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Mike Goldman Michael O. Eze
10775579 Bachelor thesis
11331 words 24 June 2019
Homeland or Death? A research on the public realms and
government legitimacy during the Burkinabé Revolution
ABSTRACT
Despite many African countries receiving large amounts of foreign aid for development, foreign aid does not seem to reach its intended goals. Besides, the more foreign aid a country receives, the smaller the chances they will be able to pay off the debt generated by that foreign aid. One exception to this paradox, however, was the rule of Thomas Sankara in Burkina Faso from 1983 until 1987. Sankara aimed to make Burkina Faso food self-sufficient and openly refused foreign aid. Despite enjoying widespread support, Sankara was betrayed and killed in 1987, with many of his goals unachieved. This research focuses on why the Sankara government was not able to achieve the goals it had set. This is done by looking at the primordial and civic publics –as conceptualized by Peter Ekeh—and to what extent the tension between the two has limited the ability of the Sankara government to enforce homegrown alternatives to foreign aid. I look at the effect of colonialism and decolonization on civil society and the public realms in Burkina Faso, and assess in which ways Sankara attempted to strengthen the civic public at the expense of the primordial public, as well as the ways in which Sankara failed and succeeded in this goal. Finally, I identify the mechanisms in which the dominance of the primordial realm limited the government in generating social change.
2 Introduction
In a time when most African countries suffer from a “foreign aid curse” —where foreign aid is highly correlated to deterioration in governance, weaker state institutions and lower government legitimacy— there seems no clear-cut solution to this aid dependency. Despite the fact that non-governmental organizations (NGOs) like the World Bank aim to eradicate poverty and hunger worldwide, foreign aid seems to lead to the opposite. Although most researchers on the subject seem to agree on this ineffectiveness of foreign aid, there is much divergence on how to solve this problem.
On the one end of the spectrum there are those that acknowledge the negative consequences of foreign aid, but do not view these consequences as inherent to foreign aid as they believe the problem lies in the form and methods in which foreign aid is dispensed. The ones discussed here are Bräutigam and Knack (2017), Boone (1995), Collier (2007), Goldsmith (2001), and Easterly (2003). Although many of these researchers have different ideas about how to tackle this problem, none of them seems to be in favor of drastically slashing or reducing foreign aid. Bräutigam and Knack (2017), for example, argue that “official aid needs to become much more selective and competitive, delivered with few if any strings to proven, developmental governments”. Similarly, Boone (1995) concludes that “short term aid targeted to support [recently established] liberal regimes may be a more successful means of reducing poverty than current programs” (Boone 1995: 289-290). Paul Collier, who was the Director of the Development Research Group at the World Bank between 1998 and 2003, in a way seems critical of foreign aid as well, arguing that “it is not about giving these countries our money. [...] aid does not work so well in these environments” (Collier 2007: xi). According to Collier (2007), change in these societies must come from within and cannot be imposed. What the West can do in these countries — although perhaps quite contradictory— is draw upon tools like military interventions, international standard-setting, and trade policy (ibid: xii). Although Goldsmith (2001) is more optimistic about foreign aid than most referenced here, also he acknowledges that foreign aid has “surprisingly little positive effect” on the governance of African states (Goldsmith 2001: 144-145). Despite this, Goldsmith does not believe in cutting foreign aid, as this is “more likely to hurt than help” the development of these states; Goldsmith finds it “credible that African states have gained more than they have lost by taking aid”. The reason, then, for the poor governance of these states, he argues, is their “youth and questionable legitimacy” (idem). Easterly (2003) argues that the idea of a homogeneous “developing world” that will “take off” is a “heroic simplification”, and redefines the goal of foreign aid as “simply to benefit some poor people some of the time” (Easterly 2003: 40).
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On the other end of the spectrum are those that view foreign aid to developing country as having inherently negative consequences. Good examples of this are the works of Rodney (1973) and Moyo (2009). Rodney (1973), in his book ‘How Europe Underdeveloped Africa’, describes how Europe, through structures of colonialism, has historically benefited from African underdevelopment for its own development. Colonialism, Rodney (1973) argues, led to certain contradictions as “the drive for super profits dictated development of the extractive industry, plantations and capitalist farms, and the building of ports, railways and roads in the colonies” (Rodney 1973: 6.4 Development by Contradiction). These forms of development in turn led to (unintended) social change, whereby an industrial and agricultural proletariat, a national bourgeoisie and an intelligentsia emerged (idem). Although Rodney does not touch on the subject of foreign aid in this book, it is evident that, from this Marxist perspective, foreign aid is simply the contemporary form in which these unequal power structures are reinforced. Moyo (2009), in her book ‘Dead Aid — Why Aid is Not Working and How There Is a Better Way for Africa’, pushes for an economic model for the world’s poorest countries that “offers economic growth, promises to significantly reduce African poverty, and most importantly does not rely on aid”. Moyo names four sources of funding for these countries that can replace foreign aid, namely (1) accessing the international bond markets, (2) embracing Chinese large-scale direct investment in infrastructure, (3) pressing for genuine free trade in agricultural products, and (4) encouraging financial intermediation, specifically through microfinance institutions (Moyo 2009: 10).
The tragic paradox of foreign aid dependency is that the higher the amount of foreign aid a country receives, the smaller the odds are that the country in question is able to develop itself without the help of said aid. The reason for this is that generating alternative sources of income —through a restructuring of the economy and resulting tax incomes— becomes more difficult as the ability of state institutions to solve collective action diminishes as a result of foreign aid (Bräutigam & Knack 2017). This is the result not only of the negative effect foreign aid indirectly has on the functioning of state institutions —as Bräutigam and Knack (2017) argue— but also of the fact that foreign aid is often accompanied by Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAPs), which are a set of conditions which the country in question must comply with in order to receive foreign aid. Although SAPs are supposedly intended to create economic growth, many critics argue that they are a way for multinational corporations to privatize and buy up state-owned companies, minimize restrictions on the accumulation of profit through the liberalization of the economy, and impose austerity on the government and population in the name of economic growth (El-Ojeili & Hayden 2006: 57).
An exception to this paradox of foreign aid, however, was the rule of Thomas Sankara in Burkina Faso from 1983 until his death in 1987. Sankara was one of the few
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African leaders to openly refuse foreign aid and push for an independent, self-sufficient economy. Although he was betrayed and assassinated after being in power for merely four years, he is still seen as a hero for many (especially low-income) Africans today. Despite the fact that Sankara’s ideals were never realized —Burkina Faso is currently, economically speaking, worse off than before Sankara’s revolution— there is much to be learned about the four years that Sankara was in power. One question in particular that this research focuses on is why the Sankara government, despite enjoying widespread support under the population, encountered so much resistance by certain forces—eventually leading to the government’s downfall. In this research it is assumed that this is the result of weak state institutions and low government legitimacy in Burkina Faso which limited the government's ability to solve the collective action problems that were present. Specifically, this paper focuses on the importance of the primordial realm in Burkina Faso in limiting the ability for social change and the attempt by the Sankara government to broaden and strengthen the civic public at the expense of the primordial public. Thus, the research question is as follows: ‘To what extent and in which ways does the tension between the different publics in African
societies limit or enhance the state’s ability to enforce homegrown alternatives to foreign aid?’. To answer this question, I conduct a case study of Burkina Faso, whereby I focus on
the tension between the primordial and civic public. Sankara’s attempt to strengthen the civic public must be placed within the historical context of colonialism and post-colonialism. Therefore, I first look at the ways in which colonialism and neo-colonialism have affected these publics and the dialectical relation between them, after which I discuss the attempts by the government to alter the relation between these two publics.
