviated. Gyekye's own account of the Akan solution of
the problem of evil, which, for him, is a real problem in Akan philosophy, is that
The Akan thinkers, although recognizing the existence of moral evil in the world, generally
do not believe that this fact is inconsistent with the assertion that God is omnipotent and wholly
good. Evil, according to them, is the result of the exercise by humans of their freedom of the will
with which they were endowed by the Creator, Oboadee.


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On Gyekye's account, the Akan thinkers in question advocated a solution to the problem of
evil which is also canvassed by some Western thinkers and is known as the "free-will defense."
Gyekye is certainly right in seeing this solution in Akan thought. But Akan sources also reveal
other solutions. Before noticing some of them, let us note two things with regard to the free-will
defense, as it relates to moral evil. First, it does not provide a satisfactory answer to the question
why God does not intervene to stop or forestall evil acts when they are planned. This is, of
course, different from the idea that God could have guaranteed ab initio that human beings
made only right choices. The usual reply to the suggested intervention is that it would destroy
the free will of humans, but that reply does not appear to be plausible. Even human beings are
sometimes able to intervene by force or by persuasion to stop the evil designs of others, without
affecting their free will. In the abstract, countless smooth ways are conceivable by which God
might forestall, counteract or neutralize the evil acts that humans might use their free will to
contemplate. Possibly, there might be something wrong with this hypothesis; but clearly, it
would not be because of any threat to free will. Second, this solution does not begin to deal with
physical evil.
However, the problem of physical evil might, theoretically, be tackled by Akan advocates
of the free-will defense with only a little elaboration on the remark of Busia quoted above. They
might simply argue that the "principalities, good and bad, spirits, gods" etc., rather than God,
are responsible for physical evil, in Busia's phrase, "for the strange happenings in the world."
On this supposition, these happenings would be the result of the exercise, by those beings, of
the free will "with which they were endowed by the Creator." In Western philosophy, by the
way, the same idea occurred to Saint Augustine, who debited Satan and his cohorts with a lot of
the physical evil in the world, a manoeuver which has recently been exploited by some highly
sophisticated apologists. In the face of these claims, one can but await probative evidence.
Meanwhile, we should note another Akan position on the question of evil which is evident
in the quotation from Minkus (which she does not separate from her theory, on behalf of the
Akans, of the pragmatic diminution of God's omnipotence). Minkus attributes to the Akans,
"the acceptance of evil as necessarily co-existing with good from creation." What is proposed
here is not just the semantic point that you cannot talk of good if the possibility of the contrast
with evil did not exist, but rather the substantive cosmological claim that the components of
existence which we describe as good could not possibly exist without those components we call
evil. That the Akans do actually entertain this thought is attested to by a common saying among
them. It is, indeed, one of the commonest sayings of the Akans, "if something does not go
wrong," they say, "something does not go right" (Se biribi ansee a, biribi nye yie).
However, even if it is granted that good cannot exist without evil, that still does not
amount to a theodicy, for it does not follow that the quantity of evil in the world does not go
beyond the call of necessity. But there is another Akan saying that seems to suggest exactly this.
The Akans delight in crediting their maxims to animals, and in this instance the epigrammatic
surrogate is the hawk. It is said: 'The hawk says that all that God created is good' (Osansa se nea
Onyame yee biara ye). The sense here is not that all is good to a degree that could conceivably be
exceeded but rather that all is maximally good. Again, the hawk is not trying to fly in the face of
the palpable facts of evil in the world; what it is saying is that the evil, though it is evil, is
unavoidably involved in the good and is ultimately for the best-a sentiment that would have


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warmed the heart of Leibniz, author, in Western philosophy, of the maxim that this is the best
of all possible worlds.
But how do we know that? Possibly, because of the difficulty of this question the Akans, or
at any rate, some of them, do not seem to have sustained this cosmic optimism indefinitely, and
there is evidence of another approach to the problem of evil which seeks to dissolve it by
foregoing the claim of the total omnipotence of God. This brings us back to the pragmatic
diminution of omnipotence spoken of by Minkus. But this time the diminution is real, not
pragmatic. So too is the possibility of inconsistency in the traditional thought of the Akans on
this subject. Though in the context of cosmological reflection, they maintain a doctrine of
unqualified omnipotence, in connection with issues having a direct bearing on the fate of
humankind on this earth, such as the problem of evil, they seem to operate with a notion of the
power of God implying rather less than absolute omnipotence. That power is still unique in its
extent, but it is conceptually not altogether unlike that of a human potentate. Indeed,
correspondingly, God himself comes to be thought of on the model of a father who has laid
well-intentioned plans for his children which are, however, sometimes impeded not only by
their refractory wills but also by the grossness of the raw materials he has to work with. In
conformity with this way of seeing God, a popular Akan lyric cries: "God descend, descend and
come and take care of your children" (Onyame sane, sane behwe wo mma). The apparent
inconsistency in this dual conception of God and his powers in the Akan communal philosophy
may possibly be due to its diversity of authorship; but, on the other hand, it may be well be a
real inconsistency harbored in identical Akan minds. Actually, a similar inconsistency is evident
in some Christian thinking on the same problem.
Be that as it may, the position in question is approvingly expounded by J. B. Danquah as
the Akan solution to the problem of evil. I beg permission to quote from Danquah in extenso.
What, then, is the Akan solution to the fact of physical pain in man's animate experience?
On the Akan view, we could only regard this as a difficulty if we lost sight of the fundamental
basis of their thought, namely, that Deity does not stand over against his own creation, but is
involved in it. He is, if we may be frank, 'of it.' If we postulate, as the Christians do, that the
principle that makes for good 'in this world', Nyame or God, stands over against the community
... and if we postulate again that the aforementioned principle is omnipotent, and is also
responsible as creator of this world, the existence of physical evil or pain ... becomes an
insoluble mystery... It is quite otherwise if we deny that the principle is omnipotent but is itself
a 'a spirit striving in the world of experience with the inherent conditions of its own growth and
mastering them' at the cost of the physical pain and evil as well as the moral pain or
disharmony that stain the pages of human effort... That is to say, in Akan language, where the
Nana, the principle that makes for good, is himself or itself a participant in the life of the whole,
... physical pain and evil are revealed as natural forces which the Nana, in common with others
of the group, have to master, dominate, sublimate or eliminate.
This must remind one of John Stuart Mill, who was constrained by the problem of evil to
resort to the concept of a limited God.
Danquah is not quite right in seeming to think that the view just noted is the one and only
solution to the problem of evil in Akan thought. Whether by way of inconsistency or doctrinal
fecundity among Akan thinkers, there is, as shown above, a diversity of thought on the


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42 I Wiredu


problem. This discussion, then, demonstrates a vitality of philosophical thought in an African
traditional society that the generality of colonial studies of African thought, in tending to give
the impression of monolithic unanimity, has tended to obscure. It also shows another thing. It
shows, in view of the repeated examples of philosophical convergences, that although it is the
hallmark of decolonized thinking to be critically cognizant of the differences between African
thought and its Western counterpart in its various forms, this is without prejudice to the
possibilities of parallels in intellectual concerns and even doctrinal persuasion. This, it need
hardly be added, can be a basis for fruitful exchange/interchange between African and Western
(and, presumably, also Oriental) philosophy.
The reference to philosophical diversity early in the last paragraph is worth exploring at
least briefly. The multiplicity of philosophic options is in evidence not only within the Akan
tradition, but also across the African continent. Thus, it is not to be taken for granted that the
Akan doctrine of a basically demiurgic God is universal in Africa. Based on the evidence of
studies such as Harry Sawyerr's God: Ancestor or Creator? and Kofi Asare Opoku's West African
Traditional Religion, it might be conjectured that it is widespread in West Africa. On the other
hand, if Mbiti is right, this does not apply to certain other parts of Africa. The latter observes
that the "concept of creation ex nihilo is ... reported among the Nuer, Banyarwanda and Shona,
and undoubtedly a careful search for it elsewhere is likely to show that there are other peoples
who incorporate it into their cosmologies." As regards the Banyarwanda, Maquet has written as
follows:
The world in which men are placed and which they know through their senses was created
ex nihilo by Imana. The Ruanda word kurema, means to produce, to make. It is here rendered "to
create" because our informants say that there was nothing before imana made the world. This
belief concerning the origin of the material world is universal and clear. To any question on this
point, the answer is ready.
This account, if it is right, together with our previous findings, shows that not all
traditional Africans think alike about God. It would seem that the Banyarwanda think more like
orthodox Christians than like the traditional Akans. Actually, though, Maquet's account is not
unproblematic. He says, for example, that Imana, the God of the Banyarwanda, "is non-material.
His action influences the whole world; but Ruanda is his home where he comes to spend the
night."
How does a non-material being spend the night, and in physical environs, such as Ruanda?
Presumably, the idea is that a non-material being can sometimes materialize itself, i.e., manifest
itself in a material guise. But this involves a category mistake not unlike that of supposing that
the square root of minus one might be able to dance calypso from time to time. Moreover it is as
full-blooded a logical inconsistency as ever there was. Is the present incarnation of that
inconsistency Maquet's or the Banyarwanda's? While the question remains open, confidence in
Maquet's report of the belief in ex nihilo creation among the Banyarwanda cannot be limitless,
though it cannot be discounted out of hand.
According to Okot p'Bitek, the religious thought of both the Akans and the Banyarwanda is
in vast contrast to that of the Luo of Uganda. For him the Central Luo do not entertain any
belief in a Supreme, or, as he phrases it, High God. They do not even have truck with the
concept of such a being, nor does the notion of creating or even molding the world make sense


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Toward Decolonizing African Philosophy and Religion I 43


within their conceptual framework. In two books, namely, African Religions in Western
Scholarship and Religion of the Central Luo, he argues with intriguing illustrations that "the idea of
a high God among the Central Luo was a creation of the missionaries."
If truth be told, Okot p' Bitek was the true pioneer of conceptual decolonization in African
philosophy. His African Religions in Western Scholarship might well have been sub-titled "The
Decolonization of African Religions." He is an interesting exception to the practice among
African writers of endeavoring to prove to the world that Africans had, by their own efforts,
reached a concept of God essentially identical with the God of Christianity before the arrival of
the missionaries. The general assumption among these writers, as I pointed out earlier, has been
that it is a glorious achievement for a culture to be able to arrive, without outside help, at the
belief in a God who created the world out of nothing. p' Bitek had no such assumption. He was
a skeptic, and found nothing necessarily creditable in such a belief. He thus had no special joy
at the prospect of it being demonstrated that the Central Luo were original true believers. It is,
of course, open to his critics to argue that, in writing as he did, he was foisting his own unbelief
upon his people. There is, certainly, no substitute for an objective and conceptually critical
examination of his account of Luo religion. That would, in itself, be an admirable exercise in
conceptual decolonization. For my part, given the ease and frequency with which Western
categories of thought have been superimposed on African thought, I am inclined to suspect him
innocent until proven guilty.
According to p'Bitek, then, the Central Luo believe in a whole host of forces or powers
called, in their language, jogi (plural of jok), each independent of the rest. These jogi are regarded
as responsible for particular types or patterns of happenings. Some of them are chiefdom jogi
who are supposed to see to the welfare of particular groups of people. Others are hostile. For
example, jok kulu causes miscarriage, jok rubanga causes tuberculosis of the spine, etc. Even the
supposed power of a witch to cause harm is called a jok. Some joks may be used against other
joks, but no one jok dominates all. This is far cry, indeed, from the Christian religious ontology
which postulates an omnipotent creator ex nihilo or from even the Akan system with its divine
architect who is "alone great."
Substantiating his assertion that the idea of a high God among the Luo was the invention of
the Christian missionaries, p' Bitek recounts the following incident in African Religions and
Western Scholarship. I have quoted it elsewhere in a similar connection but I cannot forebear to
quote it again in the present context, as it furnishes a perfect paradigm of conceptual imposition
in perfect drama:
In 1911, Italian Catholic priests put before a group of Acholi elders the question "Who
created you?"; and because the Luo language does not have an independent concept of create or
creation, the question was rendered to mean "Who moulded you?" But this was still
meaningless, because human beings are born of their mothers. The elders told the visitors that
they did not know. But we are told that this reply was unsatisfactory, and the missionaries
insisted that a satisfactory answer must be given. One of the elders remembered that, although
a person may be born normally, when he is afflicted with tuberculosis of the spine, then he loses
his normal figure, he gets "moulded". So he said "Rubanga is the one who moulds people." This
is the name of the hostile spirit which the Acholi believe causes the hunch or hump back. And


