Friday, April 18, 2008

Politics and Language in Africa's Postcolonial Experience

The writings of Ali A Mazrui and Alamin M Mazrui on language and Africa in The Power of Babel: Language and Governance in the African Experience, and in several other publications have provoked me to think deeply about the legacy of language policy in Africa. The thoughts that I outline below come from my engagement with the ideas set forth by these and other scholars.

The development of language and politics in postcolonial Africa has taken divergent paths in different African states. In some cases specific language groups have expanded, while others have shrunk or even vanished. This could be attributed to improved communication in the geographical and linguistic senses, colonial and post-colonial language policies, the work of language promoters (including missionaries, ministers of education and broadcasting and, to some extent, teachers and linguists).

In sub-Saharan Africa , official state languages (in which all official business, including the running of the government and national education, is carried out) have tended to be of European origin. To be more specific, these languages have often been the languages of the colonial powers that once administered these African states. In these cases, while the official language is English, Portuguese, French, German or Spanish, the fact of the matter is that only a tiny elite section of the populations of these countries can use these languages.

Sometimes, the official language of an African country is also its language of national unity. An example is Uganda where the official language of government business in English, and the national language, which is supposed to unite all different linguistic and ethnic groups is also English. In a nation such as Kenya , English is the official language, and Kiswahili, the national language, is spoken by a larger proportion of the population
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The immediate consequences of having languages of European origin in modern African states are many. For one, foreign policy formulation is usually in the hands of a Western language-speaking elite, which accords disproportionate importance to these languages. Secondly, as the Western languages are keys to major sources of information relevant to foreign policy, policymakers fluent in, say, Portuguese, are more likely to learn about the Lusophone world, and therefore, to promote commercial and political interactions with these regions, as opposed to Francophone or Anglophone regions. Furthermore, these languages are important in orienting the formation of the future elite, so that Kenyans and Nigerians, regardless of their religions, would be more likely to seek admission into British and American universities than into French and Portuguese universities.

On a more local level, the use of European languages in these sub-Saharan states has had the effect of restricting political participation to those who have good command of these languages. In several of these states, the parliamentary language of debate, the language in which the national constitution is written, and the language in which legal procedures are carried out is the ex-colonial language.

It so happens that men within these states are more likely to speak these languages than are their female counterparts. This is attributable to the greater number of educational opportunities available to males. This implies that any attempts to increase female participation in politics would require either a review of the language policy (where politics and parliament are concerned), or a longer-term campaign to make it easier for women to learn the ex-colonial European languages. Looking at the wider picture it becomes clear that not only women, but also the larger populations of these states have been alienated from the law and from political participation by the use of Western languages in judicial and legislative processes. This has deepened the remoteness of the constitution from the citizenry, and may have contributed to the perceived irrelevance of the constitution in most African states, thus slowing down the development of a constitutional culture in most African countries. In addition, it has denied the majority their democratic rights in their democratic right of participation in the formulation of laws.

In Tanzania , the Swahilinization of the legislative process has resulted in greater democratization. There is wider citizen participation in Parliament and it is easier to mobilize more people into the country’s law-making processes, which has, in turn, helped enrich Kiswahili’s legal and constitutional vocabulary.

Of course, there are exceptional cases: within sub-Saharan Africa there are states where the ex-colonial European languages are not the sole languages of national import, or where they simply do not factor into official government business. In Kenya , the use of both Kiswahili and English for parliamentary debate increases the chances for political participation of a wider segment of the population. Interestingly, it was a dictatorial intervention by President Jomo Kenyatta’s in 1974 that introduced Kiswahili into the national assembly. However, the legislation continues to come before parliament in English, thus resuscitating the original problem of linguistic exclusion.

In Somalia , at the time of independence in 1960, Arabic, English and Italian were all adopted as official languages. It was only in 1972 that a military decree of President Mohamed Siad Barre replaced these foreign languages with the official language of Somali (which was more fitting as it was spoken by practically all Somali nationals).