Literature Review
The historical process of colonialism and decolonization has left African states in a unique situation, whereby state legitimacy and the civic public have become weak and inefficient in dealing with the problems facing African countries. This was the case in Burkina Faso (at the time called Upper Volta) as well. In colonial times, ethnic power structures were first destroyed and later reinforced by the colonizers in order to use them for the extraction of taxes, forced labor and conscription (Engelbert 1996: 48-49). In Upper Volta, many educated African elites, most of whom belonged to the newer generations of many of the ethnic groups, distanced themselves from the traditional chieftaincy and pushed for independence. The older generations within the ethnic communities viewed this as a threat to their (mostly symbolic) position, causing many of them to oppose independence. In the struggle for independence, the African elites made many promises to the population in order to gain support for independence. Besides, during the struggle for independence, African elites called on Africans to sabotage the colonial state, which has had a lasting impact in the way
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many ordinary Africans act towards and view the state. After independence, ethnic identity posed a threat to the new government as it created division among the population and thus limited the ability of the governments to fulfill the promises made. Besides, many ethnic groups attempted to penetrate the state in order to further the interests of their ethnic group: “The security services, bureaucracy and trade unions are all vulnerable to infiltration by ethnic or regional rivals to the incumbents in office” (Cornwell 1999: 67). This, in combination with the fact that many within the traditional chieftaincy had opposed independence in fear of losing their positions of power, led to an all-out attack on the primordial and ethnic structures by the new governments. However, these attempts to "marginalize certain regional and ethnic groups" had the "perverse effect of politicizing ethnicity", which has added to the fact that many rural areas “have never experienced effective penetration by the transformative state”. Moreover, the conditions of "exaggerated scarcity" have led to "ethnic and regional associations [...] [taking] on a particular significance in the survival strategies of many Africans" (idem). As a result, “rural folk [...] continue to grant allegiance to traditional institutions such as clan, age-set, or brotherhood (idem). In Sub-Saharan African, associational life is “often vibrant”, as many African cultures have had strong civil societies prior to colonization. Besides, “fresh forms of voluntary organizations” erupted in the colonial period “as a response to the disruptive impacts of urbanization and commercialization” (Bratton 1988: 411).
Theoretical Framework
To come to a closer understanding of the revolutionary process and the “Sankara-model”, it is first and foremost necessary to look at the ideological influences that shaped Thomas Sankara’s perspective of the world. Despite his open fascination for Marxism, Sankara did not consider the Burkinabé revolution to be “inspired by or patterned after any past or present foreign ideology”, as he refused to be Eurocentrically categorized as following an ideological mentor. The Burkinabé revolution, according to Sankara, is “the result of [...] specific experiences and history”, and “cannot be exported”, just as Sankara believed other foreign models cannot be copied in Burkina Faso (Martin 1987: 78). Despite obviously being influenced by Marxism, Sankara rejected the socialist label and even went so far as to characterize his revolution as a “bourgeois revolution” that “does not aim at the elimination of private property or private economic initiative and entrepreneurship” (idem).
It would then be more accurate to categorize Sankara as a follower of African Socialism, which, as the name suggests, is a “positively African” variant of socialism which is “not being imported from or being a blueprint of any foreign ideology but capable of incorporating useful and compatible techniques from whatever source” (Mboya & Kibaki 1965: 1-2). African Socialism became an important political current during the struggle for
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independence in many African countries, with many African Socialists taking power in the newly independent states. The five main architects of the African Socialist movement were Julius Nyerere, Modibo Keita, Léopold Senghor, Kwame Nkrumah, and Sékou Touré, who were the first leaders of the independent countries of respectfully Tanzania, Mali, Senegal, Ghana, and Guinea (Friedland & Rosberg 1964: 3).
According to Mboya (1963), African Socialism is heavily rooted in Pan-Africanism, which, according to Makalani (2011), is “a belief that African peoples, both on the African continent and in the Diaspora share not merely a common history, but a common destiny” (Makalani 2011). This quest for a unified African identity was first inspired by pseudo-religious movements and organizations erupting in the USA. However, Pan-Africanism as a “discourse” finds its roots in much earlier times. Although some view all ancient forms of African resistance against foreign domination as part of the history of the Pan-African discourse, Eze (2013) argues that this discourse has originated around the 15th century (Eze 2013: 663). Although there have been many African struggles against foreign domination before the 15th century, race was not a decisive factor in these struggles, as “one was not excluded of oppressed on the basis of any racial categorization” (idem). Pan-Africanism, then, is a “product of modernity” as modernity which, with its image of a “rationalized” or “civilized” man, created the idea of a “racialized ‘different other’”, thereby disqualifying African societies on the grounds of being irrational and uncivilized (ibid: 664). Because the Transatlantic slave trade led to a large number of Africans from different social backgrounds being thrown into a similar situation on the basis of their common race, the circumstances were created in which African unity and Pan-Africanism could arise (ibid: 663). Eze views the emergence of Pan-Africanism as a “restoration of African subjectivity as well as [a] challenging [of] the intellectual roots of colonial historicity” (ibid: 664), and sees contemporary Pan Africanism as being influenced by “French Surrealism, [the] Black Power Movement, the Harlem Renaissance, Négritude, Cuban Negrismo, Garveyism, and the Haitian Renaissance”, as well as Ethiopianism (ibid: 665). At the end of the 19th century, the
first Pan-African conference was held in Chicago; in the following century “the most enduring representation of early-twentieth-century Pan-Africanism came in the Pan-African Congresses [(PACs)]”, where Pan-Africans pushed for African independence (Makalani 2011). According to Eze (2013), W.E.B. Dubois can be seen as the “founding father” of Pan-Africanism as an “official” movement, as “he was the first to summon the first Pan-African congress in 1919 in Paris with the aim of harnessing a universal sense of black identity and shared aspiration and solidarity for blacks all over the world” (Eze 2013: 665). Through the perspective of Pan-Africanism, African Socialism is, simply put, an economic and political
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system to guide the Pan-African idea of a “common destiny” and “traditional [African] brotherhood” (Mboya 1963: 17).
The call for African independence within African Socialism not only manifests itself politically; it is clearly visible in the call for intellectual independence by African Socialists as well. Mboya (1963), for example, argues that the fight against “intellectual imperialism” must be fought alongside the fight for economic independence (Mboya 1963: idem). This is clearly visible in the movement’s distanciation of Marxism, despite the clear admiration. According to Mboya and Kibaki (1965) —in an article published by Kenya’s Ministry of Information— “Marx’s criticism of the society of his time and place was a valid one. [...] Valid as Marx’s description was, it bears little similarity to Kenya today. [...] The historical setting that inspired Marx has no counterpart in independent Kenya” (Mboya & Kibaki 1965: 1-2). That what distinguishes African Socialism from its Western counterparts is the idea that Africa is unique, with its own distinct history and historical traditions that cannot be understood through a Western perspective.
