Social Power and Ugandan State Formation

Historicising the State: Social Power and Ugandan State Formation

A thesis submitted to the University of Manchester for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Humanities

2016 Jessica R. Hawkins

Global Development Institute

School of Environment, Education and Development

Contents List of tables ...... 3

Glossary and abbreviations ...... 4

Abstract ...... 6

Declaration ...... 7

Acknowledgements ...... 8

Chapter One - Historicising the state in Development Studies ...... 10

Chapter Two – Beyond the Western canon: Theorising state formation in Africa ...... 27

Chapter Three - A model of social power: Framework and methods ...... 62

Chapter Four - Uganda: “A Story of Unfulfilled Hopes”? ...... 92

Chapter Five - Ideological power: Laying the tracks for the colonial state ...... 109

Chapter Six - The political power of the colonial state ...... 144

Chapter Seven - The militarism of the Ugandan state ...... 175

Chapter Eight - Economic power in Museveni’s Uganda ...... 215

Chapter Nine - Conclusion - Ugandan state formation: A story worth telling .. 250

Appendices ...... 265

Bibliography ...... 267

Word Count (including footnotes): 84785

List of tables

1. Number of instances of the words ‘history’, ‘historical’, 20 ‘historiography’ and ‘historicise / historicising’ in article titles 2. Definitions of power 65 3. The sources of social power 72 4. Two dimensions of state power 78 5. Analysing military power 83 6. Sources of social power in Uganda, 1850-2015 107 7. Number of schools, teachers, pupils and religious affiliation by 1925 130 in the Protectorate of Uganda 8. Colonial government sources of revenue in Uganda, in £1000s 163 9. Overview of political parties in Uganda during the Protectorate 170 10. Presidents of Uganda 1962-1986 177 11. Estimated deaths during Amin’s regime 195 12. Deaths recorded by Kasozi (1994, 178, 254–57) in Buganda region 209 compared to other areas of Uganda, in 1981 13. Sociological organisation of elites 218 14. Sociological organisation of labour 228 15. Sociological organisation of the middle strata 239 16. Key instances of state formation and Mann’s framework of social 252 power in Uganda

Glossary and abbreviations

Bakopi – Baganda subsistence class

Batongole – parish chief

Boda boda – 100cc motorcycle, usually used as a form of taxi service

CMS. – Church Missionary Society – protestant missionaries from Britain

FRONASA – Front for National Salvation

IBEAC – Imperial British East Africa Company

Kabaka – King of the Buganda Kingdom

Kasanvu - forced labour

Katikiro – Prime Minister of Buganda Kingdom

KCC – Kampala City Council

Kitongole – An administrative unit in Buganda

Lubaale – traditional Kiganda God

Luganda – Language of the Kingdom of Buganda

Lukiiko – Administrative government of Buganda

Luwalo – Unpaid work to local chief

Magendo – Black market economy

Mukungu (Bakungu, pl.) – Provincial or saza chief

GSU – General Service Unit

NCC – National Consultative Council

NRA – National Resistance Army

NRM – National Resistance Movement

Nyoro – People of the Bunyoro Kingdom

PRA – People’s Resistance Army 4

PSU – Public Safety Unit

Saza chiefs – County chiefs

SRB – State Research Bureau

UNLA – Uganda National Liberation Army

UNLF – United National Liberation Front

UPDF – Uganda People’s Defense Forces

White Fathers – Catholic missionaries from France

Abstract Jessica R. Hawkins Doctor of Philosophy University of Manchester Historicising the State: Social Power and Ugandan State Formation August 2016

This research employs a framework of social power, as coined by Michael Mann (1986; 1993), to understand the processes of state formation and development in Uganda. Using historical knowledge to understand the extent of social power relations in Ugandan society, the thesis assesses how these relations have shaped Ugandan state formation from the mid-1850s through to the present day. The research aims to bridge a gap between the discussions from African political theorists and historians and those of historical sociologists. It posits that state formation is a useful subject of study within the field of Development Studies, especially when it engages with historical empiricism. However, rather than providing a historically descriptive account of how the state formed, the research employs the theoretical framework of social power to guide the investigation of Ugandan state formation. Four units of analysis - ideological, political, military and economic sources of power form the basis of the approach. A historically and sociologically grounded analysis of the formation of the Ugandan state provides a contextually thick framework through which state development can be understood.