In Tanzania , the unchallenged rule and authority of Julius Nyerere and his CCM (Revolutionary Party) ensured the success of Tanzania’s Swahilinization policy. Across the border, in Uganda, it took a military dictator, Idi Amin Dada, to declare Kiswahili a national language in 1972. These instances all imply that the survival of language policies in favor of African languages could be linked to the survival of autocratic regimes. In other words, the most successful experiments in language planning in Africa might not have been possible without semi-autocratic governments. That is troubling.

It could be argued that there is a link between the use of European languages in African states and continuing white domination over blacks. However, at the same time, one cannot ignore the very real unifying effect of the use of European languages in modern African states, where national identities only appear to transcend ethnic ones. In these states, communalist languages such as Hausa, Luo, Kikuyu and Luganda are directly associated with tribal identity. Thus, in Uganda , any suggestions to use Luganda as a national language would imply the cultural hegemony of an already powerful ethnic group within the state. Other communities would resent such apparent privileging of the culture, traditions and values of the Baganda over their own, and this could very easily lead to the fracturing of the state. In Nigeria , there was similar resentment towards the adoption of Hausa as the national language. These two cases demonstrate that English has a quality that makes it especially suited for use as a language of national unity in some contexts: its ecumenical nature. As an ecumenical language, English is extra-communalist and transcends boundaries of ethnic and racial classification within both Uganda and Nigeria.

In Ethiopia, where Amharic is the national and official language, and in Eritrea, where Tigirinya has the same roles, there is a long history of a consolidated empire, the existence of a national identity, an orthography for the language in question, and a widespread Christian religious identity. All these existed long before the creation of the modern state in Africa , and they have ensured the carrying over of these languages into the running of these respective states.

Further north, in Arabophone Africa, are the Maghrebian countries, and Libya and Egypt . In the Maghreb , the post-colonial governments have adopted language policies aimed at gradually phasing out French and replacing it with Arabic. French colonial policy, especially in Algeria , was especially damaging towards the concept of an Algerian Muslim identity: the French adopted a divide and rule policy by which they tried to reinforce the differences between Berberophone and Arabophone populations. Thus, the postcolonial Algerian government has been especially intolerant of cultural identities other than the Arab Muslim one that they adopted for their nation.

These nations are somewhat reliant on the use of French in their educational and political systems, and because this dependence could not be eliminated upon independence, the drastic Arabization programs adopted in Algeria have sometimes done more harm than good. In Morocco and Tunisia , where the Arabization programs have been less extreme, the importance of French is recognized. In both states, Arabic is the national language, and French is the language of business.

In Egypt , the supremacy of Arabic has been challenged far less strongly. Egypt has actually provided the Arabic language teachers for the Maghrebian Arabization programs. This is partly due to British colonization and the longer and more intense pre-colonial Arabization of the Egyptian population in comparison to the Maghrebian ones. In addition, Egypt, where the al-Azhar University is located, is an important religious center in the Muslim world.

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This essay is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License. Please feel free to use my writing for non-commercial purposes and do credit my name Rose Kahendi as the writer.

Monday, April 7, 2008

Why lie?

Human nature has always been a mystery to me. I don’t understand why, for instance, some people feel the need to lie about their beliefs and to misrepresent themselves to the world even when they have nothing to lose by telling the truth. Little white lies are a different story. If, for instance, a teenage boy boasts about non-existent sexual exploits to avoid losing face in front of his peers, then his motivation is easy to identify. What about the pathological liar who constantly weaves a web of lies, pulling in all his loved ones and friends? When it becomes apparent that even he does not know where the truth ends and the lies begin, what is one to make of it? Should one judge him harshly or feel sorry for him?

