To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure no-reply@cambridge.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
Chapter 10 shifts from the institutional development of the gacaca courts at the elite level to their institutional effects – real and imagined – at the mass level. Like the next chapter, it speaks to their meaning – in an interpretive sense – in the countryside. The analysis calls on the dramatis personae who appeared in various gacaca proceedings over the years: survivors and perpetrators, witnesses and defendants, inyangamugayo and the ordinary peasants who made up the audiences in Rwanda’s open-air courtrooms. Collectively, they describe a cornucopia of violence. Relying on empirical vignettes from many different legal performances over the years – some of them destructive, others cathartic, yet others profane – the chapter takes the reader into, to use Robert Cover’s evocative phrase, “a field of pain and death.”
Much of West Africa (and particularly the Sahel) may be once falling again under military government. This essay asks what, if anything, historians of Africa can contribute to an understanding of this phenomenon. I argue that writing the history and understanding the memory of military government will entail a renewed approach to political history and social theory. It will also entail confronting — just as so many citizens are currently doing — the peculiar failures of democracy in Africa's neoliberal era.
Like the preceding chapter, Chapter 12 investigates the relationship between the center and the periphery in the waging of lawfare, with a particular emphasis on resistance to the gacaca project. Although some observers have come to speak of “Rwanda’s Leviathan,” the label causes one to overlook the few – but nonetheless really existing – spaces of everyday resistance to authoritarian rule. To render this resistance visible, the chapter assembles empirical vignettes from the field. These vignettes are about the “the art of not being governed,” as James Scott has memorably put it. To ward off the danger of mistaking enforced compliance with the gacaca project for genuine commitment to it, the chapter gives pride of place to “quiet agency.”
Chapter 12 concludes the book and ties its different strands together. It explains why, and when, lawfare came to be seen by leading RPF cadres as a functional equivalent to warfare. The chapter further explains why Rwanda’s present resembles its past to a remarkable degree. More specifically, the analysis demonstrates that the government of threat and care in the twenty-first century was informed by a raison d’état that has driven the imposition of grand institutional designs ever since the precolony. What this concluding chapter offers is a path-dependent argument about the rise of lawfare in post-genocide Rwanda. As such, it illustrate the analytic payoff of taking the study of the country’s gacaca courts out of the context of transitional justice.
Chapter 5 is the first of three chapters concerned with the institutional development of the gacaca courts, their formation and deformation. In conjunction, these chapters chart the transition from legalism to lawfare in post-genocide Rwanda, one of two explanatory pathways traced in the book. By carefully dissecting the temporally and spatially embedded mechanisms and processes by which elites of the Rwandan Patriotic Front maneuvered to create modified arrangements of things past, these chapters excavate the microfoundations of the authoritarian rule of law in Rwanda. This chapter traces the obscure beginnings of the idea of gacaca in pre-genocide Rwanda, then accounts for the modernization of this social imaginary in the late 1990s.
Chapter 6 is the second of three chapters concerned with the institutional development of the gacaca courts, their formation and deformation. In conjunction, these chapters chart the transition from legalism to lawfare in post-genocide Rwanda, one of two explanatory pathways traced in the book. By carefully dissecting the temporally and spatially embedded mechanisms and processes by which elites of the Rwandan Patriotic Front maneuvered to create modified arrangements of things past, these chapters excavate the microfoundations of the authoritarian rule of law in Rwanda. This chapter foregrounds the legislative foundations of the gacaca project. Along with the next chapter, it gives a detailed account of the economy and ingenuity with which Rwanda’s new rulers devised and waged the strategy of lawfare. What it also makes clear, however, is that the deformation of Rwandas gacaca courts – their violent legalization – was not an inevitable outcome.
The ‘title deed fix’ – resurgent globally since the 1990s – is part of a wave of market-led agrarian reforms whose outcomes have been mixed. Kenya was the first African country to experiment – starting six decades ago and continuing today – with state-mandated formal land registration and private titling. Today it is among a handful to begin a transition to a digitized land registry. Behind both paper and electronic land documents, however, is a persistent temporal fiction that undergirds state-backed title registries – namely, a constructed present that is out of sync with intersecting biographical and structural temporalities, and that can efface socially recognized pasts, commitments or testimonials. We analyse some consequences of those temporal dissonances, unstable rights durations, and an ensuing limbo that can last decades, through family land stories shared with us during long-term ethnographic research in Kenya’s fertile central highlands. Especially vulnerable to temporal erasure and dispossession when title deed limbo spans decades are divorced or single women and their children, particularly as farmland and non-agricultural employment become more scarce and land markets overheat. Multitemporal family narratives powerfully illustrate why title deeds of any age are best taken as provisional truths rather than legal certainties, and why tenure security is an unstable and reversible process rather than a present or absent condition.
Leather markets are critical nodes in the leather industry value chain. They attract manufacturers and small and medium enterprises that facilitate social interactions and opportunities, leading to increased availability of finished leather goods. This study explores the social transformation and organization of Mushin leather market in Lagos megacity based on data collected through observation and in-depth and key informant interviews with traders, association and community members, transporters and customers in the market. Mushin leather market evolved from a shop owned by an indigenous woman known as Iya Ijebu (Ijebu woman) into a leather trading community. State and local governments intervene minimally in the market affairs through sanitation rules and revenue collection. Routes to market socialization include mentoring and apprenticeships, with visible gender disparities. Associational membership guarantees full integration to traders. Strong business, personal and group networks structure ethnic dynamics and occupational specializations. The article reveals the inherent interdependence of social institutions in understanding the organization of the leather market, particularly in terms of how capital, associational norms and networks shape the formation of a heterogeneous market in an indigenous Yoruba community. Mushin leather market is transforming the domains of ethnic trade speciality and patterning intergroup social relations in Lagos megacity.
This article explores trajectories in the politics of water patronage in N’Djamena, Chad. Water appears as a malleable and elusive commodity, at once ubiquitous and somewhat overlooked. Drawing on ethnographic field research in peripheral N’Djamena, I argue that relational distance is skilfully handled by water patrons for monetary rewards and influence. Such handling swings the making of water value in contradictory directions unaccounted for in much of the existing literature on water patronage. Present or absent, hidden or on display, funders or profit makers, patrons may leverage water supply through material, symbolic or entrepreneurial labour that places them in conflicting spaces. Ultimately, these leveraging processes based on the manipulation of relational distance create a multifaceted water valuation. The various positionalities of the water patrons and their use of relational distance point to the existence of multiple water values, rather than a single one. Therefore, I argue that water may have either a ‘distant value’ or an ‘anchored value’, depending on the relational distance strategy implemented by the patron who provides it.