Since Waldemar Nielsen published his generous, unheeded and ultimately wrong prediction, much has happened in southern Africa and in the United States. In southern Africa, with the exception of the situation in Portuguese-speaking Africa, little has changed and American policy has remained largely as Nielsen then described it. Since the April 25, 1974 coup in Lisbon which overthrew the New State dictatorship, remarkable changes have begun to occur in Portugal and in her African territories: Portugal has granted independence to Guinea-Bissau (September 12), and has pledged independence to Angola and to Mozambique at an undetermined future date and in a manner as yet to be clearly explicated. But American policy toward Portugal and toward the territories it still controls in southern Africa maintains extreme caution. Our policy has remained rather passive, unimaginative, in want of innovation and, it seems, replete with compromises. In short, present American policy here appears to lack any clear conceptual basis or purpose.

Two recent conferences illustrate on-going debates in African studies and dramatically reflect some of the major issues in African politics. Convening in Addis Ababa, December 9-19,1973, the Third International Congress of Africanists adopted a broad theme: “The Economic, Social, Political, Scientific and Cultural Development of Africa.“ The Ninth Annual Social Science Conference of the East African Universities, which met in Dar es Salaam, December 18-20, 1973, focused on “Rural Development.“

In 1948, Afrikanerdom achieved its long-sought goal of dominance within the white minority when the Nationalist Party won the general election—offering South Africa a new policy called apartheid and, incidentally, adding a new pejorative to the international political vocabulary.

Although its authors had failed to define apartheid with any precision, political observers at the time feared that South Africa was about to enter a dangerous era of authoritarian racism fundamentally different from past policies. Those fears, based on the ugly pro-Nazi record of Nationalist leaders during World War II (among them the present Prime Minister, Johannes Vorster) and the blatant Nationalist exacerbation of white bigotry instanced by the popular election slogan die swart gevaar (the black menace), soon turned out to be fully justified.

For generations, Blacks in southern Africa have tried one expedient after another to promote change in the highly discriminatory conditions under which they live. In choosing to concentrate in this lecture on certain specific approaches made in recent years by African and American Blacks to achieve this purpose, there is no intention of underrating these long and persistent attempts made in earlier periods and also by many others. Insofar as this paper is infused with a basic assumption, however, it is that Blacks must unite their efforts within and across national and continental boundaries and use the widest range of pressures if there is to be a chance of creating basic change in colonial and minority-ruled southern Africa.

Imagine a conference of West African heads of state or government held in 1870 to discuss what West Africa would be like in the year 1900. The list of participants at such a conference might well have included Lat Dior, the darnel of Cayor (Senegal), Samouri Toure (Guinea), his enemy Tie-ba of Sikasso, the President of Liberia, Obas of Benin and Lagos, King Gezo, King Gelele, King Tofa (Porto Novo), King Ja-ja (Opobo), Chief Na-na (Itshekiri), Sultan Attahiru of Sokoto, and Asantehene Prempeh.

Examination of the black reaction to apartheid during the period 1948-1973 is topical and should help us to understand what is now happening in South Africa. The black reaction is not merely to apartheid; it is to the whole social system imposed on the black people of South Africa from the moment the white man landed there in 1652. There has been a reaction over the succeeding centuries which has manifested itself in a variety of ways. For a long time this reaction assumed the form of armed resistance. When that was defeated, it took the form of political opposition.

A central element in the story of southern Africa during the early 1970s is the quietly persistent penetration in to neighboring countries of dominant interests—whether economic, political or even military—of the Republic of South Africa. As the motives for this expansion have become clearer, so too has the crucial nature of the importance to the South African system of the Portuguese colonialist positions in Angola and Mozambique, and, by an inseparable extension, in Guinea-Bissau and the Cape Verde archipelago.

This significance to South Africa of the “Portuguese territories” is now observable in all major fields of public policy and action, and ranges from the military-logistical to the very interstices of the South African economic structure. An understanding of the South African government's relations with these territories, as well as of its relations with the Portuguese regime in Lisbon, must therefore be essential to a realistic estimate of likely developments in the subcontinent, and bears, accordingly, a direct meaning for the policies and intentions of the United Nations.

For a number of years the leaders of many African nations have voiced concern about the impact of foreign economic activity in the Portuguese-administered territories in southern Africa. They have argued that as long as a major part of Portugal's revenues are expended on military operations, particularly to suppress liberation movements in the territories, the income from such foreign economic activity helps Portugal maintain its grasp over the African territories.