The assertion of intellectual independence is demonstrated by the emphasis that is put on African traditions as the basis of African Socialism, most notably ‘mutual social responsibility’, which is defined as an "understanding that if society prospers its members will share in that prosperity and that society cannot prosper without the full cooperation of its members" (idem).These aspects of mutual understanding and full cooperation are echoed by Nyerere (1962), according to whom "in traditional African society everybody was a worker" as opposed to not only an employer but also to a 'loiterer' or an 'idler' (Nyerere 1962: 6). Besides, land was "always recognized as belonging to the community" instead of individuals (idem), which is poetically expressed by Mboya, who claims that “we are all sons (and daughters) of the soil” (Mboya 1963: 17-18).
Despite the assertion of intellectual independence, African Socialism does not, however, "[stand] in a class by itself" (idem). Although African Socialism puts less emphasis on class struggle than Marxist Socialism, the idea of society being a collective as opposed to an aggregate of individuals is viewed by Mboya (1963) as a universal tenet of socialism: "[the] basic tenets of socialism are universal and we are either socialists by these basic principles or not at all" (idem). This form of communitarianism is visible in the idea of society as an "organic thing", whereby "if any group own and control the means by which the others live, the latter literally become slaves, for 'he owns me who owns the means by which I live'" (idem).
Despite the universal tenets of socialism that African Socialists ascribe to, the specific form of communitarianism which African Socialism draws upon has a distinctly African character and history. Although there are many forms and variations of African
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Communitarianism, the most commonly referenced is Ubuntu, which was originally the philosophy of Bantu-speaking people but has been used as a wider definition to include similar philosophies of “other ethnic groups of sub-Saharan African” (Eze 2008: 107). The reason for this “broad similarity”, Eze argues, is “a kind of philosophical affinity and kinship among and between the indigenous peoples of Africa” (idem). Ubuntu is not only a philosophy but also a culture, and serves as the “foundation of African philosophy” (idem). Roughly speaking, Ubuntu is a communitarian approach in which “a person’s humanity is dependent on the appreciation, preservation and affirmation of other person’s humanity” (idem). One’s subjectivity is, then, “in part constituted by other persons with whom [one] share[s] the social world” (idem). Eze (2008) does not, however, place the community above the individual as many other African Communitarians like Mbiti (1969, cited in Eze 2008: 107-108) do; instead he argues that the relationship between the individual and their community is a mutual one, hence “none is supreme” (Eze 2008: 107-108). Instead of Mbiti’s expression of Ubuntu as “I am, because we are; and since we are therefore I am” (Mbiti 1969: 108-109; in: Eze 2008: 107-108), Eze rephrases this as “We are, therefore I am, and since I am, therefore we are” (ibid: 108).
Within African Communitarianism, just like in each form of communitarianism, the ‘common good’ is a core concept, whereby “collective pursuit of ends as shared by members of the community is the primary political aim” (ibid: 109). While many view this common good as a result of consensus, Eze (2008) decries this “appeal to consensus” as “overwhelmingly tyrannical and totalitarian”, as consensus “neither accommodates autonomy nor alterity, but suppresses these core values of human identity” (ibid: 111). According to Eze, “different subjective autonomies” are essential for the flourishing of the community; by aiming for consensus these different subjective autonomies are “obscured” (idem). Instead, Eze proposes ‘realist perspectivism’, which gives “a more coherent account of the politics of common good in the African value system” (ibid: 113). In realist perspectivism, the focus lies on “understanding and experiencing the other in his/her context before any judgment” (ibid: 113). This way, the individual’s “uniqueness” is “maintained and protected”, as “the other is not annihilated” in conversion. Instead of aiming for a consensual good, the aim of realist perspectivism is to gain a greater understanding of the other perspectives within the community so as to create a common good which is not at the expense of the individuals’ subjective autonomies. As African Communitarianism --or more specifically, Ubuntu and its related philosophies-- lie at the heart of African philosophy, it serves as an important influence in African Socialism.
After having discussed Pan-Africanism and African Communitarianism as important philosophical influences in African Socialism, I now turn to an important geopolitical element
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of African Socialist theory, namely the idea that Africa’s underdevelopment is a result of the exploitation by developed countries (the “First World”). The Guyanese Pan-African and Marxist historian Walter Rodney, in the famous book ‘How Europe Underdeveloped Africa’, analyzes the “underdevelopment” of Africa by European colonial and imperial powers. According to Rodney (1973), “development and underdevelopment are not only comparative terms, but [...] they also have a dialectical relationship one to the other: that is to say, the two help produce each other by interaction” (Rodney 1973: 75). Since the late 15th century, Africa and Europe have been in “continuous contact” whereby “Africa helped to develop Western Europe in the same proportion as Western Europe helped to underdevelop Africa” (idem). One important factor in the growth of the early capitalist economies in Europe was the exploitation of natural resources, most notably gold and silver: “Central and South American gold and silver —mined by Africans— played a crucial role in meeting the need for coin in the expanding capitalist money economy of Western Europe, while African gold was also significant in that respect” (Rodney 1973: 88). Besides natural resources, the exploitation of African (slave) labor played an enormous role in the growth of this capitalist economy: “throughout the 17th and 18th centuries, and for most [of] the 19th century, the exploitation of [...] African labour continued to be a source for the accumulation [of] capital to be re-invested in Western Europe” (ibid: 89).
The basis for Marxist thought on imperialism was laid out by Lenin (1917) in the book ‘Imperialism: the Highest Stage of Capitalism’, which built on the works of Rudolf Hilferding and Nikolai Bukharin (Mcdonough 1995). Although the term ‘imperialism’ was first coined by critics of the imperial policies of British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli —in power from 1874 until 1880—, its theoretical basis was laid out by John A. Hobson, who argued that imperialism was the product of the capitalist mode of production, not of nationalist pride. Because of the economic inequalities created by capitalism, continuous reinvestment in production causes supply to surpass demand. As a result, capitalists are forced to look for external markets and expand the globe. Lenin (1917) expands on this theory and defines imperialism as “capitalism at that stage of development at which the dominance of monopolies and finance capital is established; in which the export of capital has acquired pronounced importance; in which the division of the world among the international trusts has begun; in which the division of all territories of the globe among the biggest capitalist powers has been completed” (Mcdonough 1995: 352). According to Lenin, “imperialism emerged as the development and direct continuation of the fundamental characteristics of capitalism in general” (Lenin 1970 [1917]: 104-105). However, what caused capitalism to move to the imperialist stage was “when the features of the epoch of transition from capitalism to a higher social and economic system had taken shape and revealed themselves all along the line” (idem). The main feature that caused this transition was “the displacement of capitalist
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free competition by capitalist monopoly” (idem). Simply put, Lenin viewed monopoly as “the transition from capitalism to a higher system” (idem).