I sometimes find myself wondering whether the truth is an illusion. Sometimes we cling tightly to certain beliefs about what we are and what matters to us, only for the whole pack of cards to come crashing down after a single traumatic event. Take, for example, the person who starts out with a dream of attending medical school and becoming a doctor. If that dream is held close to his heart, then his heart may break when he is not able to gain admission into medical school. Most people are able to accept such disappointments with time. They find a new dream to replace the old one, develop new insights about themselves and become new people. The process is certainly not painless, but given that a transformation has occurred, is it justifiable to say that such people were living an illusion beforehand? If the truth can vary at different stages in one’s life, then can one really speak of the truth or should one talk about appearances and illusions instead? Why then, should I be judgmental about someone who makes a habit of mixing truth and falsehood?

I have in mind the story of a young man who was determined to become a physician, but wasn’t able to get into medical school. Rather than trying again, or accepting the disappointment, he acted as if he had actually got a place in a prestigious medical school and pretended for five years that he was a medical student. His parents were unaware of this lie, as were his wife and children. As can be expected, as time went by, the lie became more elaborate. Ultimately, he was unable to keep it up. When his secret was about to be discovered, he took his life. I still don’t understand why acknowledging the truth in public was unacceptable to him. Quite clearly, he knew the difference between his truths and his falsehoods- he was aware that he there were consequences tied to his falsehoods.

Another young man pursued a relationship with his girlfriend for years, and they eventually got engaged. One month before their wedding day, he vanished without an explanation. It eventually turned out that he had no intention of marrying the woman, and in fact, was engaged to three other women the whole time. Time would reveal that the woman had always felt shortchanged and sensed that he didn’t love her, but had remained in the relationship because she was scared of the alternative. It would also turn out that the man had played along because he enjoyed the sense of power that the game gave him. Both were obviously aware of the lie, but held on to it for whatever reason.

After pondering these different tales, I’m still at a loss. Why do people hold tightly onto the false comfort of illusions? How can you enjoy an experience that you know is not real? How can you bask in praise that you know is not deserved? Isn’t it actually easier, in the long run, to be true to oneself and to be ordinary than it is to rise to the heavens and then come crashing to the earth without ceremony?

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Why Do We Believe Conspiracy Theories?

I’ve been following the controversy surrounding Barrack Obama’s pastor, Reverend Wright with amazement. Mind you, I am not amazed at the words that Wright spoke, but at the fact that those words stirred up the amount of disbelief they did. I’ve lived in the USA a short time, but long enough to understand that conspiracy theories are the bread and butter of the average human being. Is it really surprising that several believe that HIV was designed in a laboratory and African peoples deliberately infected with it? Is it surprising that people believe the federal government was involved in facilitating the influx of drugs into inner city communities a few decades ago? It shouldn’t be surprising at all, folks. We’re living in the age of paranoia, and given the events of the past 500 years, understandably so.

Just take a look at the annals of recent human history and you will see a legacy of brutality and sadism that will wrench your insides. Governments have been known to turn a blind eye as atrocities are committed. Not surprisingly, governments have also been implicated in sponsoring assassinations and forms of experimentation on civilians. Think of the Holocaust and of the racist experiments carried out by the likes of Dr Mengele. African Americans certainly can’t afford to forget the Tuskegee experiment. And who knows what happened in South Africa under the apartheid era. The indigenous societies of the Americas and Australia also have sad stories to tell.

Unfortunately, we readers of history have short memories. We forget how much power we cede to religious leaders, scientists, bureaucrats and politicians to make decisions about our everyday lives, and then we are shocked when one or more of these people is able to use that power to cause irreparable damage. Victims don’t forget, though. Perhaps it is the memories of the victims that makes us uncomfortable and makes us want to turn the page when confronted with uncomfortable truths from our past and present. And yet, even when we willfully forget, there is something in us that maintains a fearful fascination with what we call evil. If you don’t believe me, pay close attention to religious and political discourse, to the types of books that top the best seller lists, and to the most popular programming on television. You will start to suspect that the American public, and humanity at large, is obsessed with the idea of dark, powerful, underground forces controlling the world.