Largely as a result of African efforts, a United Nations resolution was passed in 1965 that recognized the relationship between foreign economic investment and Portugal's failure to grant self-determination and independence to the territories. The resolution requested that all specialized UN agencies refrain from granting assistance to Portugal and that all states refrain from any financial activity with Portugal that would impede the attainment of independence for Mozambique and Angola.

Relatively little scholarly attention, however, has been paid to the role of foreign economic activity in the Portugueseadministered territories. Perhaps one reason for this is the paucity of hard data on the economic activity in each territory; another is the inherent difficulty of tracing the larger impact of any economic investment. Nevertheless, because of the importance of the issue some assessment seems warranted. This paper represents an attempt to contribute to that assessment. First, the dimensions of foreign economic investment in the territories are examined, with special emphasis on Mozambique and Angola during the decade following the outbreak of wars of liberation. Second, some comment is offered on the influence of such economic activity on efforts to attain independence within Portuguese Africa.

In most countries ordinary people do not appreciate the sheer guile of their political leaders. Rhodesia is no exception. The dealings between the government and the African National Council confirm it. The government interrupted its dialogue with the ANC by detaining thirtythree senior ANC officials without trial, effectively destroying the cohesion of the only black political organization in the country. To the white voter, who sees no further than the surface of events, the detentions represented a simple exercise of executive power. In fact the government could not act in as sudden and arbitrary a fashion as that. It had to choose the time for its action with care, and to some extent it had to prepare the white electorate to accept what happened without question.

The word "apartheid" does not appear anywhere in the South African statute book, and a keen observer would be hard put to discover its existence anywhere in the formal texts which make up the law. Yet apartheid is deeply embedded in the law of South Africa.

In a country in which neither the content nor the administration of the law has ever been free from racial overtones, twenty-five years of continuous rule by the National Party Government have seen to it that the ideology of segregation has been translated into a formidable pattern of legalized racial discrimination. This pattern is to be observed throughout the entire apparatus of the South African legal system. It is written into the constitution and reflected in the legislature. It is a major constituent of the statute law of the country, and decisions as to the manner in which legislation is to be implemented make up a significant proportion of the case law. Apartheid has involved and influenced both the composition and the conduct of the courts, just as it has affected the legal profession and the teaching of law.

A general survey of non-African reactions to African literature reveals some characteristic features. First, there are the inexcusable generalizations that fail to take account of the continuity of modern African literature with traditional African modes of expression, and the fact that the study of the multiplicity of cultural groups in the continent, even if the cultures are homologous, must necessarily be of a comparative nature. Second, and this is closely related to the above, non-African scholars with glaring gaps in their knowledge of the continent and its peoples evince a reluctance to acknowledge such gaps—with the result that such scholars often make reprehensibly erroneous assertions.

This article is excerpted from a study sponsored by the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace which began in the summer of 1973. The work was conceived as a relatively limited inquiry into the role of planning in disaster relief, and as it progressed, the scope of the study broadened to include other dimensions of the United States and United Nations response to the tragedy in the Sahel. What follows, however, is but a fragment of the complex story of the disaster and the continuing international relief effort. It is mainly an account of how the crisis was dealt with by the U.S. government. As such, it is only a beginning of the research and analysis that should be prompted by this catastrophe.

The status of the guerrilla wars in Angola, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau has long been a topic of debate. While the coup d'etat in Portugal has affected the struggle for liberation in all three territories, the complexion of the debate appears to have changed most significantly with respect to the hostilities in Mozambique. This article presents an assessment of the balance of military force in Mozambique from the inception of the guerrilla war in 1964 through April 1974. Such an assessment provides an interesting perspective to recent military and political developments in that territory.

Five phases can be discerned in the fighting in Mozambique since the beginning of the war in 1964. The first phase began in September of that year and ran roughly to the end of 1965. This phase was marked by the initial military successes of the nationalists, the Frente de Libertaca'o de Mozambique (FRELIMO), and the loss of some territory and population by the Portuguese in the districts of Cabo Delgado and Niassa. The second phase, which began in 1966 and ended at the close of 1969, was characterized by an increase in the ability of FRELIMO to concentrate military force on more heavily defended Portuguese positions but with a decrease in the limits of the zones of fighting in Cabo Delgado and Niassa. Phase three ran roughly through the twelve months of 1970 and was marked by a change in Portuguese counterinsurgency strategy which began with the launching of a number of highly successful counteroffensives against FRELIMO bases and sanctuaries. The fourth phase, which began in 1971 and ended in the first months of 1973, was characterized by a diminishing of the level of fighting in Cabo Delgado and Niassa and a concomitant shifting of the focus of military activities to the district of Tete. The fifth phase, which began in the summer of 1973, has been characterized by the spread of military activities from Tete to the northern sectors of Vila Pery and Beira districts. Each phase is discussed in detail below.