By employing Mann’s macro-historical sociological framework, this research aims to respond to calls not only for greater macro-theorisation, but also for history to be taken into account in development discourse. Unfortunately, the study of history and the use of historians’ work is an investment of time which many development scholars struggle to afford There is an emerging critique that Development Studies scholars should not only acknowledge the historical processes underlying and framing their research, but that they should also actively engage with history to inform theoretical approaches to development.

This thesis aims to demonstrate, from a historical sociology perspective, that history does matter for development and should, therefore, secure itself a place within the discipline, ensuring that Development Studies does include the study of social change in societies over long periods of time. Consequently, the analysis of this thesis argues that Mann’s model of social power can cast light on development trajectories and specifically for the purpose of this study, on processes of state formation in Uganda.

Declaration I declare that no portion of the work referred to in this thesis has been submitted in support of an application for another degree or qualification at this or any other university or other institute of learning.

Copyright Statement i. The author of this thesis (including any appendices and/or schedules to this thesis) owns certain copyright or related rights in it (the “Copyright”) and she has given The University of Manchester certain rights to use such Copyright, including for administrative purposes. ii. Copies of this thesis, either in full or in extracts and whether in hard or electronic copy, may be made only in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (as amended) and regulations issued under it or, where appropriate, in accordance with licensing agreements which the University has from time to time. This page must form part of any such copies made. iii. The ownership of certain Copyright, patents, designs, trade marks and other intellectual property (the “Intellectual Property”) and any reproductions of copyright works in the thesis, for example graphs and tables (“Reproductions”), which may be described in this thesis, may not be owned by the author and may be owned by third parties. Such Intellectual Property and Reproductions cannot and must not be made available for use without the prior written permission of the owner(s) of the relevant Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions. iv. Further information on the conditions under which disclosure, publication and commercialisation of this thesis, the Copyright and any Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions described in it may take place is available in the University IP Policy (see http://documents.manchester.ac.uk/DocuInfo.aspx?DocID=487 ), in any relevant Thesis restriction declarations deposited in the University Library, The University Library’s regulations (see http://www.manchester.ac.uk/library/aboutus/regulations ) and in The University’s policy on Presentation of Theses.