Frequently, conspiracy theories are dismissed in the media as ludicrous or absurd. Very few take the time to examine the relevant question: why do people believe in them? It’s not necessary to share a person’s beliefs in order to understand where those beliefs are coming from. So why, when faced with these theories, does the mainstream media tend to shut down any attempt to examine them or discuss them? Why do reporters and anchors spend more energy being offended that people can believe such theories, than investigating the theories and the people who subscribe to them?

I suspect that conspiracy theories have such a strong hold on people because, first of all, there’s a certain amount of truth in them. For instance, the idea of a government designing viruses for specific population groups is not a far remove from the following facts: that some nations are acknowledged to possess biological weapons, that the Tuskegee experiment on African American men was allowed to proceed, unhindered. When these facts are brought together in an environment where racial injustice, prejudice and suspicion prevail, then a conspiracy theory is inevitable.

Secondly, conspiracy theories manage to tie up all the loose ends and to explain the mysteries that the official narrative leaves unaddressed. Official theories explaining the origins of HIV/ AIDS and its epidemiology are often self-contradictory and convoluted while the conspiracy theory gives a clear-cut black and white explanation; no ambiguous grays are allowed to linger. The result is that people are more attracted to the version with a clear beginning, middle and end and where the good guy and the bad guy are easily distinguished from each other.

Thirdly, conspiracy theories tend to fit in with the predominant Judeo-Islamic religious narrative in the community. If the community is Muslim, Christian or Jewish, then it is predisposed to believing in scenarios that end in catastrophe (the apocalypse, the end of the world, the decimation of the entire community by disease) and involve a battle between good and evil.

Conspiracy theories should not be dismissed, however ludicrous they may sound. If people believe strongly in a conspiracy theory, then it is probably because they are living in fear and believe they have no power over their own destiny. These feelings are understandable among people living in extreme poverty, people battling an epidemic that has crippled their entire society or people who have been victimized time and again and continue to be victimized. Journalists are uniquely placed to identify the fears that predispose people to believing conspiracy theories. By examining those fears and asking questions about them, they could expose gross inequalities in society, thus provoking people to address those inequalities.

Admittedly, that is an idealistic scenario. Media exposés don’t always lead to corrective actions being taken. However, I would like to believe that talking about our fears as a community could help us gain some kind of agency and make it possible for us to dream of surmounting the Kilimanjaros in our lives.

This essay is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License. Please feel free to use my writing for non-commercial purposes and do credit my name, Rose Kahendi, as the writer.

Friday, March 21, 2008

A Long Night's Journey

“Long Night’s Journey into Day” is an optimistic name for this documentary that describes South Africa’s unique situation in coming to terms with the consequences of Apartheid, through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). Throughout the film, I was struck by the strong emotions exhibited by the different sides. It managed to give me a slight peek into the complexities involved in day-to-day existence in present day South Africa. To me, the most striking aspect of the film was that it managed to convey a feeling of hope, even when it seemed that there was no room for any.

The cases profiled in the documentary were, for the most part, similar in one aspect: the racial demarcation between aggressor and victim. I think it is easy to draw lines and assign roles such as “good” or “evil” when differences between groups are clearly visible. That is, after all, human nature. Thus, with the concept of a non-white majority being oppressed by a white minority in the back of my mind, I pretty much expected that the same pattern would be revealed in the cases presented before the TRC.

Even when the violence was reversed, with the non-whites being aggressors against whites, it still fitted in with the simple idea that it was a war between races. It is for this reason that the involvement of Thapelo Mbelo, a black South African, in the deaths of fellow blacks, the Guguletu seven, stood out.Thapelo’s case was significant to me because it served as a reminder that the processes that South Africa had gone through had fractured the nation along several lines. The complexity of the situation was disheartening.