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instead of exorcising the hostile spirits and sending them among pigs, the representatives of
Jesus Christ began to preach that Rubanga was the Holy Father who created the Acholi.
Disentangling African frameworks of thought from colonial impositions, such as this, is an
urgent task facing African thinkers, especially, philosophers, at this historical juncture.
Clarifying African religious concepts should be high on the agenda of this kind of
decolonization.

Notes

1. There are drum texts which suggest that the Akan thinkers were particularly conscious
of this issue. See, for example, Kwasi Wiredu, "African Philosophical Tradition: A Case
Study of the Akan", The Philosophical Forum, Vol. XXIV, No. 1-3, Fall-Spring, 1992-3,
pp. 41 ff.
2. Kwame Gyekye insists, correctly, on what he calls "the locative implication of the
existential expression wo ho" in his An Essay on African Philosophical Thought (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 1987, p. 179).
3. Rene Descartes, Meditations of First Philosophy, Translated by Laurence Lafleur, New
York: Macmillan, 1951, p. 39 (Third Meditation).
4. Kwasi Wiredu, op. cit., p. 44.
5. London: Frank Cass & Co. Ltd, 1944, Second Edition with new introduction by Kwesi A.
Dickson, 1968.
6. When, therefore, Horton says that it is in the sphere of personal relations rather than
inanimate phenomena that Africans primarily apprehend order he is, as far as the Akans
are concerned, putting the cart before the horse quite exactly. See Robin Horton, "African
Traditional Thought and Modern Science", in Bryan R. Wilson, ed., Rationality, Oxforda;
Basil Blackwell, 1974 (Shorter version of an article originally published in Africa, Vol.
XXXVII, Nos. i and 2, Jan. and April, 1967. Note, eg. p. 147 of the reprint.
7. See, for example, B. E. Oguah, "African and Western Philosophy: A Comparative Study"
in Richard A. Wright, ed., New York, University Press of America, Third Edition, 1984,
p. 217 and Helaine K. Minkus, "Causal Theory in Akwapim Akan Philosophy", ibid, p.
115.
8. Gyekye, An Essay on African Philosophical Thought, p.77.
9. Ironically, it is sometimes supposed that the category of mechanical causation escapes
the African mind altogether, a fallacy which J. 0. Sodipo sought to lay to rest, as far at
least as the Yoruba are concerned, in his paper "Notes on the Concept of Cause and
Chance on Yoruba Traditional Thought", Second Order: An African Journal of
Philosophy, Vol. II, No. 2, July 1973.
10. Okot p' Bitek even went as far as to say '... for the Central Luo the entities which they
believed they encountered at the lineage shrine were not spirits but the ancestors as they
were known before death; their voices could be 'recognized as they spoke through the
diviner; they 'felt' hungry and cold, and 'understood' and 'enjoyed' jokes and being
teased, etc. They were thought of as whole beings, not dismembered parts of man, i.e.,
spirits divorced from bodies.'(Religion of the Central Luo, Nairobi, Kenya East Africa


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Literature Bureau, 1971, p 104.) I have quoted this passage in the same spirit in Kwasi
Wiredu, "Death and the Afterlife in African Culture" in Kwasi Wiredu and Kwame
Gyekye, Person and Community: Ghanaian Philosophical Studies, I, Washington D. C.:
The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, 1992.
11. See, however, Kwasi Wiredu, "Universalism and Particularism in Religion from an
African Perspective", Journal of Humanism and Ethical Religion, Volume 3, No. 1, Fall
1990. pp. 98 ff.
12. On this issue remarks by three famous Akan thinkers that I have quoted elsewhere
(Kwasi Wiredu, "Morality and Religion in Akan Thought", in H. Odera Oruka and D. A.
Masolo, eds., Philosophy and Cultures, Nairobi, Kenya: Bookwise Ltd., 1983, pp 11-12 or
p. 220 of the reprint in Norm R. Allen, African-American Humanism: An Anthology,
New York: Prometheus Books, 1991) will bear re-quotation here. K. A Busia says, 'The
gods are treated with respect if they deliver the goods, and with contempt if they fail...
Attitudes to [the gods] depend upon their success, and vary from healthy respect to
sneering contempt'. ("The Ashanti" in Daryll Forde, ed., African Worlds: Studies in the
Cosmological Ideas and Social Values of African Peoples, Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1954, p. 205.) J. B. Danquah, for his part, says that in Akan society 'the general
tendency is to sneer at and ridicule the fetish and its priest'. ("Obligation in Akan
Society", West African Affairs, No. 8, 1952, published by the Bureau of Current Affairs
for the Department of Extra-Mural Studies, University College of the Gold Coast [now
Ghana], p. 3) What W. E. Abraham says is also relevant, albeit somewhat indirectly: 'The
proliferation of gods that one finds among the Akans is, in fact, among the Akans
themselves superstitious. Minor gods are artificial means to the bounty of Onyame
[God]' (The Mind of Africa, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962, p. 56).
13. Kwasi Wiredu, (a) "Morality and Religion in Akan Thought." (See note 11) (b) "The
Moral Foundations of An African Culture" in Kwasi Wiredu and Kwame Gyekye, eds.,
Person and Community: Ghanaian Philosophical Studies, Washington D. C.: The
Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, 1992 (c) "Custom and Morality: A
Comparative Analysis of some African and Western Conceptions of Morals" in Albert G.
Mosley, African Philosophy: Selected Readings, Englewood Cliff: Prentice Hall, 1995.
14. B. E. Ogua, cites the designation Opamfo wawanyi (from the Fanti sub-group of the
Akans) which he translates as 'The Wonderful Planner'. In fact, 'The Wonderful
Designer' would do just as well. See his paper "African and Western Philosophy: A
Comparative Study" in Richard A. Wright, ed., African philosophy: An Introduction,
New York: University Press of America, Third edition 1884, p. 217.
15. Unknown to the Ghanaian authors of this argument is the phenomenon, widespread in
the United States of America, of single-parent households without a resident or,
sometimes, even an admitted father.
16. B. e. Ogua, op.cit., p, 216.
17. London: SCM press 1973, p. 146.
18. London: Longman, 1962.
19. On this see Kwasi Wiredu, "African Philosophical Tradition", The Philosophical Forum,
Volume XXIV, No. 1-3, Fall-Spring, 1992-3, pp. 41 ff.


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20. Margaret Dauler Wilson in her Descartes (New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1978)
assembles relevant passages from various sources in Descartes. See especially pp. 121-
131. The author makes a valiant effort to make sense of this surprising turn in Descartes'
thought.
21. In Richard Wright, ed., African Philosophy: An Introduction, New York: University
Press of America, 1984, p. 116.
22. K. A. Busia, "The African World View", Presence Africaine, 4 (1965).
23. Kwame Gyekye, An Essay on African Philosophical Thought, New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1987, p. 23.124. see also pp. 125-128.
24. See, for example, Stephen T. Davis, Logic and the Nature of God, Grand Rapids,
Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1983, pp. 105 ff.
25. J. B. Danquah, The Akan Doctrine of God, London: Frank Cass & Co. Ltd., Second
Edition with new introduction by Kwesi A. Dickson, 1968, pp. 88-89.
26. London: Longman, 1970.
27. London: FEP International Private Limited, 1978.
28. John S. Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy, London: Heinemann, Second Edition,
1990, p. 39.
29. J. J. Maquet, "The Kingdom of Ruanda" in Daryll Forde, African Worlds, Oxford: oxford
University Press, 1954, p. 166.
30. Both were published by the East African Literature Bureau, Nairobi, Kenya. The second
is dated 1971. The first carries no publisher's date, but the preface is dated November
1970.
31. Religion of the Central Luo, p. 50.
32. Kwasi Wiredu, "Formulating Modern Thought in African Languages: Some Theoretical
Considerations" in V. Y. Mudimbe, ed., The Surreptitious Speech, Chicago: The
University of Chicago Press, 1992, pp. 301-2.


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The Africanized Queen: Metonymic Site of Transformation


NKIRU NZEGWU


Race as a category of classification has an infamous history of injustice and domination. In
late nineteenth century Africa, it was deployed in a violent agenda of empire-building, in which
European superiority became the organizing principle of the new political order. Following
colonization, European cultural values, social norms, and conception of reality provided the
privileged frame of representation, and the standpoint for understanding Africans whom
Europeans considered to be subhuman. In the views of then Governor of Lagos, Sir Hugh
Clifford, Africans lacked the organizing and creative abilities that were "the particular trait and
characteristic of the white man" 1. Vestiges of this racist legacy persist today in the West in the
critical reception of the works of African artists. It underwrites the reluctance to accord
intellectual sophistication to African artists, and the hesitance to grant the legitimacy of Africa' s
cultural paradigms in shaping the evaluative lens by which the creative expressions of Africans
are framed. Nowhere is this ideological posture most evident as in the evaluation of the works
of Nigerian's preeminent artist, Benedict Chukwukadiba Enwonwu.
In the colonial quest to position Europe at the center of analysis, minimal attention is paid
to the creative politics of modern African artists. Instances of the artists representation of a
white man or white woman are often unimaginatively explained away as instances of Africans'
fascination with, or reverence for, the white man. The pervasive depictions of Tarzan on the
side of mammy wagons, lorries, and luxurious buses are rarely seen for what it is, which is, the
lunacy of a half-naked white man running around aimlessly in a jungle with animals for
relatives and companionship. In an attempt to occupy the cultural high ground, hardly do the
EuroAmerican interpreters of African visual forms of representation consider the rationale of
art from the African perspective. For this reason, most miss the possibility that African artists
could harbor revolutionary aspirations, or that they may be engaged in subversive activities
even as they feign civility. Race representation, the depiction of white people in paintings and
sculpture, in fact, has provided occasions in which imperial power relations are dramatically
reversed so that the white oppressor becomes the loser in counter-hegemonic narratives.
In this essay I shall investigate the revolutionary anti-colonial politics underlying the
production of the bronze portraits of Queen Elizabeth II by Enwonwu. I shall focus on the
performative role these sculptures, formerly at the House of Representatives in Lagos, Nigeria,
were designed to play. Of special interest is the symbiotic relationship of art and ritual, and the
subversive way art production metonymically created a context for ritual invocation. The use of
the naturalistic style achieved revolutionary potentials in shielding anti-colonial goals. This
atavistic struggle between the colonizer and the colonized becomes obvious once we abandon
both the colonizer's imperial gaze and its simplistic racialized interpretations. Shifting, as
Enwonwu had insistently urged, from the Western conception of art and aesthetics to the

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48 I Nzegwu


appropriate Onitsha-Igbo conceptual framework reveals a different explanatory terrain. Indeed,
culturally centering this artist and his work, as is routinely done for artists in Europe and the
United States, constitutes the only meaningful way to apprehend the counter-narratives of
resistance and anti-domination uprisings that informed the production of the Queen's bronze
portraits.