An important theory on exploitation of underdeveloped countries by developed countries was the Singer-Prebisch thesis, which was a result of two separate papers published in 1949 by Hans Singer and Raúl Prebisch. This neo-Marxist thesis holds that gains from international free trade are unequally distributed, with countries primarily exporting manufacture (“developed countries”) receiving a disproportionately higher portion of these gains than countries primarily exporting raw materials (“developing countries”) (Toye & Toye 2003: 437). Thus, “inequality of per capita income between these two types of countries will be increased by the growth of trade, rather than reduced” (ibid: 437-438). Initially a response to and criticism of the Ricardian idea that developing countries should not industrialize but exploit their competitive advantage, the dependency approach stresses the need for industrialization and tariff protection for developing countries to escape dependency and underdevelopment (idem).
Similar to and in a way building on the theoretical basis of dependency theory was the World Systems Theory, which was conceptualized by Immanuel Wallerstein in the 1970s. In this theory, Wallerstein argues that there are three categories of countries, namely ‘core’, ‘peripheral’, and ‘semi-peripheral’ countries, which are interconnected and interdependent. Wallerstein’s main argument is that the unit of analysis in studying international relations should be the world system as a whole and not the nation-state, as all countries are interdependent. Andre Gunder Frank, one of the most prominent of the World System theorists builds on the work of Wallerstein and argues that, contrary to what many believed at the time and still believe today, underdevelopment of the Third World is not a result of “the survival of archaic institutions and the existence of capital shortage” in these countries (Frank 1966: 23). On the contrary, Frank argues that underdevelopment is inherently linked to economic development and a result of “the development of capitalism itself” (idem).
Where Rodney focuses on the exploitation of Africa through colonial and imperial means (up until about 1885), it is Nkrumah (1966) who extends this analysis to post-colonial times, arguing that neo-colonialism is “the last stage of imperialism”. In neo-colonialism, post-colonial states are independent on paper, however, “in reality [their] economic system and thus [their] political policy is created from outside” (Nkrumah 1966: 1). Although this neo-colonial domination can be exercised through the use of physical troops, in most cases control is exercised through financial and monetary means (idem). There are several ways in which this can play out: “The neo-colonial State may be obliged to take the manufactured products of the imperialist power to the exclusion of competing products from elsewhere. Control over government policy in the neo-colonial State may be secured by payments
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towards the cost of running the State, by the provision of civil servants in positions where they can dictate policy, and by monetary control over foreign exchange through the imposition of a banking system controlled by the imperial power” (idem). According to Nkrumah, neo-colonialism is the worst form of imperialism, as “for those who practice it, it means power without responsibility and for those who suffer from it, it means exploitation without redress” (ibid: 2). However, Nkrumah’s goal was not to exclude foreign capital from operating in less developed countries entirely; it was simply to “[prevent] the financial power of the developed countries being used in such a way as to impoverish the less developed” (ibid: 1).
State legitimacy in post-colonial African societies
After having discussed African Socialism and its philosophical and theoretical influences, I now discuss the concept of state legitimacy in post-colonial African societies. An important theory on state legitimacy in African societies is that of Peter Ekeh (1975), who argues that, as a result of colonialism —and more specifically the ideologies that emerged as a result of colonialism—, one can identify two public realms in African society, as opposed to Western societies where there is only one public realm. In the West, “the private realm and the public realm have a common moral foundation” (Ekeh 1975: 92). Ekeh terms the two different publics in African societies the civic public and the primordial public. The primordial realm is a space of ethnic memory whereby tribal “groupings, ties, and sentiments influence and determine the individual’s public behavior” (idem). The civic public on the other hand is “historically associated with the colonial administration”, and is “based on civil structures: the military, the civil service, the police, etc.” (idem). What is interesting here is that these publics have “different types of moral linkages to the private realm” (idem). According to Ekeh, “the primordial public is moral and operates on the same moral imperatives as the private realm”. The civic public on the other hand is “historically associated with the colonial administration”, and is “based on civil structures: the military, the civil service, the police, etc.” (idem).
Ekeh (1975) approaches these two publics through the concept of citizenship, which consists of “two distinct elements”: the citizen, being an individual member of a political community, on the one hand has “rights and privileges” which he may claim from that community; on the other hand, the citizen also has “certain duties and obligations” towards that political community (ibid: 106). Contrary to Western societies —where citizenship implies that these rights and duties are “conceived in a transactional manner” (idem) and are in a way exchanged for one another—, in African societies, the meaning of citizenship “depend[s] on whether it is conceived in terms of the primordial public or the civic public” (idem). Because of the colonial history of African societies and the “ideologies of
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legitimation” which have been used to justify the rule of colonial rulers and their successors, there is a common belief among many Africans “that the civic public can never be impoverished”, as opposed to the primordial public, which is viewed as fragile and in need of care by the civic public (ibid: 108).
These beliefs have led to a difference in the way African behave in the two publics. Duties in the primordial public, for example, are seen by the individual as “moral obligations to benefit and sustain” the primordial public that that individual belongs to (ibid: 107). Despite the fact that there are some informal sanctions with regards to these duties, “[these] duties [...] have a moral side to them” and mostly consist of “voluntary contributions” (ibid: 106-107). In return for these moral duties, the African individual receives “intangible, immaterial benefits in the form of identity or psychological security”; according to Ekeh (1975), “the relationship between the individual and his primordial public cannot be exhausted by economic equations” (idem). Contrary to the primordial public, “the civic public [...] is amoral and lacks the generalized moral imperatives operative in the private realm and in the primordial public” (idem). This immorality in the civic public is visible in the fact that “there is no moral urge [...] to give back to the civic public in return for [...] benefits” (idem). Duties, according to Ekeh, are “de-emphasized”, while rights are “squeezed out of the civic public” (idem).
These two publics —and more specifically the “dialectic” of the two— “constitute[s] the uniqueness of modern African politics” (ibid: 108). While most educated Africans belong to both a civic and a primordial public, their relationship with the former is amoral while their relationship with the latter is moral. In the primordial public Africans give generously while receiving “little or no material benefits” (although they do receive immaterial benefits as mentioned before); in the civic public they gain material benefits —as much as possible—, while “grudgingly” contributing and performing their duties as citizens (idem). This dialectic is most clearly described by Ekeh (1975) as the following: “The unwritten law of the dialectics is that it is legitimate to rob the civic public in order to strengthen the primordial public” (idem).
Research Methodology
To answer the research question and gain a wider understanding of the Burkinabé Revolution within the context of the post-colonial tension between the civic pubic and the primordial public in African societies, I conduct a case study of Burkinabé civil society before and during the years in which Thomas Sankara was in power. This case study contains both a descriptive as well as an analytical chapter. In the descriptive chapter the ‘revolutionary process’ is studied: I look at how Sankara came to power, what the institutional structure of
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his government was, what its goals and policies were, and the forms of resistance Sankara encountered before finally being betrayed and assassinated in a coup. The goal of the chapter is to provide a detailed description and understanding of the revolution on which the analytical chapter will then build. The analytical chapter, then, starts with an analysis of the effect of colonial rule on the civic and primordial publics in Burkina Faso; this analysis is then extended to post-colonial times and looks at the ways in which decolonization and independence have affected the civic and primordial publics in Burkina Faso. Subsequently, an analysis follows of Sankara’s revolution as an attempt to strengthen the civic public (at the cost of the primordial public). Several policies are discussed, as well as the ways in which they have impacted the relationship between the two publics. Finally, I provide an analysis of the extent to which Sankara’s government succeeded in strengthening the civic public, as well as an analysis of the failures of the government in relation to this goal. In the conclusion I summarize and discuss the findings.