I found myself wondering what hope there was for this nation in which even the lines between foe and friend were not clear-cut. Was the long night’s journey really ending, and were the South African people emerging into the daylight? That was and still is a hard question to answer.
It was sad and somewhat ironic that Thapelo was the most unambiguous individual about the crimes that he committed. It seemed to me almost as if he was describing someone else committing the acts. At no point did he try to claim innocence or to hide behind false justifications. I have to wonder what it is like to be Thapelo, to know full well that the people you are killing could easily be your own family, and to have to deal with that reminder everyday. It obviously was not easy. As he admitted, when his conscience started acting up, he would drink to forget.

I hate to be pessimistic, but when I think about South Africa’s present situation, I see generations marked by a policy of hate. I do believe that with time, the society will return to what we tend to perceive as normal. In the meantime, however, thousands or more continue to live with burdens on their consciences, and others feel that their actions were justified.

Is it possible to un-train a person trained to hate to save his life? Is it possible to destroy all the institutions (including religions) that perpetuated this system of hate? All human society is struggling with this question in one way or another. In that way, South Africa is not unique. The long night’s journey is still continuing. In that vein, the mothers of Thapelo’s victims were able to find it in their hearts to forgive and to embrace him. That is the primary indicator that there is hope. It is true that South Africa saw humans pushed to the extremes of hate. On the other hand, the other extreme, love and forgiveness was just as important a part of the picture. It is this complexity that we should keep in mind always: the fact that human nature and life are colored by both ends of the spectrum.

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Friday, February 1, 2008

Guelwaar

I recently watched the Senegalese film, "Guelwaar" for a second time. It seems almost strange that the one character who caught my attention was the one most conspicuous by his absence. I am referring to Pierre Thioune, the deceased outspoken Guelwaar. Although he was dead, the memories of the other characters painted an interesting picture of him.

Thioune’s personality captured my attention mainly because it seemed to be so full of contrasts. The first impression that I got of him was that of a devout Catholic who led his community by example. Not only did he allow the Catholic women’s group to meet in his house, but he apparently also requested that his funeral service be held in Latin. Significantly, he had also performed a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

Afterwards hints of his extremely human nature began to creep in. In his youth, he would disguise himself as an old woman in order to pursue an affair with the wife of the village's religious leader . Furthermore, unlike his wife, he had no qualms over accepting monetary support from his daughter who was working as a prostitute in Dakar.

The effect of these seemingly incompatible qualities made Thioune a three-dimensional character in my eyes. Importantly, they provided a hint of his strong will and of a moral code, admittedly of his own, that he adhered to. All of these qualities came together in his political ideals which eventually brought him significant influence and respect. These political ideals are, admittedly, the feature that clinched my admiration for Thioune.

One scene stands out in my mind as epitomizing my view of Thioune. It was set at the height of the famine period. The people were unable to support themselves, hence were receiving food aid from foreign groups through the government. A ceremony was organized for the symbolic handing over of the aid, and several dignitaries, both local and diplomatic, had been invited. Thioune was one of the individuals invited to make a speech. However, his speech stirred up a lot of controversy among the different groups present. They had expected him to express gratitude to the donors. Instead he had lambasted them, bitterly accusing them of degrading the people and killing their dignity by reducing them to beggars.

Thioune’s words were extremely strong. They were critical in that they upset the status quo. His words gave some of the aid-recipients food for thought. However, they also marked him as an enemy of the established system. By speaking out on that day, he exposed his belief in the significance of human dignity. Thioune was not a stupid man. He must have known that his words would have consequences. However, his pride and his moral code made the dignity of his people his agenda.

I believe Sembene was using Thioune as his mouthpiece and that Thioune’s speech in this specific scene was the main message. Because I was particularly struck by this message, it is only natural that a specific part of it found resonance with me. Guelwaar summed this part up in a few words, saying that famine, drought and poverty resulted from a country saying one thing from generation to generation: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you… (with arm outstretched as if begging).

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This essay is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License. Please feel free to use my writing for non-commercial purposes and do credit my name Rose Kahendi as the writer.

That Is Life.

Sometimes, you experience a difficult season of life. And then you encounter someone who's going through something much worse than anyth...