I.

In a truly racially neutral context in which outstanding achievement is the yardstick for
documentation, there is no question that Enwonwu would need no introduction. With works at
the United Nations, in the private collection of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, the National
Gallery of Art, Nigeria, the National Gallery of Zimbabwe, Federal German Government,
United States State Department Building, Washington D.C., and the Commonwealth Institute in
London, he has earned a respected place in the annals of art. That the recognition eludes him is
not unconnected to racist expectations that African art must be visibly different to be
acknowledged. Enwonwu attained international repute while Nigeria was still a colony of the
British Empire. Born in Onitsha in 1921, he was introduced to carving by his sculptor-father. His
appreciation for the Igbo conception of art comes from his belief that art is suffused with spirit
force and energy, and that Western art is too much wrapped up with the physical. In his view,
"Art [by which he means nka] does not imply good colors, lines and shapes, nor do these make
up art 2. Art ... is not a quality of things, but an activity" 3 that "objectifi[es] ... the artist's beliefs,
his feelings, meanings or significance, and volition" 4. The works produced under this condition
of inspiration are both works of art and spirit-receptacles.
Two years after graduating from High School, Enwonwu received a scholarship to study
art at The Slade School of Art. He graduated with First Class Honors in 1947, and then enrolled
in a postgraduate program in Social Anthropology at the University College, London. He
received his Master's of Art degree in 1948. He entered the program principally because he was
disturbed by the racist rhetoric in England in the 1940's, and anthropology seemed to offer a
space for the scientific study of the races, their physical and mental characteristics, customs, and
social relationships. After enrolling in the program, he discovered the invidious dimension of
the discipline and that the emphasis was on "primitive peoples and their cultures." The real
objective of anthropology was the facilitation of the colonial agenda, "to create an intellectual
barrier which makes it extremely difficult for most Africans to be considered qualified to play
an important part in the development and preservation of their art" 5. Though he was elected
Fellow of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland (FRAI) after his
study, he remained distrustful of the discipline and disenchanted with its practices.
Shortly after graduation from University College, Enwonwu was appointed Art Supervisor
by the Colonial Government in Nigeria. The appointment required him to function as the
nation' s official artist and artist-ambassador. As part of his duties, he executed major art
commissions for the government, represented the country in diverse international art events,
and exhibited in London, Paris, New York, Boston, and Washington. The mid-1950's was a
significant time in Enwonwu's life. In 1955, he was awarded an MBE (Member of the British
Empire) for his contribution in the arts, and a year later, he received permission to produce an


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official portrait of the Queen. The latter put him in the class of a small select group of artists that
have been so honored. The recognition was historic for a variety of reasons: he was a youthful
thirty-four years, he was the first black artist to be accorded permission to produce an official
portrait of a European monarch, and the Queen actually sat for her bust and full-length bronze
portraits 6. The completed works were exhibited at the Gallery of the Royal Society of British
Artists and Tate Gallery in London in 1957 before onward transportation to Nigeria.
From 1949 to 1994, Enwonwu lived a grueling life as an artist, artist-ambassador,
administrator, and educator. He blazed an impressive path for African artists establishing an
enviable record of achievements. By his death in February 1994, he had steadfastly pushed the
plasticity of wood through exploring its formal limits in sculptural forms. In the area of
painting, he had explored, re-translated, innovated, and extended our understanding of dance
movement, by focusing on the artistic essence of such dances and mmuo (masks) forms. Unlike
the European artists of the period who willingly ignored political issues in their art, Enwonwu
devoted enormous attention to the politics and the multiple sites of operation of colonialism. He
was aware of the power of visual representation in illuminating, distorting, or erasing people's
realities and emancipatory struggles. For this reason, he directed his art to combating, in a non-
propagandist way, the psychological effects of colonialism and racism.

II.

Some who are unaware of Enwonwu's anti-colonial politics have quickly concluded from
his professional relationship with the Colonial government that he was a collaborator. Unable to
understand how he could be morally opposed to a system that served him so well, others who
are aware of his anticolonial politics, are convinced that his politics were a shrewd attempt to
deflect attention from his collaboration with the British and to give historical relevance to his
actions. To interpret the historical Enwonwu in this light is to miss, however, the complex
nature of colonial rule and subjugation, and to ignore the peculiar nature of life under colonial
rule. Enwonwu's professional success as an artist derived entirely from the excellent quality of
his work. The fact that he worked within the colonial administration cannot be construed as
evidence that colonization was acceptable, or that he was a collaborator. Enwonwu never
concealed his distaste for colonization and racial domination. As an anti-colonial activist in the
heyday of British rule, he espoused the political ideology of Pan-Africanism while still a student
at the Slade. By his own admission, he joined the Oxford Union "a purely political organization
in Britain that had nothing to do with art" 7. This political affiliation offered him an alternative
intellectual space for critiquing the European construction of creativity, art, aesthetics, political
structure, and reality. From the benign liberal politics of the Oxford Union, he progressed to the
more radical counter-domination politics of the London-based West African Student Union
(WASU). In the mid-1940's in Britain, the work of George Padmore and Jomo Kenyatta in the
Pan-African Federation, and of Kwame Nkrumah in the West African National Secretariat
(WANS) helped to transform liberation theorization into revolutionary protest movements.
Political activism revealed to Enwonwu the complex shifting nature of the colonial process
and the multiple sites of inequities inherent in the structure. These sites were exposed as
prominent political figures in different parts of the British Empire who called for the


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dismantling of the British Empire 8. In the arts, Negritude emerged as the cultural arm of Pan-
Africanism. Articulated by L6opold S6dar Senghor of Senegal and Aim6 C6asire of Martinique,
Pan-Africanism stressed the need to capture the self-expressive manner of African cultural life,
and under-scored the importance of self-pride as a basis for personal liberation. Using the
concept of African Personality as a model of cultural action, Enwonwu merged his political
beliefs with his visual representation 9, without sacrificing artistic excellence for political
expediency. Membership in the West African Writers' and Artists' Club in London provided
him with access to artists, Vincent Kofi and Kofi Antubam of Ghana and the Senegalese artists
Papa Ibra Tall and Iba N'Diaye, with whom to solve the technical questions that arose in the
course of their political work. Reflecting on those times, Enwonwu stated, "[W]e were all so
conscious of the struggle against colonialism, and of nothing else. We just wanted the colonial
empire to end in Africa. ... If we painted any picture it was about this freedom. If we sang a
song, if like Senghor we wrote or recited poems, we philosophized. You find that in those days
all the leaders of Africa were inspired" 10
In the course of his exemplary career, Enwonwu had his problems with Euromodernism.
Part of his misgiving centered on the appropriation of African art and the subsequent
devaluation of the socially affirmative aspects of African culture and life. The other part is based
on ideological differences. The notion of creativity that Enwonwu valued stressed a connection
between a certain class of sculptural objects and their performative role. In his view, nka (art,
creativity and creative expression) is an "invocation of ancestral spirits through giving concrete
form or body to them before they can enter into the human world" 11. Treating art as a ritual of
embodiment positions the artist to appreciate the sacral aspect of creation, and to confront the
responsibility of infusing life into mundane physical objects. In his youth, he had perceptively
noted the relationship between the spirit-related function of sculpted objects and their
placement in family shrines at Onitsha and, in site specific installations at sacred spaces in Uyo
and Calabar. In Benin, he witnessed the bronze sculptural forms on the mud platforms in family
shrines. This relationship not only established that sculptures performed spirit-related tasks,
they offered a compellingly different way of thinking of sculpture. Rather than thinking of it in
the Euromodernist sense as physical objects with a completely visual role, one could think of
sculptural forms as spirit receptacles to be energized and placed at sites where they are
expected to act on their environment.
The difference between Enwonwu's view of art and the modern view is that in the former
in which the concept of nka is dominant, artists consciously seek access to inner metaphysical
knowledge, while artists in the modern view leave such matters to organized religion. On the
older view, inspired imagination is required to apprehend creative forces, and spirit
apprehension and embodiment constitute the basis for artistic creation. By attending to this
close relationship between visual representation and cultural beliefs, Enwonwu successfully
rescued for posterity the transformative element of creation that is central to Igbo conception of
creativity. By so doing he challenged the underlying physicalist philosophy of the popular view
of "art for art's sake," indicting modernist artists for their abdication of their moral responsibility
and leadership. In some of his own works he demonstrated the process for recovering the
principles of invocation and enactment, and effectively displaced the notion of physicality and
inertia at the heart of the Euromodernist conception of sculpture. Conceptually stepping into


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The Africanized Queen I 51


the metaphysical dimension of nka, he placed his works on a different ontological basis even as
he appeared to be "wedded" to the Academy style, and appeared to practice art in the Western
vein. As he succinctly put it, "[W]hen I use the pure art form of my father's images and I use my
experience, academic knowledge, and my political motivations, I ... arrive at a point where
realism and symbolism can meet. That to me is art. What will result and survive is the
continuation of the aspirations of African people, their dignified way of life, their beliefs, their
dreams, and their yearnings for intrinsic lasting values that are encapsulated in the new form"
12
Proud, urbane, Christianized, yet still steeped in the spiritual values of his culture,
Enwonwu carried, molded, or separated the different facets of his identity as conditions
demand. Although he espoused Negritude with his Francophone counterparts, unlike them he
did not face the debilitating psychological problem of self-doubts that is the staple of the French
assimilation policy. Emerging from the indirect rule reality of British colonialism, Enwonwu
retained a stronger sense of his cultural identity and place in the colonial world of the first half
of the twentieth century. As a result, he publicly dismissed as nonsense and a reflection of
ignorance, the racist narratives which he encountered in the 1940's in England. Rather, viewing
himself as the heir of an honorable heritage, he exhorted "the gods of (his) ancestors to tell (him)
what art is and for what purpose it exists" 13 and he used the techniques he learned from the
Slade to reproduce his ideas.
Because his creative philosophy underscored the metonymic character of objects, his works
simultaneously occupy several states of existence. They are many things at the same time. In
their specialized role as concretized incantations, however, sculpted objects enact the idea of
embodiment by becoming instantiations of whatever ideal, objective, or prayer that was the
motivating rationale for creation. Enwonwu's creative stance marks an important distinction
between the idea of art as an immanent quality in things, and art as a relational quality. The
stress on the idea of relationality is that we make our art and art is what we make of it,
including investing it with goals and meaning, and the power to change our circumstances.

