The Challenge for Africa (17 page)

In
Africa Unchained
, George Ayittey draws a distinction between those Africans whom he terms “the cheetahs” and those he calls “the hippos.” The cheetahs are the young Africans, who, as this designation suggests, are agile and dynamic, ready to move Africa ahead. They are confronted, however, by the hippos—sturdy members of the older generation who cling
to power and protect their territory fiercely when they perceive they are being attacked.
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(Indeed, hippos are reputed to kill the most people in Africa of any wild animal!)

Like Ayittey, I would like to hope that the challenge of African leadership could be solved simply by persuading the hippos to leave the watering hole and retire to the shade. Unfortunately, many of the hippos were once cheetahs; and while I might wish I could be as confident as Ayittey that the cheetahs he places his hopes in won't become hippos, I am not so sure. The new generation of African leaders, drivers of a potential African Renaissance, have in some cases provided their countries with much-needed economic growth, political stability, and a measure of national reconciliation after years of devastating civil conflict and mismanagement. But a number of them have now been in power for quite a few years. Like previous African heads of state, some of them have also initiated conflicts with their neighbors, compromised elections, and sought to contain political dissent.

It is too early to say whether a new generation of cheetahs will remain cheetahs and truly open up a new chapter in Africa. A bright spot in 2005 was the election of Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf in Liberia. It is admirable that even though she hadn't won the presidency in an earlier vote, she tried again. It was also especially empowering for African women to see her succeed. Indeed, every time someone from a “disadvantaged” group makes a big leap like this, it is an inspiration to others in that group, who can now think,
Maybe I can do it too
. It also clearly challenged men, who until then had assumed that only they could be elected African presidents or prime ministers.

The expectations are very high for Johnson-Sirleaf to deliver for her people. After nearly a decade of civil war, Liberians have multiple needs. In 2006, about a year after Johnson-Sirleaf had taken the oath of office, I was part of a small group that met with her in New York. In our discussions, she mentioned that
Liberia's market women needed her special attention because of the important role they were playing in restoring Liberia's spirit after years of devastation. She is aiming to reconstruct the markets that were destroyed during the war and thereby grow a literally market-based economy.
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This work with local women to stimulate self-reliance reminded me how essential it is that political leaders, no matter what is happening at international or national levels, recognize the importance of improving conditions in people's daily lives.

Johnson-Sirleaf has been in power for only a short time and has yet to meet all of the challenges and temptations her presidential colleagues encounter once in office. But if she decides to raise the bar, both because she is the first African woman to be elected head of state of a modern African nation and also because she seeks to embody a new form of leadership, she will be in the company of such other African heads of state as Presidents Chissano and Mandela. They elevated the standard of leadership and set an example that can, and should, be emulated.

Moreover, throughout the continent a genuine and deliberate effort has begun to provide a different kind of leadership from the past. Democratic space is significantly broader in many countries, while free elections are far more common, and coups far less so, than at any time since the continent's independence.

In recent years, I have been privileged to attend summits of the African Union, where generally I have been encouraged. The leadership is very different in values and principles from that which characterized the OAU, and the desire for change is reflected in the progressive development of demands for democratization, responsibility, and accountability within the African Union itself. Of course, I know that what I hear is partly rhetoric and not always accompanied by commitment to action. Furthermore, it is surprising to see the transformation
that apparently democratic, responsible, and even revolutionary leaders undergo once they are in power. Who can know what power does to leaders? While there are many areas of hope in Africa, there are also areas where the sense of hopelessness runs deep. Events in Sudan and Chad, the August 2008 overthrow of the first democratically elected president of Mauritania since independence, and the December 2008 military coup in Guinea are all discouraging.

Nonetheless, I remain optimistic about the prospects for improved leadership and governance in Africa because I see some positive signs: the prompt response of the AU, under the chairmanship of John Kufuor, then president of Ghana, to the postelectoral violence in Kenya in 2008; the peaceful transition of power in 2005 in Tanzania from President Mkapa to President Jakaya Kikwete; and the fact that the AU has not embraced leaders who assume power undemocratically. These are all indications of an Africa that may be embracing a new form of leadership, one that will put the African people first, whether in parliament or the treasury or the judiciary, and will make them feel, and be, respected and valued.

ALMOST HALF
the population of sub-Saharan Africa lives on less than one dollar a day, the highest level of poverty in the world. While poverty is at the root of many of the pressing problems Africa faces, so is the poor's apparent powerlessness. During the course of the last forty to fifty years, most Africans, in large measure because of their leaders' attitudes and policies, have come to believe that they cannot act on their own behalf. Self-determination and personal and collective uplift, values embraced by the great majority of Africans in the period just after independence, have been eroded.

Disempowerment—whether through a lack of self-confidence, apathy, fear, or an inability to take charge of one's own life—is perhaps the most unrecognized problem in Africa today. To the disempowered, it seems much easier or even more acceptable to leave one's life in the hands of third parties, whether governments, elected leaders, or, in some cases, aid agencies and faith-based organizations. Ultimately, they may believe that whatever happens is God's will, predetermined and inevitable. To try to convince such people that one can alleviate one's circumstances through one's own effort is hard. Whether the poor's self-reliance and motivation have been destroyed by decades of embedded state corruption or if there is a pathology of willed helplessness—indeed, a stubborn refusal to help oneself—is perhaps a discussion for social scientists, although I suspect that the loss of cultural bearings has contributed.