The revolutionary process
After having discussed the theoretical framework for this research paper, it is necessary to give an overview of the revolutionary process that Sankara attempted to initiate, which I present in three parts: first, an assessment is given of the events and circumstances leading up to Sankara taking power on 4 August 1983; thereafter, I focus on the policies and institutions implemented by Sankara’s government. Finally, Sankara’s downfall and the events leading up to it are discussed.
The road to power
To understand the circumstances in which Thomas Sankara came to power, it is important to have an understanding of Burkina Faso’s (socio-)economic situation prior to the revolution. Before invasion and colonization by the French, the region had been dominated by the Mossi Kingdoms —whose rulers’ ancestors had originally come from modern-day Ghana in the 14th century— for several hundred years. After the French arrived in 1896 and defeated the last armed resistance in 1916 (Harsch 2013: 360), they claimed the territory as their colony and in 1919 it, together with several provinces from Côte d’Ivoire, was named Upper Volta, referring to the fact that the country contained the upper part of the Volta River. After dismemberment in 1932 and reconstitution as an administrative division in 1937, it once again became a French West African territory in 1947. After several measures by the French government to grant more government to its colonies, Upper Volta became a self-governing colony within the French community in 1958, changing its name to Republic of
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Upper Volta. On 5 August 1960, the country gained independence, its first president being Maurice Yaméogo of the Union Démocratique Voltaïque (UDV).
Because of the region “was regarded as little more than a remote backwater, with few resources deemed worthy of exploitation, except as a labour reserve of young, able-bodied men [...] Upper Volta experienced far less investment, infrastructure development, market penetration or class stratification than did many African colonies in the coastal regions” (Harsch 2013: 360). Besides, its inhabitants had never developed a national identity beyond their particular ethnic groups, which was a result of the very limited reach of the colonial state in governing the country (idem). After a series of military takeovers in 1966, 1980, and 1982, Thomas Sankara was appointed as minister of information, in an effort by the “fragile military regime” of that time to gain credibility. However, Sankara used his position to harshly criticize the government, after which he was detained and kept under house arrest (ibid: 361). After another coup he was absolved and appointed as prime minister in January 1983, after which he used his position to support labour mobilisations, denounce corruption, criticise the conservative sway of traditional chiefs and espouse anti-imperialist foreign policy positions (idem). After yet another coup —this time by “conservative senior officers” and encouraged by the French government— Sankara was once again jailed. This time however, massive popular demonstrations broke out calling for Sankara’s release, and Sankara’s friend and loyalist Captain Blaise Compaoré eventually freed Sankara and seized major installations on 4 August 1983. That same evening, Sankara “proclaimed the overthrow of the government and the creation of a new National Council of the Revolution (CNR)” (idem). Exactly one year later, the country was renamed as Burkina Faso —meaning “Land of the Upright People”— thereby affirming its African identity and asserting its peoples dignity (idem).
The country’s situation in 1983 was far from good as a result of “over twenty years of economic mismanagement, corruption and downright plunder” (Martin 1987: 82). The BNP, for example, grew a mere 1.4 percent over the period between 1965 and 1983. Moreover, over the period between 1973 and 1983, the average annual rate of inflation was 10.8 percent, while the life expectancy in 1983 was just 44 years. Burkina Faso’s situation with regards to debt was “just as appalling”: the total debt increased from $ 62 million dollars in 1975 to $ 461 million in 1983 (idem).
Institutional structure of the Sankara government
The primary objective of the Burkinabé revolution was, in Sankara’s words, “to take power out of the hands of our national bourgeoisie and their imperialist allies and put it in the hands of the people”. The revolution is, according to its leaders, democratic and popular, meaning that “the people should be in a position to actually control the revolution’s leadership”,
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whereby the government is merely enforcing what the people dictate (Martin 1987: 78-79). To achieve this, two new main institutions have been created, namely the National Revolutionary Council (CNR) and the Revolutionary Defense Committees (CDRs).
Political power lies with the CNR, which “is entrusted with the power of conception, direction and control at the national level in the political, economic and social fields” (Martin 1987: 80-81). Within the CNR, political power is distributed according to a pattern of “concentric circles”, whereby Captain Thomas Sankara, Captain Henri Zongo, Commander Blaise Compaoré and Commander Jean-Baptiste Lingani make up the inner core; the CNR is situated around this core and constitutes these four men, as well as Commander Abdou Salam Kabore and “the main political and military leaders of the country” (idem).
The next circle are de CDRs, which operate “at all levels of the country's streamlined administrative structure: village, city, department, trade and high schools, military and para-military units, garrison, district and province” (idem). In accordance with these levels, the CDRs are structured according to a “five-level hierarchical system” (idem). The “supreme body” is the CDRs’ Congress, which is an “assembly of all its constituent units”; on the provincial level, the executive power lies with the Revolutionary Provincial Executives (PRP); next are the three types of Committees —the Garrison Committees, District Committees and Work Place Committees—, followed by the Local Committees on the local level. At the Local Committees one finds “various types of cells” (idem), namely the ‘Village’, ‘Ward’, ‘City’, ‘Work Place’, ‘Students’, and ‘Military Unit’. Each of these “grassroots communities” has a “nine-members executive committee elected by and answerable to grass-roots militants” (idem) The general principle that is maintained within in CDRs is that of ‘democratic centralism’, which encourages criticism, debate and freedom of expression while at the same time the ‘lower echelons’ are subordinated to the higher ones (idem). As Martin (1987) puts it: “[through] their structure and functioning, the CDRs are meant to be a genuine mass organization which should be in a position to fully and efficiently translate popular aspirations into immediate and concrete political demands” (idem). The CDRs have three main functions, the first of which is a political function consisting of “developing the masses’ consciousness through education, training and mobilization”; the second of the CDRs is a “socio-cultural and economic” function, which consists of “[organizing] collective public works at the local level”; the third and final function is “military function”, which consists of “the defense of the revolution against potential internal and external enemies” (idem).
In the government’s fight against corruption, a third important institution, the Revolutionary Popular Tribunals (TPRs), has been created in October 1983 with the goal of trying high officials and civil servants “guilty of mismanagement, embezzlement, theft or misappropriation of public funds”. Although verdicts are “usually lenient”, “hundreds of former high officials and civil servants” have been tried (idem). The TPRs have two goals. The first
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one is “to clearly demonstrate [...] determination to “moralize” the country’s public life” (idem). The second goal is the contribution “to demystify and democratize the judiciary”, by allowing ordinary people to participate in the process (idem). This is reflected in the composition of the TPRs: of the eighteen members, three are judges, three are members of the military, and the other twelve are members of the CDRs, while the TPRs are “chaired by a magistrate” (idem).