III.

From 1947 to 1957, Enwonwu pursued his anti-colonial objectives of cultural freedom
through visual representation. At a time when the positivist ideology of "art for art's sake"
counseled the separation of art and politics, he unapologetically deployed his art to the political
struggle for independence. His most profound, anticolonial statements were memorably stated
in 1957, in his bronze bust and full-figure bronze portrait of HRH Queen Elizabeth II114.
Enwonwu set the production in motion by presenting then Colonial Secretary, Mr. Alan
Lennox-Boyd, with a proposal to execute a bust and a full-length portrait in bronze of the
Queen 15. The proposal was tabled to her Majesty in 1956, and was accepted the same year by
the Queen. The timing was auspicious since Enwonwu had just been awarded an MBE for his
contributions to the arts less than a year before, and the Queen had just completed a royal tour
of Nigeria in 1956 in which she had been warmly received.
Enwonwu's sculptural incantation began with sittings at Buckingham Palace, which later
moved to his Maida Vale studio when the transportation of the bust from the studio to the


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52 I Nzegwu


palace became too cumbersome 16. Completed in ten months in 1957, the bust and full-length
figure of the seated Queen were cast in bronze 17, then exhibited at the gallery of the Royal
Society of British Artists, in London, and also at the Tate Gallery. Although they were acclaimed
internationally as Enwonwu's greatest works, the sculptures sparked intense controversy 18.
Their Negritude statements were prophetic, not in charting a new artistic direction, but in the
daring political statement they made.
In modeling the features of the young Queen, Enwonwu had taken liberties with the royal
lips. Widening them, he gave them a fuller, sensuous more becoming pout. In so doing, he
boldly inscribed an African aesthetic ideal of womanhood on the Queen's visage, the
fountainhead of British imperial rule 19. While the political ramifications of this act were missed,
the artistic significance was not lost on the British art establishment, which perceived the
inscription as an audacious rejection of their twentieth century European aesthetic ideals, with
its concept of thin-lipped womanly beauty. Stunned by the act, the art critics responded sharply
in editorials. The Empire telegraph crackled from London, England to Christchurch, New
Zealand with news about this Africanized bronze portrait of the Queen 20. Screaming headlines
described the "controversy" in sensational terms-"The Queen Through African Eyes."
Speculations as to the possible rejection of the sculptures were cut short by the Queen's official
endorsement of them. The bust was mounted on a black marble plinth and, with the full-figure
portrait, was sent to the House of Representatives in Lagos in 1958. The seated full-figure
portrait was installed in the courtyard, while the bust was placed inside the chambers of the
House. It joined the Speaker's Chair 21, a pair of doors and plaques carved by Enwonwu 22, and a
group of murals he had painted.
Although, many correctly saw this substitution of European for African values as a political
commentary on European aesthetic imperialism, they missed the more important incantatory
dimension of the work. Too many people focused on the physical over the metaphysical. What
many then, and now, have failed to grasp in responding to these portraits of the Queen is the
subversive metaphysical message which Enwonwu deliberately refused to disclose. He
prevaricated. His aestheticized comment that he had simply widened the royal lips to make
them fuller and more becoming satisfied many enquirers since it suggested that this was merely
a physical protest against aesthetic imperialism. Yet, this calculated physically-grounded
explanation masked the metaphysical dimension of the act by treating the entire action as a
symbolic gesture. Stripped of its revolutionary edge, the action becomes an ineffectual gesture,
a vain cry for attention. However, correctly understood, the transposition constitutes the first
stage in the rite of transubstantiation that alters the imperial objective by transforming the
face/spirit of the British Empire. According to the mystical principles of spirit embodiment, a
person's spirit may be captured and contained so that his or her intentions could be changed
through auto-suggestion. Thus, within the metaphysical scheme of action, one way to free
oneself or group from bondage is to neutralize the power of the oppressor, by containing it.
This is what Enwonwu did with the portraits.


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IV.

A culturally grounded interpretation is needed to illuminate the significance of Enwonwu's
solicitation and his Africanization of the Queen's portraits. Such a grounded interpretation
transgressively subverts the central logic and materialist ideology of any artistic explanation
that fails to comprehend the world in a similar way. On the latter framework, art is in a
metonymic (symbiotic) relationship with other activities, and so sculpted objects are
simultaneously artistic works and ritual objects. Given this, the bronze portraits of the Queen
are receptacles in which spirits may reside, and specified wishes and thoughts may be
contained. For precisely this reason, verisimilitude in representation was shunned in diverse
parts of Nigeria prior to the rise of both photography and Christian beliefs. Sculpting another's
likeness was thought to expose one's spirit to psychic manipulation by leaving it vulnerable to
containment. Thus, to an anti-colonial activist who was aware of the ritual practice of spirit-
containment, he or she was also more aware that political liberation is secured through using all
available resources, including mystical means, to obtain physical liberation.
That the portraits are containment receptacles as well as public statues is explained by the
fact that Enwonwu proposed to the Colonial Secretary 23 to execute a portrait in bronze of the
Queen. In making the offer, he was aware of the following: that such a prestigious commission
would enhance his career, and this is what some people would focus on; that the Colonial
Government would appreciate the symbolic importance and glamour of having a renowned
artist from the colony produce the bust of the Imperial Crown for the colony's House of
Representative; that an appropriate vessel for spirit-containment was important to securing an
efficacious ritual; and that he could exploit assumptions to mask his underlying objectives.
Since there was no way the Queen was going to come calling for a portrait, and there was the
very real possibility that a British artist would be given such a commission, Enwonwu had to
seize the initiative in obtaining the Queen's consent to this rite of liberation. Although, he stood
to gain professionally if his Trojan-horse proposal was accepted, he was aware that he would be
represented as servile and of shamelessly seeking validation from the colonial masters.
Regardless of this possible damage to his reputation, he presented his proposal knowing the
importance of seizing the power of representation from an imperial power that claims a people
as colonial subjects. Of course, those who are firmly located in a Eurocentric framework would
fail to see the resistance in the act because they tend to see Africans as lacking revolutionary
spirit. Within the anti-colonial movement, however, and the metaphysical scheme of his
Onitsha culture, a different interpretation emerges that represents the proposal as establishing a
ritual pathway to self-determination.
For the dramatic reversal of imperial power entailed by this act, the site of Enwonwu's
anticolonial political statement was carefully chosen. The royal visage and body embodied the
British Empire. To the colonized world of Africa, Asia and the Caribbean it was a symbol of
imperial rule and its subjugation. Seemingly functioning as an artist located within the Western
framework, Enwonwu shifted to the Igbo conception of art to avail himself of its metaphysical
precepts. He knew that for the colonial subjects of the Crown to be free, it was also crucial that
the "royal head be bound." After all, this was the most pervasive seal of British power. As an
Imperial seal, he was aware that the Queen's head circulated profusely, occurring in stamps and


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even the lowest currency denomination of far flung regions of the Empire. In its ubiquity, the
monarch's head psychically regulated trade, psychically commodified life by controlling labor
and its terms of exchange, and psychically monitored communication. Thus to secure freedom,
it was crucial that the pervasive psychic force of this imperial seal be reigned in and neutralized.
The metonymic conception of art of his Onitsha heritage allowed Enwonwu to cloak his
objectives and to transcend the limiting positivistic conception of Euromodernism that
constrains both the power of objects and the efficacy of our psychic lives. On the positivists
view, war or politics rather than creative expression or art enables people to overcome
oppressive conditions. But on the metaphysical scheme in which the concept of nka finds its
home, and in which relationality rather than individuation is the organizing force, creativity
constitutes a pathway to liberation. Since things are relationally linked, it is believed that a
corrective measure initiated in one domain has relational impact on another. Metonymically
treating the bust and full-figure portraits as art and as aestheticized aja (or sacrifice) means that
the artistic production of these portraits can (meta)physically/psychically (ichu aja) be deployed
to prod the Crown into granting independence to its subjects. That Enwonwu's aesthetic
sacrifice was successful is evidenced by the Queen's endorsement of the bust in the face of
Eurocentric indignation.
In officially accepting the Africanized bust, an act that preserves intact the principle of
artistic license, the Queen as the official head of the Empire inevitably accepted the immanent
imperatives of the aja (sacrifice). In accordance with the obligatory principles of the ritual, she
(and Britain through her) was bound by nso ani (the Earth's sacred law) 24 that was activated by
the sacrifice. The law committed her to grant expeditiously the wishes inscribed on her visage,
and to permit the peaceful emergence of Africa out of her imperial head and power.
Significantly, less than three years after the execution of these bronze portraits, Nigeria
peacefully became independent. Indeed, the African face that Enwonwu envisioned in the
Monarch's face emerged in full form in the 1960's as the indomitable, irresolute will to freedom
transformed the landscape of Africa.
Race and visual representation interweave in intricate ways to establish the outlines of
explanation. To understand the meaning of Africans' representation of their racial other, African
cultural paradigms are needed to unravel the objectives of sculptures and paintings that were
produced during the anti-colonial struggle. As Enwonwu revealed, critics and art historians
need to "know the mind of the artist" and to base their interpretations of modern African art on
"philosophical ideas," since the artist is responding to "social, economic, educational, and even
religious changes ... taking place in ... countries" 25. It would be a mistake to trivialize the
legitimacy of the offered interpretation and to dismiss the efficacy of Enwonwu's action on the
ground that the process of independence was already well on its way. While that may very well
be true, historical evidence shows, however, that independence was not a done deal. Familiarity
with the history of the period reveals that although Nigerians had been engaged in
constitutional talks since 1945, difficult conditionalities were imposed by the Colonial Office in
London to further its own imperial agenda. Independence was not in the cards for Africans. On
September 9, 1941, the British Premier Winston Churchill had explained to the House of
Commons that clause three of the Atlantic Charter, which conceded "the right of all peoples to
choose the form of government under which they will live," applied only to the white peoples


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The Africanized Queen I 55


of Europe under Nazi rule. In his view, the conditions of this clause was a separate issue "from
the progressive evolution of self governing institutions in the regions and peoples who owe
allegiance to the British Crown" 26
Given this official declaration of the British Government, obstacles were accordingly placed
on the path of colonized peoples in various parts of the world. In Nigeria, for instance,
Governor Richardson drew up a constitution that was touted as the constitution for the new
independent nation of Nigeria, but which was implicitly structured to work against the
unification of Nigeria into a centralized state with a common identity. Faced with mounting
criticism, that constitution was replaced in 1952 by the hastily drawn- up, short-lived
MacPherson constitution. In 1954, the Lyttleton constitution was drafted to address the inherent
weaknesses of the MacPherson constitution. Although this constitution remained in place until
independence in 1960, the manipulative ploys of the colonial government, especially Britain's
balkanization of northern and southern Nigeria, left severe structural rifts and conflicts. These
could have preempted independence in 1960, as it had done in 1956. The point is that at the
crucial historical juncture when Enwonwu created the portraits, independence was not a
certainty and an abrupt reversal of the path to self-determination was still possible. There is no
question that to fully appreciate the colonial and contemporary politics of visual representation,
the underlying artistic philosophy of Enwonwu's is needed to grasp the historic and
unprecedented nature of the bronze portraits and the decline of the British royals.