This “dependency syndrome” is a substantial bottleneck to
development, as challenging as corruption and poor governance. It has added an extra weight to the work of those who want to enable individuals and communities to better their circumstances.

Poor people need to be engaged in their own development, and, by extension, in expanding the democratic space that many African societies desperately need. Just as communities should be mobilized to combat malaria, or HIV/AIDS, for instance, so they must work together to fight the scourges of failed leadership, corruption, and moral blindness. However, because the poor are more likely to be uneducated, illiterate, and ignored, and feel powerless, this requires both political and economic commitment, as well as patience and persistence, since change does not occur overnight.

Societies are like machines. When everything is working smoothly, society can move forward. Because modern societies are so complex and multilayered, most of us have little idea how the societal machine operates beyond the parts that most immediately affect us. However, although we may not see the entire mechanism, it's clear that for a society to function, everyone needs to do his or her part. If pieces of the machine are not working properly, not only does the machine not move forward, but it begins to grind. The broken cogs jam other areas, even though they may not be immediately connected to the nonworking parts. Before the machine comes to a complete stop, that grinding can be excruciating.

In societies that are in the process of breaking down, people become frustrated by their part of the system that isn't functioning. They then try to work around that broken area, which only further damages the societal machine, further angering the people. The irony is that if everybody performed their tasks to the best of their ability, the machine would move. But if individuals are more inclined to do things that bring the
machine to a halt or a crawl, eventually everybody becomes a victim. This is called “underdevelopment.” What it means is that even the smallest move forward appears to take forever, and the societal machine is under constant threat of stopping altogether.

In Kenya in 2002, a coalition of political parties finally laid to rest the presidency of Daniel arap Moi, and the first new administration in twenty-four years came into power. A newfound spirit of enthusiasm pervaded the country; in fact, there was so much goodwill when the new government was formed that something extraordinary happened: across Kenya, the “social machine” began to move again.

Here is just one example. For years, policemen had cadged bribes from the drivers of
matatus
, the cheap, private minivans that, given the generally poor state of public transit, are the main means of transportation for millions of Kenyans. To the drivers, the bribes were an accepted cost of doing business—allowing them and not another driver to ply a certain route, or ensuring that police officers would ignore any infractions in the vehicle's condition or running.
Matatus
had become extremely unsafe; high-speed accidents were common, and thousands of lives were being lost every year. And yet, people had few other alternatives but to continue riding in them.

After the 2002 election,
matatu
passengers began to challenge any policeman who demanded a bribe from the driver. Inspired by the new government, which had vowed to make fighting the corruption that riddled society from top to bottom a priority, ordinary citizens stood up and demanded that neither the police nor the drivers conduct business as usual. This
reached a point where policemen stopped asking for the bribes, either because they feared the reaction of the
matatu
passengers, or, possibly, because even
they
embraced the new spirit and did their part to facilitate the service without demanding a kickback.

Matatu
drivers also began obeying speed restrictions and agreed to abide by the new government's directive to install seatbelts, a practical safety measure that also limits the number of passengers. (Previously, drivers would pick up as many people as they could, even when riders were literally hanging out of the doors.) This was evidence of the “new Kenya” that citizens wanted to work for and believed was possible, after decades of a government devaluing their aspirations for a more honest and just society.

But as soon as it was clear that individuals in the new government were not honest and refused to honor the promises they'd made to each other during the campaign, this spirit was suddenly lost; and unfortunately, before too long many people went back to the bad old habits.

In 2002, I, too, joined the new government, as a member of parliament for the constituency of Tetu, the region in which I had grown up. Increasingly, I had begun to feel that in order to bring about the change I was working to achieve at the grassroots, and what I believed needed to happen in the country as a whole, it was worth trying to enter parliament—either to alter existing legislation or to draft or pass new laws. The fact that the regime that had been in power for decades had come to an end provided a greater opportunity than previously had existed for me and other members of civil society to join the government.

If elected, we could also actively involve ourselves in shaping policy and the future of the country. As a member of civil society, one can have the most brilliant ideas in the world and still be ignored if one is not in a position to influence the leadership
in power and the leaders aren't generating good ideas of their own. If, however, one has access to the leadership or if the leaders are pursuing policies that are beneficial to the country, then one's good ideas can be very quickly adopted on a larger scale.

I was also keen to see how I could apply in a parliamentary constituency the Green Belt Movement's approach to development: working from the bottom up to reach those who plan and execute the large-scale development models whose benefits rarely trickle down to the poor. I also hoped to empower communities to undertake their own development and learn to assume responsibilities as well as assert their rights. In theory there is no better way to address poverty than to go to the people themselves and ask them to name their priorities for local-level projects. I was pleased, therefore, when in 2003 the new Kenyan government took an important, indeed revolutionary, step and offered all MPs and their constituents an opportunity to try a similar approach.