Goals and policies of the Sankara government
Considering the dire economic situation of Burkina Faso at the time of Thomas Sankara coming to power, one of the main goals was to establish “an independent, self-sufficient and planned economy” (Martin 1987: 79). However, to “slightly ease the financial burden of the impoverished masses”, a series of short-term measures have been taken. Examples of these are the “total cancellation of all outstanding taxes due by the poorest sections of the population” in August 1985, the “[suspension of] all housing allowances and rents” for the calendar year 1985, and other measures such as “the reduction of the costs of schooling, the control of food prices, the introduction of ceilings on rents as well as of a projected “vital salary” which would represent the amount of money needed by a family for its essential needs” (ibid: 84). On the one hand, the direct goal of the CNR was to raise the standard of living for the masses; however, the long term goal remained an “independent, self-sufficient and planned economy”. A very important aspect of this goal is “food self-sufficiency through an appropriate agricultural development strategy” (ibid: 79), which is clearly visible in the way Sankara speaks about foreign aid and food self-sufficiency: “Our country produces enough to feed us all. [...] Unfortunately, for lack of organization, we still need to beg for food. [...] Some people ask me “but where is imperialism?”. Just look into your plates when you eat: you see the imported corn, rice or millet: this is imperialism [...] because the one who feeds you usually imposes his will upon you” (Joe Dywer 2014). This goal would be achieved by “a radical socio-economic transformation”, which would include “a transformation of the structures of production and distribution, and comprehensive reform in the areas of agriculture (land reform), administration, education and social services (housing, health and sanitation)” (Martin 1987: 79). To achieve this, 1607 billion CFA francs — approximately 3.41 billion US dollars— has been allocated “to be invested over the period October 1984 to December 1985, 20 per cent of which was to be financed out of national resources” (idem). The “overall climate” in which this Popular Development Programme (PPD) is to be implemented is one “which emphasizes such virtues as austerity, integrity and the moralization of public service” (idem). A good example in which these virtues are clearly visible is the fact that public servants and political leaders are held to the same standards as the rest of the population. For example, “all state officials, including Sankara himself, now
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drive around in unassuming Renault 5s”, as opposed to “the fleet of Mercedes-Benz cars which was used by former Heads of State and ministers” (ibid: 84). Moreover, in the 1985 budget a mere US $ 1250.00 has been allocated for maintenance and repair works at the presidential palace (idem). These virtues of austerity, integrity and moralization of the public service are also clearly visible in what is expected from army officers and civil servants. Examples of this are the fact that, from 1982 to 1987, their salaries have been reduced by 40 percent, the “cancellation of all [their] indemnities and privileges”, and the fact that civil servants are “sent back to the land at regular intervals [...] in order to halt the formation of “petty bourgeois tendencies”” (idem).
Internationally speaking, the goal of the Sankara government is to “conduct a genuinely non-aligned foreign policy, politically independent but actively anti-imperialist”. To do this, diplomatic relations must be established “on the following principles”: (1) reciprocal respect for independence, territorial integrity and national sovereignty; (2) mutual non-aggression; (3) non-intervention in internal affairs; and (4) trade with all countries on the basis of equity and reciprocal advantage” (ibid: 79).
Resistance and betrayal
Although Sankara enjoyed widespread support among the population, he also encountered resistance, most notably from the traditional chieftaincy in the rural areas. As a result, he became more authoritarian and became less tolerable to criticism. Besides, many within the CDRs began to abuse their power for personal gains, leading to the image of the CDRs being “sullied” (Harsch 2013: 368).
Another segment of the Burkinabé population of which Sankara encountered resistance were the alienated civil servants of the previous government, many of whom were detained and tried in front of People’s Revolutionary Courts. Despite the sentences being relatively lenient, the courts “nevertheless had strong political connotations” (idem). Besides the civil servant class, Sankara also encountered much resistance from trade unions, most notably the school teachers’ union (ibid: 368-369). After the union had protested Sankara on the day he came to power, several of its leaders were arrested, prompting a strike lasting three days. In response the government fired around 1300 strikers, which is to this day seen as the biggest mistake made by the CNR. To fill the gap, many unqualified and inexperienced replacements were hired (idem). Besides the school teachers’ union, the bad relations with the Ligue patriotique pour le développement (Lipad) and their leader Soumane Touré that started in 1984 turned out to play a crucial role in the downfall of Sankara (idem).
Not only did Sankara encounter resistance from certain segments of the population, but also from within his own government. After having tried most of the civil servants of the previous government, Sankara started investigating and trying current officeholders for
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corruption. High government officials (including Sankara himself) were “obliged to publicly declare their own and their families’ assets and incomes” (idem). Sankara’s friend and right hand Blaise Compaoré reportedly was “not very happy” about the anti-corruption campaign: he himself had been “reproached for having hidden certain properties of his wife” (idem). Another important leadership rift had been about Sankara use of repression; supporters of Compaoré later portrayed Sankara as an “autocrat who wanted to rule alone” (idem). Although these accusations were mostly used to legitimize the coup against Sankara, many of Sankara’s supporters did exhibit “a very dogmatic, intolerant approach and had a ‘forced march’ view of revolutionary change”, due to their Marxist-Leninist political background and education (ibid: 369-370).
In May 1987, despite the attempt of Sankara to reconcile with Lipad, the conflict got out of hand after several leaders were arrested by the CNR on charges of planning anti-government demonstrations. While many within the CNR openly called for their execution, Sankara intervened for the leaders to be spared, leading to a campaign against him being started within his own party. This campaign eventually “culminated in the coup and Sankara’s assassination” (idem), which were led by Blaise Compaoré. Despite Compaoré claiming the coup had happened in self-defense and as an accident —as Sankara was supposedly planning on killing Compaoré— it is generally accepted that the coup had taken place in collaboration with the French and American governments, as their economic and geopolitical interest were being heavily undermined and threatened by Sankara’s calls for African unity and solidarity against Western imperialism and neo-colonialism (idem). After Sankara’s death, Compaoré “steered Burkina Faso into a strong alliance with France” (BBC 2016); he also “reversed nationalizations and returned to the IMF fold” (Bonkoungou 2007). The primordial and civic realms under Sankara
Ethnic groups and state legitimacy under (post-)colonial rule
When looking at the public realm in Burkina Faso under the rule of Thomas Sankara, it is first and foremost necessary to look at this realm under French colonial rule to gain a broader understanding of Burkina Faso’s historical context. Historically, the largest ethnic group in Upper Volta were (and are) the Mossi: in 1985, Mossi made up 50.2 percent of the Burkinabé population. Other relatively large ethnic groups are the Peul (about 10 percent); the Mandingue (about 7 percent); Lobi, Dagiri and other similar groups (about 7 percent); Bobo (about 6.7 percent) and more (Engelbert 1996: 183). In total there are around 60 ethnic groups, which can be aggregated into three different “families” based on language: according to Engelbert (1996), there is “more linguistic than ethnic homogeneity” (ibid: 184). On top of these three languages, French is the official language of Burkina Faso (idem).