Notes

1. West Africa, 26 July 1924, quoted in Michael Crowder 1962, 264.
2. Ben Enwonwu, "The Evolution, History and Definition of Fine Art (2)," West African
Pilot, Friday, May 6, 1949, 3.
3. Enwonwu, West African Pilot, Friday, May 6, 1949, 3.
4. Enwonwu, "The Evolution, History and Definition of Fine Art (3)," West African Pilot,
Tuesday, May 11, 1949, 2.
5. Ben Enwonwu, "Problems of the African Artist Today," Pr6sence Africaine, 8-10 (June -
November 1956), 177.
6. Drum (East Africa), May 1958, 36.
7. Interview, May 22, 1989.
8. These figures were Mahatma Ghandi and Pandit Nehru of India, Gamel Nasser of
Egypt, Kwame Nkrumah of then Gold Coast, now Ghana, Nnamdi Azikwe of Nigeria,
Jomo Kenyatta of Kenya, Kenneth Kaunda of Zambia and Julius Nyerere of Tanzania.
9. Interview, May 22, 1989.
10. Interview, July 1989.
11. Enwonwu, 1968, 421.
12. Interview May 1989, 22.
13. Ben Enwonwu, "The Evolution, History and Definition of Fine Art (1)," West African
Pilot, Thursday, May 5, 1949, 2.


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56 I Nzegwu


14. By 1955, Enwonwu had been awarded an M.B.E. (Member of the British Empire) for his
contributions to the arts. This recognition made him one of the youngest holders of that
award in the Commonwealth.
15. West African Review (London) no. 28 (352), 1957, 2.
16. Drum (East Africa), May 1958, 36. In Enwonwu's personal papers is a 1955 photograph
of the Queen inspecting her statue in plaster form. Also see West African Review
(London) no. 28 (352), 1957, 6.
17. The bronzes were cast by Galicie from the plaster molds made by Mark Mancini. West
African Review (London) no. 28 (352), 1957, 6. A Nigerian painter and sculptor,
Abayomi Barber, who worked in Mancini's studio also confirmed this during this
writer's interview with him in, March 1994.
18. Drum (East Africa), May 1958,35-37.
19. Issues surrounding this bust were discussed with him on various occasions, but
especially during his birthday celebrations in July 1991.
20. The lead line of November 11, 1957 of Christchurch Press New Zealand newspaper. The
event was also featured in Otago Daily Times, New Zealand. The cutting had been
preserved by Enwonwu who first showed it to the writer in July 1989, with discussions
following in July 1991.
21. Drum (East Africa), May 1958, 36.
22. Francis Osague states that his uncle Felix Idubor worked with Enwonwu in competing
these commissions. As an assistant to his uncle, he (Osague) worked on the plaque
carvings some of which were done in Idubor's studio at Tinubu Square. Interview,
March 1994 at foyer of National Gallery of Modem Art, Iganmu, Lagos.
23. See West African Review (London) no. 28 (352), 1957, 2.
24. The sacredness of the earth is inherent in Igbo conception of life. This is why the earth is
frequently referenced as an altar. People are constantly reminded to speak
circumspectly, since words uttered on the earth-altar are oaths.
25. Source and attribution unknown.
26. Cited in Esebede 1982, 146.


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African Studies Quarterly I Volume 1, Issue 4 I 1998


Is US Cooperation with the UN Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda

Unconstitutional?

PAUL MAGNARELLA


FACTUAL BACKGROUND

On December 17, 1997 US Magistrate Marcel Notzon in Laredo, Texas stunned the US State
Department and human rights advocates around the world by ruling that the congressional
legislation enabling the US government to surrender or extradite indicted fugitives to the UN
Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) was unconstitutional 1. The State Department had asked a
Federal District Court in Texas to permit the surrender of Rwandan Elizaphan Ntakirutimana to
the ICTR in Arusha, Tanzania where he had been indicted on several counts of genocide,
conspiracy to commit genocide and crimes against humanity.
Allegedly, Ntakirutimana, the elderly, former pastor of a Seventh-Day Adventist Church in
Rwanda's Kibuye Prefecture had conspired with and assisted Hutu militias in the murder of
hundreds of his own Tutsi parishioners, who had sought refuge in his church back on April 16,
1994 during the height of the genocidal rampage in Rwanda. Shortly thereafter, he allegedly led
bands of armed Hutu into the countryside of the Bisesero region to hunt down and kill those
Tutsi who had survived the earlier attack. Ntakirutimana subsequently left Rwanda, eventually
coming to the US in December 1994 where he joined one of his sons, an anesthesiologist living
in Laredo, Texas.
As a result of its investigations, the ICTR included both Ntakirutimana and another of his
sons, Gerard, among the twenty-one persons it has thus far indicted. Gerard was arrested and is
among the thirteen indictees in custody in Arusha, awaiting trial before the ICTR.
After the ICTR's indictment of Ntakirutimana and its request for his surrender were
properly certified by the US Ambassador in the Netherlands (the location of the ICTR's chief
prosecutor) and transmitted to the US Secretary of State, FBI agents arrested the former pastor
in Texas on September 26, 1996. He had remained in jail from that date until his release on
December 17, 1997.

LEGAL BACKGROUND

The UN Security Council established both the ICTR and the UN Criminal Tribunal for the
Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) under the authority of Chapter VII of the UN Charter, which
provides that the Security Council shall "decide what measures shall be taken ... to maintain or
restore international peace and security." Under Article 48(1) of the Charter, "the action required


Paul J. Magnarella is Professor of Anthropology and Legal Studies, University of Florida. He currently serves a
Special Counsel to the Association of Third World Studies.
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58 I Magnarella


to carry out decisions of the Security Council for the maintenance of international peace and
security shall be taken by all the Members of the United Nations." Arguably, the US, as a UN
member state, has a treaty obligation to honor the requirements imposed on it by Security
Council resolutions governing the activities of the two Tribunals.
The general obligation of states to cooperate with the Tribunals is contained in paragraph 4
of Security Council Resolution 827, and paragraph 2 of Resolution 955, the resolutions
establishing the ICTY and ICTR, respectively, and setting forth their structure, jurisdiction and
procedures. These provisions both read as follows:
[The Security Council] decides that all States shall cooperate fully with the International
Tribunal and its organs in accordance with the present resolution and the Statute of the
International Tribunal and that consequently all States shall take any measures necessary under
their domestic law to implement the provisions of the present resolution and the Statute,
including the obligation of States to comply with requests for assistance or orders issued by a
trial chamber ...
The specific obligation to surrender fugitives is contained in Article 29 of the ICTY Statute
and Article 28 of the ICTR Statute, which read, in part, as follows:

1. States shall cooperate with the International Tribunal [for Rwanda] in the investigation and
prosecution of persons accused of committing serious violations of international humanitarian
law.
2. States shall comply without undue delay with any request for assistance or an order issued
by a Trial Chamber, including, but not limited to:
(d) the arrest or detention of persons;
(e) the surrender or the transfer of the accused to the International Tribunal [for Rwanda]. 2

On February 10, 1996, the US Congress enacted legislation to implement two executive
agreements with the ICTY and ICTR for the purpose of arresting and surrendering to these
Tribunals indicted fugitives found in the US 3.
Importantly, all previous extradition agreements had been in the form of treaties between
the US and foreign states. According to the US Constitution, the president "shall have Power, by
and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, to make Treaties, provided two thirds of the
Senators present concur;..." 4. Over the decades, however, US presidents have entered into
many more international executive agreements, which do not require the advice and consent of
the Senate, than treaties. For example, during the 1980-1992 period US presidents entered into
4,510 executive agreements, but only 218 treaties 5. The US constitution makes no reference to
either international extradition or executive agreements, and legal scholars have hotly debated
the propriety of the latter 6.
Congress can express its support for, or opposition to, any particular executive agreement
by enacting or withholding the necessary implementing legislation. A number of prominent
legal scholars have concluded that executive agreements supported by implementing legislation
(so-called "congressional-executive agreements") are the equivalent of treaties 7. Vagts notes,
however, that,


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Is US Cooperation with the UN Criminal Tribunal For Rwanda Unconstitutional? I 59


As a political matter, the executive and legislative branches have not considered treaties
and executive agreements to be fully interchangeable. They have looked to tradition.
Agreements relating to extradition, freedom of establishment, taxation and so forth have
traditionally been passed through the Senate process; whereas trade agreements have been
routed through the two-house channel 8.
The extradition legislation that the US magistrate in the Ntakirutimana case had declared
to be unconstitutional had been the result of a congressional-executive agreement. The
executive had entered into agreements with the two UN Tribunals and congress demonstrated
its assent by promptly passing the necessary implementing legislation. Apparently, the US State
and Justice Departments were confident that this arrangement was constitutionally sound 9.

THE ELIZAPHAN NTAKIRUTIMANA CASE

In the subject case Federal Magistrate Notzon had to determine (1) whether the Court had
proper jurisdiction over fugitive Ntakirutimana for purposes of extradition, (2) whether the
fugitive is being sought for offenses covered by the applicable agreement, and (3) whether there
is sufficient evidence to establish that Ntakirutimana committed the crimes for which he is
charged. The magistrate concluded that the "instant request fails on the first and third prongs of
the above inquiry" 10.
With respect to prong 1, the magistrate reasoned as follows:
Throughout the history of this Republic, every extradition from the United States has been
accomplished under the terms of a valid treaty of extradition. In the instant case, it is
undisputed that no treaty exists between the United States and the Tribunal.... Without a
treaty, this Court has no jurisdiction to act, and Congress' attempt to effectuate the Agreement
in the absence of a treaty is an unconstitutional exercise of power. Accordingly, the Court
FINDS that the provisions of Section 1342 of Public Law 104-106 are unconstitutional as they are
applied to the Tribunal,.. .1
The magistrate appears to reason that what has not been done cannot be done. He cited no
constitutional provision or case law that directly supports his conclusion.
The magistrate correctly stated that the third prong of the inquiry--sufficiency of evidence--
must meet the probable cause standard. Citing Parretti v US 11, the magistrate stated he was
"free to exercise [his] discretion in judging the credibility of the evidence presented as in any
other domestic case where the Court would be required to make a determination of probable
cause." The fourth amendment to the U.S. Constitution requires, but does not define, "probable
cause" for searches and seizures. Many judges have defined the concept rather vaguely as
"reasonable grounds to believe." Consequently, judges exercise a good deal of discretion in
determining whether probable cause exists in any particular case. Magistrate Notzon concluded
that it did not exist in this case.
The magistrate was unconvinced by a number of factors. For one, the affidavit filed by a
Belgian police officer assigned to the ICTR in support of the charges failed to list the names of
its twelve witnesses and failed to note whether witness statements had been made under oath 12.
Although one of the witnesses claimed to have seen Ntakirutimana shooting at civilian Tutsi, he
failed (according to the magistrate) to state whether anyone was killed. Four witnesses


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60 I Magnarella


identified Ntakirutimana from a photograph as a person who "participated in the attack," but
Magistrate Notzon dismissed this evidence because "the affidavit fails to state when and under
what conditions this photograph was shown to the witnesses, or whether the photograph was
shown in conjunction with other photographs." For these and other reasons, the magistrate
concluded that "the possibility for inaccuracy or incredibility in the witness' statements is high."
Consequently, he concluded that the submitted evidence did not rise to the level of probable
cause.