In 1959, following the recommendations of the Eiselen Commission, the South African government established separate university colleges for the country's three non-white communities. Heretofore, African, Asian, and Coloured students had attended non-white Fort Hare University or certain white institutions, but the Extension of University Education Act of 1959 specifically prohibited racially integrated education except in extraordinary cases approved by the government. There are now five institutions serving these groups: the University of Durban-Westville for Indians, the University of the Western Cape at Belleville for the Coloured community. Fort Hare University, now exclusively for the Xhosa people, the University of Zululand at Ngoye for Zulus and Swazis, and the University of the North at Turfloop in the Transvaal, serving the Sotho groups as well as the Tswana, Tsonga and Venda peoples.

The bulk of what is known today as African literature began as a reaction to white colonization, oppression, and racism. The similarity of experiences throughout Africa during the colonial era created a common denominator for writing and a common identity in themes and inspirations for writers. Colonization fanned ethnocentric feelings among the colonized and the need to portray black culture as worthy and valid grew. Early African writers described in glowing details the cultural aspects and human worth of their societies.

Rarely has the policy of an individual government attracted as wide attention throughout the world as the racial policy of South Africa. It has been discussed in several organs of the United Nations, in specialized agencies of the United Nations, and in several other international and regional intergovernmental organizations; in the Parliament of many countries; and in numerous non-governmental organizations. A number of countries have broken diplomatic, consular and trade relations with South Africa or refrained from establishing such relations. Actions protesting apartheid have involved hundreds of thousands of people outside Africa. The publications and documents on apartheid fill a good-sized library.

On May 17, 1970, Portuguese colonial forces in Mozambique numbering 50,000 and headed by the newly appointed Commander-in-Chief, General Kaulza de Arriaga launched a sweeping offensive against the areas in northern Mozambique held by FRELIMO, the Mozambique Liberation Front. Operation Gordian Knot was intended to crush the FRELIMO forces which had been operating in Mozambique since 1964. Now, four years after “Gordian Knot,” General de Arriaga has retired from the Portuguese armed forces. Following the coup that rocked Portugal on April 25 the new provisional Portuguese government has opened discussions with FRELIMO in Lusaka on the colonial problem. And FRELIMO forces are operating in strength in five districts of Mozambique—from Niassa and Cabo Delgado in the north, to Tete in the west, to Beira and Vila Pery in central Mozambique. The purpose of this article is to examine the Portuguese military defeat in Mozambique and the growing strength of FRELIMO, to look at the situation as it appears immediately following the coup in Portugal, and to briefly relate these developments to U.S. policy towards Portuguese colonialism.

The most dramatic testimony of the Portuguese military failure is of course the coup in Portugal. Many accounts have noted that General Spinola's book, Portugal and the Future, which heralded the coup, made clear in its analysis that Portugal could not defeat the liberation movements militarily and that a political solution had to be sought. The signs of the erosion of Portugal's position have been evident: the feeling of “hopelessness” among Portuguese youth about the colonial wars; an estimated 100,300 draft resisters and deserters abroad added to the some one million expatriates working outside the country; an increasing tendency for troops in the field “to shy away from contact with the enemy, taking defensive stands only“; fewer than one hundred places taken in the military academy with room for four hundred; the massive discontent within the Portuguese junior officer corps about conditions of service; the growing refusal of military duty (one half of the last class called refused to report).

In a foreword to this substantial book (972 pages) the publishers claim that it is “the first comprehensive guide to the entire African continent and it is written with an authority and candor that bespeak the special qualifications of its authors.” In my opinion this claim is fully justified. The challenge presented by the task of offering a detailed, authoritative, perceptive and frank description of an area as vast, varied and complex as contemporary Africa, is not to be underestimated. In introducing their readers to fifty-seven different territories (some of them islands which, I am sure, some Africanists have not heard of) and offering guidance as to what should be seen, heard, touched, tasted, and understood about their people, arts, food, beliefs, and ideas, the authors have responded to that challenge with conspicuous success.