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What distinguishes French colonial rule in Upper Volta from that of many other French (mostly Muslim) colonies is the fact that the institutions of the Mossi kingdom were never destroyed (ibid: 186). In Upper Volta, “French policy gradually went from destruction to preservation of the Mossi system, and in the end occasionally allowed for an ambiguous duality of political institutions” (ibid: 32-33). In the beginning, the goal of the French was to “weaken the existing political systems in order to make room for theirs” (ibid: 48-49). One way in which this occurred was through the restructuring of the Mossi kingdom, after a new king had indirectly been appointed by the French (idem). Moreover, judicial powers were removed from the Mossi chiefs, and their status was weakened as a result of the abolishing of “slavery and religious practices deemed to have a political content” (idem). Especially the power of the mogho naba —the monarch of Wogodogo (Ouagadougou), one of the most politically powerful Mossi kingdoms— was curbed as all his decisions were to be authorized by the French (idem). However, gradually the French started using the existing social and power structures of the ethnic groups in Burkina Faso, as they were helpful in the extraction of taxes, forced labor and conscription. Those groups that did not have a chief had them imposed by the French. This “new class of chiefs” were supposed to “replicate existing chiefdoms” but were “deprived of any historical legitimacy” (idem). The taxation, forced labor and conscription generated rebellion from the Mossi as well as from other ethnic groups, however, these rebellions were harshly repressed (ibid: 51-52). One rebellion in 1915 and 1916 “stunned” the French colonizers, and as a result the French “felt the need to reinforce colonial control” by creating an incorporated colony (idem). The policies of the French with regards to the ethnic groups in Upper Volta were very much in line with what Ekeh (1975) describes: after their political power and legitimacy had been weakened, the French reinforced the role of the chiefs as “auxiliaries” of the French administration, while their “traditional” roles were never reintroduced (Engelbert 1996: 51-52). However, what is interesting is that the enforcement of ethnic power structures by the French did not occur in post-colonial times as a means of dividing the emerging “African bourgeoisie”, but during colonial times with the intent of extracting taxes, forced labor and conscription.
The African Bourgeoisie in the case of Burkina Faso emerged in the Voltaic section of the African Democratic Rally (RDA), a pan-African political party that was founded in 1946. While the RDA pushed for independence, the Mossi pushed for reunification of Upper Volta (after it had been partitioned in 1932); in the years that followed “Mossi-centered moderate parties” allied themselves with the French administration in the struggle against the RDA, which “for a while [...] represented the federalist tendency among African political elites”. Later, the RDA was “progressively marginalized” as a result of a “shift from federalism to nationalism among West African political elites” (ibid: 56-58). Several years later, in the 1950s, younger and educated generations of the Mossi started distancing
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themselves from the “backwardness” of their traditional leaders and became more nationalist as they pushed for independence. The rise of these “new Mossi elites” led to the “dissolution of Mossi identity in the nascent Voltaic one” (ibid: 66). After the country became an self-governing colony within the French Community in 1958, Mogho Naba Kougri, in an attempt to resist these new Mossi elites, planned on forming a constitutional monarchy (with himself as king) and ordered an attempted coup whereby 3,000 warriors were sent to surround the presidential palace. As this coup was easily subverted, it became clear that the position of the Mossi was merely symbolical; true political (and military) power lay with the government (idem).
After gaining independence from the French Community in 1960, the Republic of Upper Volta continued the same policy towards the ethnic groups in the country as their colonial predecessors had done: “just as in colonial times, they have used the chiefs to compensate for the shortcomings of the administration, thereby reinforcing their authority”. However, the state wished to “bypass the chiefs” by limiting their authority; in 1962 an “all-out assault by the state on the political structures of ethnicity” was staged through several decrees severely limiting the power of the chieftaincy (Engelbert 1996: 189-191). This aggressive stance was moderated slightly after the military takeover in 1966, however, the military government “confirmed the election of village chiefs”, which had been an important part of the “assault [...] on the political structures of ethnicity” (idem). The two following ruling parties, the Military Committee for the Recovery and the National Progress (CMRPN) and the Council for the Health of the People (CSP) were too short in power to have a consistent policy regarding the ethnic groups in the country. The CNR, on the other hand, came to power under the leadership of Thomas Sankara, who had “well-entrenched, ideologically inspired attitudes” towards the traditional chieftaincy and “wasted little time implementing them” (ibid: 190-191).
The strengthening of the civic realm under Sankara
The first and clear example of Sankara weakening the traditional chieftaincy was through the formation of the CDRs as “authentic organization[s] of the people”, while imposing these CDRs in all aspects of life (Engelbert 1996: 191). The “[replacement of] the legitimacy of history and custom with a new legitimacy of revolution” (idem) was an assertion of the dominance of the public realm over the primordial realm and, in a way, over the private realm as well. The next “sharp blow to the heart of ethnicity” was the nationalization of land with the goal of “[breaking] the power of traditional chiefs” (idem). Although this was done rather hastily and “in an atmosphere of improvisation”, both actions showed a strong determination to shift power and legitimacy away from the primordial into the civic realm.
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Furthermore, the traditional practices of forced labor and tribute payments were abolished, leading to a reduction in tribal power and thus a weakening of the primordial realm.
Another way in which the power of traditional chieftaincy was severely limited under the Sankara government was through a series of measures with regards to the liberation of women. Although women are essential to the history and practices of the Mossi, they have historically been very limited in their freedom as they have traditionally been exchanged between “male-dominated lineages” in what is called pogsyure (ibid: 210-211). Although the practice of pogsyure has gradually disappeared over the years, polygamy (the practice of men marrying multiple wives) and excision (the practice of female genital mutilation) were and are heavily prevalent in Burkina Faso. After coming to power, the CNR banned both practices, however, as polygamy was not fully criminalized and excision encountered heavy resistance by the rural population, in the long run “the CNR policies effectively failed to emancipate women” (ibid: 214-215). Despite this failure, it was a clear attempt to limit traditional power and sent a strong message to many women in the country that the new government represented them. Not only did Sankara fight the oppressive practices, but by proclaiming to provide every woman in the country with a job he attempted to pull women away from their traditional roles in the primordial sphere and place them into the civic sphere.
Besides ways in which to limit the power of the traditional chieftaincy, the CNR also sought to strengthen the civic sphere by creating an ‘imagined community’ and a strong national identity for its citizens to identify with, as opposed to their tribal or ethnic identity. This was done through “assimilation to a movement of national liberation”: on 4 August 1984, exactly one year after the coup in which Sankara came to power, the name of the country was changed to Burkina Faso. Moreover, a new national anthem was created, as well as a new flag featuring the red and green colors of Pan-Africanism, as well a yellow star symbolizing the “light of the revolution”. Besides the new flag, a new coat of arms was created as well, which was heavily loaded with revolutionary symbolism —a red star referring to the communist movement, a crossed mattock and AK-47 referring to the Soviet-symbol of the hammer and sickle, and the revolutionary motto “La patrie ou la mort, nous
vaincrons” (“Homeland or death, we shall overcome”). By invoking national pride and
patriotism, the government aimed to strengthen its legitimacy through the moralization of the civic public. This invocation of pride is most clearly visible in the name of the country, which can be translated as “Land of the Upright Man”, heavily emphasizing the dignity of its people. The creation of a strong Burkinabé identity would lead to stronger government legitimacy by strengthening the civic public. However, this national identity was not opposed to ethnic identities, but sought to incorporate these as the name Burkina draws from two different
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indigenous languages (and the ‘bé’ in Burkinabé draws from a third) (Harsch 2013: 363-364).