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION

The magistrate could have decided the constitutional issue of this case differently. In his
Memorandum and Order, Magistrate Notzon reasoned that the US-UN Headquarters
Agreement--an executive agreement locating the UN Headquarters in New York City--was
constitutional because that "agreement was enacted pursuant to a treaty [the UN Charter]
ratified with Senatorial advise and consent" 1. Hence, the magistrate concluded, "this places it
[the Headquarters Agreement] in marked contrast to the Agreement with the Tribunal in the
instant case" 1. Unfortunately, the magistrate did not explain how this placed it in marked
contrast.
The US President entered into the Tribunal Agreements pursuant to the same UN Charter
treaty, which requires member states to assist the Security Council in its implementation of
measures designed to maintain or restore international peace 13. In order to restore peace in the
former Yugoslavia and Rwanda the Security Council took judicial measures: it created the ICTY
and the ICTR. Both of these Security Council creations need member states to assist them by,
among other things, extraditing indicted fugitives. Hence, according to the magistrate's own
reasoning, the US executive's Tribunal Agreements, having been made pursuant to a valid
treaty, can be deemed to be constitutional. Moreover, an even stronger argument exists for
asserting the constitutionality of the Tribunal Agreements than of the Headquarters Agreement:
the US is obligated under the UN Charter to assist the Tribunals; it was not obligated under the
UN Charter to agree to locate the UN Headquarters in New York City.
Part of the reason for the magistrate's ruling may result from the anti-UN bias harbored by
some Americans. At an October 1996 hearing of the Ntakirutimana case, Magistrate Notzon
reportedly said the following: "I question whether we are acting to subordinate U.S. sovereignty
to the United Nations. I am particularly bothered by the potential harm of depriving this man of
his freedom .... Little by little, we are losing the guarantees of those individual freedoms each
time we give up a bit of our freedoms. It makes me, the grandfather of five little girls, worry
about the future" 14. Apparently, Magistrate Notzon fears that America's involvement with the
UN is a dangerous slippery slope leading to the lost of sovereignty.
The magistrate's decision is a serious, but temporary, setback for US efforts to support the
two UN Tribunals. In recent years the US has been pressuring countries, such as Kenya, Croatia
and Serbia, to extradite indictees to the ICTR or the ICTY. Kenya has been critical of the ICTR,
and has extradited some of the fugitives on its soil only grudgingly. Both Croatia and Serbia
argue that their constitutions prevent them from ordering such extraditions. The US has rejected


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Is US Cooperation with the UN Criminal Tribunal For Rwanda Unconstitutional? I 61


this argument, but now Washington finds itself caught in a major contradiction--one that
recalcitrant capitals will point to with glee.
On January 30, 1998, a spokesman for the US State Department read to this writer a
statement expressing the Department's disappointment with the Ntakirutimana decision. He
said the State Department is considering [unspecified] options to fulfill US obligations to the
UN Tribunals.
The US executive can remedy the situation by submitting the Tribunal executive
agreements to the Senate for its advice and consent. Since both houses of Congress have already
signaled their approval of the agreements by enacting implementing legislation, it is highly
probable that the Senate will give its consent.
With respect to the probable cause evidentiary requirement of extradition hearings, State
Department lawyers must work more closely with Tribunal prosecutors to help them better
prepare their affidavits so as to satisfy US magistrates who are unfamiliar with the history, the
widespread violence, and the sad circumstances of Bosnia and Rwanda.

Notes

1. In the Matter of Surrender of Elizaphan Ntakirutimana, U.S. Dist. Ct. Southern Dist. of
TX, Laredo Div., Misc. No. L-96-5 (Dec. 17, 1997).
2. Statute of the International Tribunal for the Prosecution of Persons Responsible for
Serious Violations of International Humanitarian Law Committed in the Territory of the
Former Yugoslavia Since 1991, UN Doc. S/25704, annex (1993); Statute of the
International Tribunal for the Prosecution of Persons Responsible for Genocide and
Other Serious Violations of International Humanitarian Law Committed in the Territory
of Rwanda and Rwandan Citizens Responsible for Genocide and Other Such Violations
Committed in the Territory of Neighbouring States, SC Res. 955 (Nov. 8, 1994), reprinted
in 33 ILM 1602 (1994).
3. National Defense Authorization Act, Pub. L. No. 104-106, 1342, 110 Stat. 486 (1996); for a
discussion of the executive agreements, see Robert Kushen and Kenneth J. Harris,
"Surrender of Fugitives by the United States to the War Crimes Tribunals for Yugoslavia
and Rwanda," American Journal of International Law, v. 90, pp. 510-518 (1996).
4. Article II, Section 2.
5. Henry J. Steiner, et al., Transnational Legal Problems. Westbury, NY: Foundation Press,
1994, p. 561.
6. See, for example, Myres McDougal & Asher Lans, "Treaties and Congressional-
Executive or Presidential Agreements: Interchangeable Instruments of National Policy"
(pts. 1 & 2), Yale Law Journal v. 54, pp. 181-351, 534-615 (1945), and Edwin Borchard,
"Shall the Executive Agreement Replace the Treaty?" Yale Law Journal v. 53, pp. 664-683
(1944); "Treaties and Executive Agreements --A Reply," Yale Law Journal v. 54, pp. 616-
664 (1945).
7. For a series of quotes to this effect, see Detlev F. Vagts, "International Agreements, the
Senate and the Constitution," Columbia Journal of Transnational Law v. 36, pp. 143-155
(1997).


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62 I Magnarella


8. Ibid., p. 153.
9. Robert Kushen and Kenneth J. Harris, "Surrender of Fugitives by the United States to the
War Crimes Tribunals for Yugoslavia and Rwanda," American Journal of International
Law v. 90, pp. 510-518 (1996).
10. For this and subsequent case quotes, see Note 1.
11. Parretti v. United States, 112 F. 3d 1363 (9th Cir., 1997).
12. The practice of listing witnesses by letters (e.g., A, B, C, etc.) rather than by name may be
to protect them from assassination. Over 200 witnesses were murdered in 1996 alone.
See, Zarembo, Taba. "Rwanda's Genocide Witnesses Are Killed As Wheels of Justice
Slowly Begin to Turn," Christian Science Monitor, p. 7, Jan. 23, 1997; Buckley, Stephen.
"Witnesses of Genocide Targeted; Protection Efforts Fail Rwandans Waiting to Testify in
Tribunals," Washington Post, p. A24, Jan. 20, 1997.
13. UN Charter, Articles 39, 41 & 42.
14. McLemore, David. "Rwandan war crimes suspect to remain jailed in Laredo," Dallas
Morning News, p. 25A, Oct. 12, 1996.


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African Studies Quarterly I Volume 1, Issue 4 I 1998


BOOK REVIEWS




The Myth of Continents: a Critique of Metageography. Martin W. Lewis and Karen E. Wigen.
Berkeley: University of California Press. 1997. 359 pp. $55.00 (Cloth), $19.95 (Paper).

Geographic scholarship has recently become much concerned with issues of language and
representation, with the multiple ways that depictions of spaces and places embody biases,
naturalize contingent social relations, and emphasize some political perspectives while
marginalizing others. Readers interested in Eurocentrism, Afrocentrism, Orientalism, post-
colonial thought, and geographic education will find The Myth of Continents a useful volume
that summarizes a great deal of classic and contemporary research. It serves as an important
stepping-stone between frequently obtuse, jargon-laden academic works on the one hand, and
popular views of geography on the other.
Lewis and Wigen's concern is metageography, which they define as "the set of spatial
structures through which people order their knowledge of the world" (p. ix). Geographies are
thus much more than just the ways in which societies are stretched across the earth's surface.
They also include the contested, arbitrary, power-laden, and often inconsistent ways in which
those structures are represented epistemologically.
Lewis and Wigen's critique of metageographies (e.g., First and Third Worlds, North-South,
etc.) reveals how earlier notions of world geography as a neat series of continents tends to
disguise both an implicit environmental determinism and a blindness to the politics of space as
a social construction. For example, the distinction between Europe and Asia has had many uses
throughout history, including different sides of the Aegean Sea, the Catholic and Orthodox
realms, Christendom and the Muslim world. Ostensibly "clear cut" boundaries such as the
Urals, which separate European and Asian Russia, reflect changing political interests,
particularly the desire to naturalize certain distinctions in the name of imperial expansion. Thus
"Europe" as a separate region was largely a construct essential to the emerging hegemony of
European culture and power. Similarly, as Edward Said has so powerfully shown, the Orient
was also a construct of the overheated fantasies of the West. "Asia" has steadily migrated in
Europe's eyes, from northwestern Turkey to the Muslim world, to the East-West divide of the
Cold War, to the Far East of the Pacific Rim, in the process giving rise to terms such as the
Middle East and South Asia as they were spun off from the broader conception of the Orient.
Typically, the farther a region is from Europe, the more internal variations are overlooked, so
that varying cultures within Europe's 'Other' are lumped together under convenient labels (e.g.,
"India," despite its massive linguistic diversity). Associated with these regional labels are
ethnocentric, and often racist, views of the people who live within them. Asians, for example,
were often portrayed as submissive in nature, resigned to life in stagnant and despotic societies



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64 I BOOK REVIEWS


(e.g., Wittfogel's infamous Asiatic Mode of Production), in contrast to Western individualistic
rationality. Even critics of these ideologies (Said included) incorporate simplistic East-West
divisions into their critiques.
Readers of this journal will be most interested in Lewis and Wigen's critique of
Eurocentrism and Afrocentrism. If Eurocentrism has persistently marginalized Africa's role in
intellectual history, Afrocentrism repeats the error in another form. Radical Afrocentrism makes
exaggerated and untenable claims; essentializing Africa's numerous real contributions in the
form of some abstract quality of black people. In both cases, regions (Europe or Africa) appear
to acquire a life of their own, attaining an aura of being "natural," pre-social, and immutable.
Critical geography seeks to denaturalize this tendency, to unpack the political origins and
consequences of regions as discourse. Although Lewis and Wigen resist the label of
postmodernism, their work falls broadly within that perspective. Postmodernists are concerned
with the linguistic construction of social and spatial reality; with the inescapable
oversimplification that language always brings, of a complex and messy world, with the politics
of the choices that underlie every categorization, and with the social consequences, as well as
the origins of, discourse.
Lewis and Wigen cover an extensive body of literature concerned, among other things,
with the use of civilizations as discrete units of analysis, Arnold Toynbee's influential
conception of history, Sinocentrism, Wallerstein's world-systems theory, and the role of culture
in the demarcation of regions as coherent entities. They explore how the formal system of world
regions that pervades geography textbooks today arose after World War II, and provides the
basis for most forms of "area studies" within universities, despite the fact that this scheme
legitimatizes some regions, such as Southeast Asia, which is fundamentally incoherent, and
delegitimizes other regions, such as Central Asia, which has a long history as a trading cross-
roads and as a center of Turko-Mongolian heritage. This discussion prepares the groundwork
for Lewis and Wigen's own regional classification, implicitly assigning priority to religion (e.g.,
the Eastern Orthodox realm) and/or race (e.g., African America, which includes the Caribbean,
although Cuba is only 15% black, and northeastern Brazil). Their format strongly resembles
most existing regionalizations. They conclude the book with ten principles of a critical
metageography.
A strong concern for geographic education and literacy runs throughout the book. Given
the abysmal, embarrassing, and widespread ignorance of world geography among university
students in the U.S., pedagogic representations of the world's peoples and places are an
important matter. Very few students are in a position to interpret regional schemes critically.
The recent revival of interest in geography, particularly in light of the complexities of post-Cold
War ethnically based geopolitics, has made geographic understanding all the more significant.
Readers interested in the politics of space, in questions of representation, and those who
wish to introduce geographic pedagogy to contemporary social theory will find this volume
useful. It would be especially so for instruction at the undergraduate college level as a
supplement to existing texts in world geography. I highly recommend it.

