tions of their countries, while those who could be expected to solve problems in a disinterested manner, without thinking of how to benefit personally from state policy, are barred from holding positions in government. I asked: “Is it any wonder that many African countries are being so corruptly – and selfishly – governed that their societies at large are treading water?” I then shared with the audience a poem by Lumumba that I
had discovered: it is very powerful indeed, making use of class and race imagery that for someone writing in an oppressed country, showed exceeding bravery:
Destined for greatness: Lumumba at the age of 8 years old, in 1933
had placed the Congo in a situation that indicated a “classic com- munist takeover”. At the height of the Cold War, such a report was incendiary and President Dwight Eisenhower, forgetting that he had coldly pointed Lumumba in the direction of the United Nations, now asked the director of the CIA, Allen Dulles, to remove Lumumba from the Congolese scene. This was, of course, done in such a way as to ensure what the CIA calls “plausible deniability” (although, Devlin recounted in his book Chief of Station that he obtained “confirmation” that the order for Lumumba’s elimina- tion had come from President Eisenhower himself). The rest we know. (See NA, April 2007: “Confessions of a CIA
Agent”.) If you get a chance to watch this film, don’t miss it: it is definitely one of the most powerful expositions of imperialist amorality in its crassest state that you can ever come across. At the end of the film, Firoze Manji, director of the NGO
Fahamu, and I were invited to say something about the subject matter. Firoze passionately urged Africans to seek to achieve a true democratisation of their societies and recognise that “the cretinous” parliamentary system they had inherited from the colonialists, could not even attempt to meet the true socio- economic problems of today’s Africa. When my turn came, I made the point that under the colonial
laws bequeathed to Africa, only people able to read and write a colonial language are eligible for election to the parliaments of many African countries. This means that the “illiterate” peo- ple, who had acted as family “elders” in their societies – solving their people’s personal problems and ensuring that their societies survived both natural and political catastrophes (like colonial- ism) – were taken out of the equation when it came to ruling a “modern” African state. So, only literate lawyers (“who speak Latin!”), teachers, clerks
and commercial operators – all of whom had an axe to grind in today’s society – are allowed near the new political administra-
Weep, O my black beloved brother, Deep buried in eternal, bestial night O you, whose dust hurricanes have scattered all over the vast earth You, rounded up in raids You, countless times defeated In all the battles ever won by brutal force You, who were taught but one perpetual lesson One motto, which was — slavery or death You, who lay hidden in impenetrable jungles And silently succumbed to countless deaths Under the ugly guise of jungle fever, Or death that lurked in the leopard’s fatal jaws…
But then, there came a day that brought the white man More sly, more full of spite than any death. Your gold he bartered for his worthless beads and baubles He raped and fouled your sisters and your wives And poisoned with his drink your sons and brothers And drove your children down into the holds of ships. ’Twas then the tamtam [drum] rolled from village unto village And told the people that another foreign slave ship Had put off on its way to far-off shores, Where God is cotton, where the dollar reigns as King. There, sentenced to unending, wracking labour, Toiling from dawn to dusk in the relentless sun, They taught you in psalms to glorify Their Lord, while you yourself were crucified to hymns That promised bliss in the world of Hereafter… It happened [that] you would even play, be merry And dance, in sheer exuberance of spirit:
And then would all the splendour of your manhood, The sweet desires of youth, Sound, wild with power, On strings of brass, in burning tambourines. And from that mighty music, the beginning Of jazz arose, tempestuous, capricious, Declaring to the whites in accents loud, That not entirely was the planet theirs. O Music, it was you permitted us To lift our face and peer into the eyes Of future liberty, that would one day be ours…
And may our people, free and gay forever, Live, triumph, thrive in peace in this our Congo Here, in the very heart of our great Africa!
New African June 2011 | 79
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