Another important way in which the Sankara government attempted to strengthen its legitimacy was by providing basic necessities to the poorest among the Burkinabé population and by bettering their standard of life through the provision of short-term tangible benefits, which lead to a feeling among the masses of being represented by the government. First of all, this was done through moralization and austerity in government spending related to government officials. As mentioned earlier, government salaries were cut by 40 percent, privileges of government officials were cancelled, their luxurious lifestyles were severely limited, a low budget was allocated for the maintenance of the presidential palace, and government officials (including himself) were grilled publicly in anti-corruption trials and hearings. These measures increased the government’s legitimacy, as the government clearly distanced itself from the unpopular and corrupt governments which had been in power previously. This was also done by “[easing] the financial burden of the impoverished masses”, through a reduction of taxes, rent and other costs (such as medical and educational costs) for the poorest sections of the population (Martin 1987: 84). Other policies which achieved this were the redistribution of land, the prevention of famines through agricultural reform, and prioritizing public health and education. Because these policies were “clearly articulated and simply formulated” and “essentially focused on the welfare of the populace”, they enjoyed “widespread appeal” (Harsch 2013: 88). By providing substantial and tangible benefits for its population, the Sankara government achieved higher legitimacy through the strengthening of the civic public.
Failure, resistance and success
Despite the CNR’s assertive and confrontational approach towards the ethnic groups, one of the main instruments in ensuring the dominance of the civic public over the primordial public in social and political aspects of life, the creation the CDRs with the intention of being the ‘authentic expression’ of the masses, did not achieve its goal. Despite that, as Martin (1987) has pointed out, the institutional structure of the government allowed for criticism and debate, in practice the CDRs were used primarily to exercise power from the top down as opposed to the bottom-up grassroots committees that the CDRs were intended to be. This is visible in the extent to which the CDRs encountered resistance, most notably in the “sabotage of the instruments of political control”, whereby “the sons of village chiefs were elected to village CDRs” (Engelbert 1996: 120-121). Here it becomes clear that the primordial sphere was too dominant in society for the CDRs to function as they were intended to function, inevitably leading to a more authoritarian approach by the government. Eventually, many that signed up for the CDRs viewed it as a position in which they could
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assert more authority: many within the CDRs abused their power for personal gains and disputes, which has left a dark stain on the legacy of the CDRs.
Another case where the Sankara government failed to achieve its goals as a result of the dominance of the primordial sphere is in the campaign for the liberation of women. Here it is clear that ethnic identity and tradition play a decisive role in the identity and beliefs of many Burkinabé. The campaign for the liberation of women —which includes the outlawing of excision and polygamy, as well as the effort to help women emancipate financially— was not only a (failed) attempt to, in a sense, pull women into the civic sphere; it was also an example of how the importance of the primordial public in society limited the ability of the government to achieve emancipation itself.
Overall, Sankara’s government has not reached its goals with regards to limiting the overall influence of the primordial identity. By “[proving] incapable of “imposing upon the peasants the disruption of their traditional hierarchies by the elimination of customary authority”” (Engelbert 1996: 118-120).
However, the quite extraordinary feats that the Sankara government has accomplished through its mobilization campaigns are proof that the government has also been very successful in moralizing and legitimizing the civic sphere. According to Harsch (2013), Sankara achieved this “by convincing many ordinary people that they had the capacity to act” (Harsch 2013: 371). The fact that many of his policies were practical and simply formulated solutions to pressing needs gained him the support of many citizens. One of the greatest accomplishments that the government achieved in this regard is the vaccination of over a million children against measles, yellow fever, and meningitis over a period of three weeks in 1984 (Kessler et. al 1986). The main vehicle through which this was achieved was the mobilization of medical personnel and the population through the Vaccination Committees and the CDRs (idem). Other accomplishments that the government achieved through widespread mobilization were the building of hundreds of schools in each community, as well as the building of a medical dispensary in every school. When Sankara, against the advice of international donors, announced his optimistic plan of building a national railroad, the government managed to mobilize thousands of Burkinabé in building the railroad. The fact that the government was able to mobilize so many supporters is a result of the strengthening of the civic public through the ways which have been discussed in this paper.
Not only did Sankara succeed in reaching many of his goals through the widespread mobilization of his base, he also managed to strengthen the civic public through the creation of a new national identity. “Years after the CNR’s demise, significant sectors of the population, including leading figures who were politically hostile to the Sankara government,
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seem to readily accept their identification of citizens of Burkina Faso, as Burkinabé” (Harsch 2013: 364). Despite the dominance of the primordial realm in many aspects of Burkinabé life under and after Sankara, in the long run he did create the ‘imagined community’ necessary for a strong civic public.
Conclusion and discussion
In this research paper I have studied the effect of the tension between the primordial and the civic public in Burkina Faso on Thomas Sankara's government's ability to enforce social change. Thomas Sankara was in power from the coup that put him in power in 1983 until his betrayal and death in 1987 at the hands of his best friend and military commander (?) Blaise Compaoré. To answer the research question I have made use of Peter Ekeh’s theoretical framework on the public realm in African societies, whereby a distinction is made between the amoral civic realm and the moral primordial realm. As a result of the colonial and post-colonial process, a dialectical relationship between the two publics has formed whereby Africans attempt to gain as much as possible from the civic realm (and contribute as little as possible), while contributing generously to the primordial realm (at the expense of the civic realm). Although the French colonial rulers initially aimed to destroy the ethnic structures and break up tribal power, this gradually changed as the French began to preserve and use the ethnic power structures —most notably those of the Mossi kingdom, which was the biggest and most powerful ethnic power structure in the region— for the extraction of taxes, forced labor and conscription. Eventually, many of the younger Mossi generation felt dissatisfied with their traditional leaders and pushed for independence, causing many of the traditional Mossi to side with the colonial government. After independence in 1960, many of this younger generation of Mossi came to power, forming the African bourgeoisie which characterized the governments in many post-colonial African countries. The newly independent government started an “all-out assault” against the traditional chieftaincy, which was —although slightly moderated— continued under the following governments. When Sankara came to power in 1983, one of his main goals was to break the power of the ethnic groups in the country and create a sense of national unity and pride, which would lead to the strengthening of the civic public needed in order to generate social change. The creation of the Revolutionary Defense Committees (CDRs) as the authentic expression of the people directly aimed to replace the primordial structures which were heavily prevalent in many (mostly rural) parts of the countries. Subsequently, the government aimed to break up tribal power through the nationalization and redistribution of land, much of which was under control of ethnic tribes. Another way in which the government aimed to shift power from the primordial to the civic public was through the liberation of women. By abolishing oppressive practices such as female mutilation while at the same time offering every woman in the