Barney Warf
Florida State University, Department of Geography


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BOOK REVIEWS I 65


Mau Mau from Below. Greet Kershaw. Athens: Ohio University Press. 1997. 354pp.

The historiography of Mau Mau, Kenya's anti-colonial revolt of the 1950s has been totally
revised during the last decade through research and publications by scholars in Africa, Europe,
and the Americas. The common thread in this development has been a movement away from
the earlier colonial generalizations and later nationalist counterfactualizations toward a focus
upon the event itself as it happened on the ground. The discourses have shared a concern with
the social and economic causes of Mau Mau, narrating the experiences of the squatters in the
settler farms in the Rift Valley, the urban workers and the under classes in both Nairobi and
Nakuru, to the thought systems of the Agikuyu themselves as they confronted this massive
change in their values and expectations. Much of the latter input has been greatly influenced by
the long-unpublished thesis by Greet Kershaw. Its publication at long last therefore is most
welcome, particularly for what it says about Mau Mau as experienced in two villages in
southern Kiambu District.
Mau Mau From Below is the agrarian history of two Gikuyu moieties, referred to as clans or
mbari, from the nineteenth century into the mid-1950s when Kershaw first researched in the
areas of mbari ya Igi and mbari ya Thuita. It is about the deep histories of the clans, and how their
shadowy ancestors colonized the land, became devastated by two famines in the 1830s and
again in the 1890s, and how on each occasion they sought to re-work systems of alliances for the
accumulation of wealth in people who came as neighbors, dependents, and landless clients,
ahoi.
By the time of the arrival of the British in late nineteenth century, this was a land and
wealth conscious community with an ethos that linked wealth to virtue, and virtue to a sense of
history that regarded land and goat ownership as a trust for future generations. Then in 1902-3
there arrived a muthungu (a white man). "He was like a Ndorobo, only better because he had
guns to protect the goats" (p. 84). Soon enough he began fencing the good uplands and
forbidding Gikuyu entry, cultivation, or grazing rights. The elders reported this trespass to the
European administrator, John Ainsworth, who sided however with his kinsman. "The gist of the
interview was that the thirikari (government) backed the European; the Kikuyu should
understand that conditions had changed" (p. 86). The local community lost between thirty and
seventy per cent of its best lands. The story of Gikuyu land hunger had begun. Groups of
Gikuyu moved to found new communities in the Rift Valley.
Those that remained behind had to rework new property relations. The rich landowners
tightened their hold on the land, gradually shedding off their gift-giving obligations (tha) in
terms of access to land to their kin. The middle-class and poor peasants kept hoping for redress,
especially when the British sent out the Carter Land Commission to look into the land
grievances. The commission's report satisfied no one and "a sense of anger and urgency" filled
the land (p. 104). The large landowners, who were also colonial chiefs like Magugu Waweru
and Waruhiu wa Kungu, continued buying more land. The poor landholders found it
increasingly impossible to subsist off the land while the males found it increasingly difficult to
find jobs in Nairobi during the 1940s because of their lack of skills. Poor women coped with the
triple burdens by working their patches of land, working for wages in the neighboring settler
coffee plantations, and raising their families on little or no money. Poor men lost their positions


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as heads of households. The poor invested much hope in education for their children (but
school fees were hard to find for the women), and in the expectation that they would be allowed
to grow coffee. They thought they would make money out of this and invest it more wisely than
the Europeans who "ate what they earned and did not buy land" (p. 167). The lot of the ahoi
became hopeless as they no longer had access to landowning patrons, could not find regular
jobs for lack of skills, nor educate their children. The preconditions for Mau Mau were in place
by the late 1940s. The Agikuyu began taking a variety of oaths in the Rift Valley, in Nairobi, and
at Githunguri, Kershaw's research area.
Enter Jomo Kenyatta. After fifteen years abroad he had come back to a hero's welcome and
settled in Githunguri as the head of the Teacher's College. His greatest welcome came from the
young landless and poor. "He had been described as the man who could bring deliverance, the
embodiment of new Kikuyu power" (p. 216). He settled down to being a Gikuyu elder by
buying land and marrying well to a daughter of Senior Chief Mbiyu Koinange, by advocating
the right of the Agikuyu to freedom and independence from British oppression, and to
administering oaths of unity towards this end in Githunguri. "(H)e was familiar: he attended
some oaths of heavy contributors" (p. 234). The colonial Governor declared a state of emergency
and arrested Kenyatta on 20 October 1952.
Here is Kershaw's writing at its best:
"After months of anxiety and at times horror, after having suffered curfews, suspicions and
being accused of crimes because they took oaths, land poor, landless and many landed
exploded into joy (my emphasis)...Kenyatta's arrest, charged with being the leader of Mau Mau,
changed fear and anger into hope. The landed had not given him a great deal of credit for
leadership; they had seen him more and more as someone trying to become a landed Kiambu
elder. Land poor and landless had seen this growth and sadly concluded that he had little to
share now and offered even less for the future. No one doubted that he was in favor of
resistance and his brand of Mau Mau, but the overwhelming opinion had been that he was not
in control of Githunguri, nor of other Mau Mau. If in spite of what they had thought, he had
secretly been in control, outwitting them and the colonial government for years, then he was
far more astute than they had given him credit for. The time of secrecy was over; Kenyatta
might be arrested, but freedom had never been so close. Those who had, against Kenyatta's will,
offered their multiple oaths, should cease to do so and acknowledge him. All people should
send Kenyatta a sign that they had understood and would follow: the time for umoja (unity) was
now"(p. 248).
Much has been written on the myth of Jomo Kenyatta. This was its local grounding in
Githunguri. "The government's arrest of Kenyatta, its declaration that he was the leader,
renewed their hope and trust and they flocked to the oath-taking ceremonies" (p. 250). A
calculated 57.7% of the people took the oath.
The British moved to curb this development by screening suspects and forcing them to take
a cleansing oath, a strange instance of colonialism gone native. Concocted by the anthropologist
Louis Leakey and rich landowners, including Chiefs Waruhiu and Kibathi, Harry Thuku and
Mbira Githathu, the Agikuyu were to swear upon the githathi (sacred stones) for a reversal of
the Mau Mau oath. In the instance, chiefs and Home-guards picked on some suspects and
forced them to take this hybrid oath. In revenge, these elements organized an attack, resulting


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in the Marige massacre of 5 April 1953. Kin turned against kin. "The Mbari has killed itself," an
elder lamented (p. 257).
Marige effectively marked the end of Mau Mau in mbari ya Igi and mbari ya Thuita. The
people were villagized, the Mau Mau were defeated, and by 1957 some of the detainees
returned. By the time of Kershaw's research, there was hope that Kenyatta would return, get
power and freedom under Kiambu leadership, and give land and hope to the poor. "All agreed
that Mau Mau should become a closed chapter of history for the sake of the future and for
peace... Though harder for some communities than for others, words such as Mau Mau
member, Home-guard, or loyalist were to be erased from one's vocabulary" (p. 257). Collective
amnesia would undo half a century of the deep cleavages of the clan. The Agikuyu were right
about Kenyatta.
This is a powerful book, full of passion and meaning. It will make compelling reading for
college students and faculty alike. The lack of maps is a drawback, as much of the narrative
turns on the specifics of geographical scale.

E. S. Atieno Odhiambo
Rice University, Department of History




Bureaucracy and Race, Native Administration in South Africa. Ivan Evans. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1997. 403 pp.

Before apartheid was declared officially dead, people used to puzzle over two big
questions. One was whether the 1948 electoral victory of the National Party really represented a
'parting of the ways' from the preceding segregationist years. Another was how had the
apartheid state managed to contain the resistance of the vast majority of the population. Ivan
Evans' book answers both questions for the period extending roughly from the late thirties to
the early sixties, focusing mainly on the 1940s and 1950s. In the 1940s the Department of Native
Affairs [DNA] had been a "vacillating liberal outpost" staffed with paternalists, and after the
1948 election it gradually became an "arrogant apartheid fortress". The later, infamous phase
flowed fairly smoothly, Evans argues, from the former, more benign one.
Evans shows the DNA, the bureaucracy responsible for African administration, enforcing
obedience by many means other than force. Choosing three foci of the administrative process-
labor bureaux, planned urban locations, Bantustans-Evans demonstrates how the DNA
normalized coercion and conditioned African compliance. He reveals the philosophical and
practical disjuncture between rural and urban administration, the former retaining its
paternalistic bias while in the 1950s the latter became the galvanizer of apartheid. He sharpens
our awareness of the fact that authoritarian regimes do not work by force and terror alone. The
1950s were particularly marked by the growth of the mundane workings of the newly
centralized and authoritarian state administration. (This decade stands in contrast to the periods
from 1960 to 1976, when repressive forces like labor control boards and internal security