Acknowledgements When you work on a PhD, part-time, over seven years, the acknowledgements section is never going to be a short piece. Embarking upon such a long and arduous process would never have happened had it not been for the encouragement and unfailing support of my supervisor, Tim Jacoby. He has supported me from the moment I started the Masters at the Institute for Development Policy and Management (now the Global Development Institute - GDI). He understood my circumstances and put me forward for many different opportunities throughout the process, whilst offering constant, constructive criticism for my written work, despite my (unconscious) preference for German sentence construction. Through Tim, I was able to fulfil a childhood dream of working at the Imperial War Museums. I would also like to thank my second supervisor, Sam Hickey. His knowledge of my case study, Uganda and endless contacts helped to make me feel at ease in this wonderful country. His assistance at the end of this process was invaluable. He also provided me with extra research work which enabled me to continue with the PhD and build up my skill-set. Special thanks go to my PhD examiners, Anders Sjögren and Matthias vom Hau, and Phil Woodhouse who acted as chair. GDI has many academic colleagues who have helped me over the past seven years. In particular, Sarah Bracking had faith to give me my first teaching assistant role. I would like to add special thanks to Tanja Müller, Admos Chimhowu, David Hulme, Phil Woodhouse, Uma Kothari, Tanja Bastia and Melanie Lombard who have all supported me in many ways. The School of Environment, Education and Development has an excellent admin team who have supported me and fellow PGRs throughout this process and I wish to particularly thank Peter Jacobs, Monique Brown, Elaine Jones, Emma Carter- Brown, Sue Johnson and Jayne Hindle. For the past two years I have had the pleasure to lecture in an exciting and innovative department of the University. The Humanitarian and Conflict Response Institute is a haven for interdisciplinary scholars and I am very grateful to my colleagues and students who have encouraged me and challenged me in all manner of ways. Bertrand Taithe and Peter Gatrell have been invaluable during this period along with Betty-Ann Bristow, Adil Mohammed, Adele Aubrey and Samantha Winkler. Furthermore, academic work at The University of Manchester would not have been possible without the friendships I have made. Thank you so much Helen Underhill, Róisín Read, Kirsten Howarth, Niki Banks, Lisa Ficklin, Eleanor Davey, Cathy Wilcock, Gemma Sou, Birte Vogel, Sally Cawood, Mathilde Maitrot, Briony Jones, Jen Peterson, Maura Duffy, Rubina Jasani and Sophie King. In Uganda, there are many who have provided help, advice and hospitality during my past eight visits and during my research, Walter Fahd, Sina Mabwa, Lesley Harris, Michael Byaruhanga, Badru & Sylvia Bukenya, Angela Inglish, Nicola Sansom, Roger Tangri, Jonathan Fisher and Frederick Golooba-Mutebi to name a few. My close friends have kept me in check throughout the years and never failed to entertain me, thank you Kelly Polachek, Louisa Cameron, Lucy Campton, Jackie & Tony Reilly-Romo, Wai-mun & James Lester, Kristen & Graham Drummond, Philippa & Mike Wainwright, Annie Rowling, Leesa & James O’Neill, Rachael Howarth, Christian Howarth, Nick Clough, Lizzie George, Orla Lehane, Isabelle Zeh and Hannah Edgeley. A special thanks goes to Jackie 8

Reilly-Romo for taking the time to proof-read this whole thesis, any mistakes are my own. I would also be at a loss without my music, so thanks goes to the Dave Egerton Band and Kaleidescope band, both of which provide me with the time to disconnect and engage my brain in something completely different. Finally, I am so lucky to have the most supportive family. I would not have got here without my parents, Neil & Yvonne Hawkins, and sisters, Rebecca and Heather and their partners, Ben & Rich. My extended family also deserve a special mention, Doug, Sheila, Bruce, Laura and Maia Garner. A thesis is personal, and I feel that every page in here would not have existed without my husband, who stood behind me all the way and sometimes in front of me, pulling me kicking and screaming through this process. To Ross, my husband, my support, my world. I could not have done this without you.

Chapter One - Historicising the state in Development Studies

If the definition of a fool is someone who does not learn from experience, then development studies must be among the most foolish of disciplines. (Clammer 2012, 18) This research employs a framework of social power, as coined by Michael Mann (1986; 1993), to understand the process of state formation in Uganda. It is a historiographic model which identifies four principle sources of power that constitute social systems, namely: ideological, political, military and economic power. These interrelated networks of power overlap and intersect with each other, and when interrogated, tell a story of the structure and history of societies (Mann 1986). The framework situates itself within the interdisciplinary field of macro-historical sociology, defined as ‘the study of the past to find out how societies work and change’ (Smith, 1991, 3). This research uses historical methods to understand the extent of social power relations in Ugandan society, and assesses how these relations have shaped Ugandan state formation and development.

This introductory chapter is divided into three sections. The first section outlines the aims and objectives of the research. The second introduces the two fields within which this research is situated, historical sociology and development. As an interdisciplinary thesis, my research takes the stance that historical study is important within the field of Development Studies. Further, by focusing on an African state, the research is making a significant contribution to the work of historical sociologists. Third, the chapter provides an outline of the rest of the thesis.

Aims and objectives of the research The underlying premise of this research is to bridge a gap between discussions from African political theorists and those from historical sociologists. The thesis posits that state formation is a useful subject of study within the field of Development Studies, especially when it engages with historical empiricism.