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apparatus ruled, and from 1978 to 1989 when repression was mixed with reform.) Apartheid
worked initially because it was dispersed into the routine details of daily life.
No one should be surprised that a book with "bureaucracy" in the title reflects the language
and tone of people who work in offices. Abstractions (such as "the African elite") abound, voices
are often passive, and the impact of policies on people's lives is muted by bland words.
Individual profiles rarely intrude to enliven matters. These barriers to a lively read could be
said to go with the territory. From an analytical point of view, the sources may limit the book's
revelations in a couple of ways. First, the immiseration of African rural life is stated in a blanket
fashion as having been true for the entirety of the inter-war years rather than acknowledged to
have been temporally, geographically, and personally variable. The focus on the Transkei,
accompanied by references to indirect rule in Natal, effectively excludes discussion of rural
administration in other African reserves. Secondly, the "curious" blindness of magistrates to the
complexities of rural life is asserted rather than probed. Administrative ideology goes only so
far in explaining this myopia; we need also broader some exploration of contemporary ideology
which would include racism and scientism.
Evans' work joins several recent studies of South African administration, all drawing a far
more complex picture of racial oppression than the simple paradigms of domination and
resistance that flourished in the 1970s and 1980s. He sees little support for radical theories, put
forward by Harold Wolpe, Frederick Johnstone and Marion Lacey, that posit a state obediently
and efficiently serving the needs of capital. His approach provides an effective sequel to Saul
Dubow's study of the DNA during its segregationist years (1919-1936). Like Deborah Posel,
Evans rejects the view that the state is an undifferentiated "black box", preferring to accept that
administrators have their own interests and power. He suggests, however, that she has
underplayed the National Party constituency's "zealous predilection for grand plans" and
overplayed the ad hoc development of apartheid policies. (While Posel's work focused more
narrowly on labor bureaux, her title-The Making of Apartheid-fits Evans' book perfectly). Like
Adam Ashforth, he is fascinated by the logic of administrators. Unlike Ashforth, who used
seminal government reports to analyse the "politics of official discourse", Evans employed
Native Affairs Department files, perforce up to the mid-1950s, to reconstruct the process of
administration and not just its rationale.
The fact that a few top-down studies of apartheid's actual operation have appeared for the
first time in the 1990s is a sign of how intently scholars used their profession to attack the
regime's legitimacy during the apartheid years. (It is also a sign of archival restrictions, hence
Evans' inability to extend his use of the DNA files past the mid-1950s.) Until recently, this topic
might have been misunderstood to be an apologia. Now that apartheid is officially over and
scholarly enquiry has become more free of pressures to be politically relevant, Evans has
provided specialists with an excellent resource. His book will allow them to check readily which
apartheid credos were actually enacted and why. It will help them gain a view of the making of
apartheid policy that is truly "dynamic", a word much favored by Evans. He discusses, for
example, how policy-makers responded to African nationalism and conservatism and in turn
influenced their development. His clearly written book embraces an important sweep of time,
issues and context rather than focusing narrowly on partial problems as so many monographs
do. He takes into account the better part of three decades and situates problems within the


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context of British imperial policy, the local political economy based on cheap labor, and even
Nazi bureaucracy. Evans closes his book with the provocative suggestion that today's state
cadres might learn from Minister of Native Affairs Verwoerd's ability to get things done in the
1950s, if they can force themselves to search beyond the regime's racist authoritarianism.

Diana Wylie
Boston University, Department of History




Confronting Leviathan: Mozambique Since Independence. By Margaret Hall and Tom
Young. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1997. 252 pp.

Margaret Hall and Tom Young have collaborated on a book that focuses on the past two
decades of politics in Mozambique. A brief introductory chapter sets the stage at the end of
Portuguese colonialism, with some limited information on the liberation struggle. The book
then addresses the immediate post-independence period in a chapter titled "Anything Seemed
Possible," which discusses the development of Frelimo's Marxism, development strategies, the
rise of Renamo, and the increasing problems in the economy and political organization. Final
chapters cover the nature of the war with Renamo, important political changes in the early
1990s, the peace talks, and, briefly, the elections in 1994. Much of the evidence presented is
drawn from official statements and speeches as well as newspaper reports. Although Young, at
least, was in Mozambique in the 1990s (he was present at a speech by President Joaquim
Chissano in 1992 and was a United Nations observer at the 1994 elections), the book does not
include much evidence of data collection or interviews conducted in Mozambique, or with
Mozambicans.
Reliance on secondary sources means that the more original discussion in the book is at the
level of political theory, and the more flawed areas are those that deal more directly with
Mozambican society. Among the interesting insights are an analysis of Frelimo's Marxism,
which the authors demonstrate was abstract, rather than grounded in Mozambican reality.
Throughout they are at pains to explain how Mozambican politics was built on ideas from
outside Mozambique: first on socialist and Marxist models, and more recently on Western
liberal democratic capitalism. Although much of their evidence suggests that Mozambique has
been a weak state that has suffered the imposition of the politics of others, they conclude that
"In the case of both Constitutions [1975 and 1990] Mozambicans, or at least their leaders, had a
considerable say in the matter and in some sense opted first for a version of socialism and
latterly for a version of liberalism" (p. 219).
One useful task Hall and Young undertake is textual analysis of their sources. For instance,
part of the explication of Frelimo's Marxism includes an examination of Samora Machel's
speeches and his reliance on images and ideas about cleanliness and order as essential elements
of his political vision, perhaps not surprising given his training as a nurse. The authors call for a
detailed study of Machel's speeches, but they have made an important beginning in this book


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(p. 66). Later they look closely at the language in the two constitutions as embodying Marxist
and then liberal tenets (p. 218).
Despite the value of isolated sections of their political analysis, there are major flaws in this
book, which unfortunately appears to have been rushed through production in order to be
timely. There are numerous typographical errors, some more serious than others. For example,
Nachingwea is placed "inside Mozambique" rather than correctly in Tanzania (p.13), leading to
some confusion when discussing Frelimo activities in the following pages. Frelimo leader
Armando Guebuza's name is misspelled in two different ways. "Machambas" is translated as
"plantations," when it is most commonly used for small farms or fields, a very different type of
agriculture than plantations (p. 20). The authors appear unwilling to credit Frelimo with any
improvements, and this is in part because they essentially ignore the experience of Portuguese
colonialism. It is easy to criticize Frelimo in hindsight, but in the immediate post-independence
period the frame of reference was the contrast with fascist colonialism. People I spoke with in
the early 1980s often commented on certain freedoms -- for instance to speak to co-workers at
their workplace -- that had not existed less than a decade earlier. The other factor related to the
colonial experience is the persistence of the Portuguese bureaucracy. Although some difficulties
in implementing development strategies were related to centralized Soviet-style bureaucracy,
many of the specific snarls were directly inherited from the colonial system, such as requiring
specific documents, special paper, signatures, and fiscal and rubber stamps for every step of any
official undertaking. Hall and Young simply ignore this aspect of Mozambique's colonial
legacy, making it appear that all problems were related to the model of a centralized socialist
economy.
The analysis is also flawed by the authors' confusion over the goals of Renamo and South
Africa in Mozambique. They apparently dismiss the idea that Renamo's main goal was the
destruction of Mozambique when they comment that "[T]his account of Renamo as a violent
apolitical movement whose only rationale must be that it operated on behalf of some
malevolent outside interests was assiduously cultivated by the Mozambican government and its
academic and journalistic publicists with considerable skill and success" (p. 165). Elsewhere
they call these other scholars "pro-Frelimo spokesmen" (p. 124), implying that these writers
were so biased in favor of Frelimo's politics that they could not report reliably on what was
happening. Yet their own evidence demonstrates the terrible extent of Renamo's violence and
destructiveness. The diaries found in 1985 detail a meeting between South African and Renamo
leaders to develop a "General Plan" which included as goal number one: "Destroy the
Mozambican economy in the rural zones" (p.129-130). The authors also comment that "extreme
brutality appears to have played a part in Renamo's rapid spread throughout Mozambique after
1980" with the twin goals of attacking the Frelimo state and paralyzing the population through
fear. Attacking the state included the "destruction of the economic infrastructure" (p. 168). Thus
the academics and journalists who worked to bring the facts of this devastation to world
attention were reporting on actual events, not working as "publicists" at the behest of the
Mozambican state.
Hall and Young may exhibit their own bias in the curious omission of any mention of the
assassination of Ruth First in 1982. Likewise, the treatment of the 1986 plane crash that killed
Samora Machel and many others is overly concise. Many in Mozambique and elsewhere still


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hold South Africa responsible, while these authors simply state in a footnote that "The issues
were highly technical, and opinion was split between those who blamed the crash on pilot error
and those who suggested that the plane had been diverted by some sort of decoy beam" (p. 195).
These two deaths convinced many observers of the hostility South Africa had toward
Mozambique; it was this hostility that allowed such attacks to continue throughout the 1980s.
Editorial decisions to omit or reduce factual information about South African apartheid
terrorism results in a skewed retelling of that dreadful decade in Mozambique.
A major problem of omission is the nearly complete absence of gender analysis or any
information on women. This is particularly glaring in the discussion of Renamo's development,
where life in Renamo camps is described as having the "attractions of excitement and access to
luxury items and women," with absolutely no reference to the fact that the women themselves
were captured, raped, and forced to submit to sexual abuse in those camps (p. 170). This error is
compounded a few pages later by a reference to the "wives of soldiers" being kept imprisoned
at the camps (p. 176). It is simply not acceptable any longer to write a male-centered description
of events that had such a devastating impact on women. An earlier discussion, otherwise useful,
on the dissension over ideas about tradition and modernity in Frelimo politics, would have
made more sense if it had included polygyny, bridewealth, and forced marriages among the
traditional practices that Frelimo advocated ending. The traditional customs involving women
were among the most contentious of those censured by Frelimo and the Women's Organization
(OMM), and the analysis is extraordinarily incomplete when they are not included in the
discussion.
An intriguing part of the book discusses the role of local religions and spirit leaders in
Renamo and their links with Zimbabwean practices. Yet this is also flawed by the lack of any
mention of the potential role of women as diviners, even when one is mentioned by title
(Nyamasoro) (p. 182). The Nyamasoro has been long recognized as a spiritual leader in
southern Mozambique, and has frequently been a position held by women. Dora Earthy, in her
book Valenge Women defines Nyamusoro as "priestess" (Earthy, p.182 [London, 1933]; see also
Luis Polanah's research from the 1960s, 0 h.ii.imss.ii.i., [Lisbon, 1987]). The discussion of spirit
leaders is also impaired by the lack of information on Naparama, which is mentioned only in
passing many pages later in a different context. Any discussion of the role of local beliefs about
diviners and occult religious elements during the war in Mozambique must include the rise of
Naparama and its connection to Frelimo (p. 209).
My own experience in Mozambique includes living in Beira for two years (1982-84), years
described several times in this book as the most difficult of the entire post-independence period.
I returned briefly in 1989, and was also a UN observer at the 1994 elections (and I would agree
with Tom Young's aside that "the opportunity to observe the UN [was] at least as valuable as
the opportunity to observe the elections" [p. 231]). This relates to yet another omission: there is
no analysis of the election results included here. In fact, with the exception of a vague footnote
about Uniaio Democratica's unexpectedly good showing, there are no election results at all,
usually considered a foundation of political analysis.
While Hall and Young have some scattered information and analysis that furthers our
understanding of recent political events in Mozambique, the flaws are many and deep. Use this
book in conjunction with other publications, such as William Minter's Apartheid's Contras: An


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Inquiry into the Roots of War in Angola and Mozambique (London, 1994) and Stephanie Urdang's
And Still They Dance: Women, War, and the Struggle for Change in Mozambique (New York, 1989),
neither of which is cited nor even listed in the bibliography in the book under review.

Kathleen Sheldon
UCLA, Center for the Study of Women


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