However, rather than providing a historically descriptive account of how the state formed, the research employs the theoretical framework of social power to guide the investigation of Ugandan state formation. Four elements – ideological, political, military and economic sources of power form the basis of the approach. A historically and sociologically grounded analysis of the formation of the Ugandan state provides a more in-depth and contextually thick framework through which state development can be understood.

The overarching aim of this research is to employ Mann’s (1986) conceptual and historiographic model of social power to cast light on the development trajectory and power relations of Uganda. Furthermore, the research aims to understand whether utilising this framework is a constructive method for understanding the trajectories of developing countries. Through an extensive literature review of theories pertaining to state formation, the gaps and common themes in academic knowledge are identified. The analysis which follows illuminates how the use of a framework of social power can be applied to assess state formation in developing countries. The literature review and conceptual framework aim to answer the first objective and research question which is:

• In what ways does the framework of social power provide a useful way of researching state formation in a developing country?

The second and main research objective for this study is to analyse how networks of power have been deployed for major social change in Ugandan history. The research question is therefore:

• In what ways have the sources of social power resulted in processes of state formation in Uganda? This is then underscored with the following sub-questions relating to each network of power: ‹ How did changes in the organisation of ideological power lay the tracks for colonial control over Buganda and subsequently Uganda? ‹ In what ways did political power contribute to the formation of the Ugandan colonial state?

‹ How has military power been used as a means for domestic repression and resistance in the post-independence era? ‹ How has economic power been used to form the state in modern Uganda?

The third objective presented in the analysis and summarised in the concluding chapter, is to provide an assessment of the Ugandan state during each period of analysis. The research question asks:

• During Uganda’s key periods of state formation, what type of state emerged?

The research is underpinned by the belief that in trying to understand social action and social change neither historiography nor social science should act independently (Bryant 2006). For sociologists, there is the opinion that nomothetic theories are more appropriate for comprehending such topics, involving the stance that general theories can explain their regularities. Historians, however, prefer to adopt an idiographic position which eschews general theories, preferring instead to study history as individual unrelated events (Sanderson 1999; Kiser and Hechter 1991). In contrast, historical sociology offers the researcher the ability to combine both positions, using the idiographic to inform nomothetic theories, producing a critical analysis which abstains from descriptive discussion, but instead forges a theoretical framework supported by context specific evidence.

Historical sociology The purpose of this section is to locate the field of historical sociology as a discipline and provide a synopsis of the debates and issues which have preoccupied theorists within the tradition. It discusses the rise of the discipline, provides a depiction of the three waves of historical sociology since its emergence and explores how the field has started to expand from its traditionally Western bias into a subject area which transcends disciplines, providing answers to questions faced by scholars working within a variety of contexts.

In his 1991 review of Mann’s first volume on The Sources of Social Power (1986), Peter Munz tells a detailed story of the progression of history as a discipline. It is a progression which has changed almost beyond recognition. Initially, as Munz recounts, the subject was known as the ‘philosophy of history’, which included a research programme of trying to understand the meaning of history (1991, 256). It involved testing theories which could be applied either synchronically or diachronically, over time or across social systems. Those who produced manuscripts during this era include Hegel and Marx. It was, however, with the discovery of the concept of the ‘individual’ within humanities that history monumentally changed. As Munz continued, Leopold von Ranke, a German historian, instigated this change during the nineteenth century, declaring that human beings, events and even social systems were unique; generalisations should not be made about their existence; in contrast they should be studied and analysed individually. As a consequence, ‘the study of the past degenerate[d] into an assembly of anecdotes which have no intelligible relationship to one another and the course of history can only be seen as a meaningless succession of events, the sequence of which is seen as accidental and could have occurred in any chronological order whatever’ (Munz 1991, 257). The implication of this change meant that a clear distinction between history and sociology emerged from this period onwards. Generally, historians have concentrated their efforts upon maintaining an idiographic stance, focusing their efforts on the study of specific events in history (Sanderson 1999). Some sociologists, however, have maintained a nomothetic point of view; choosing to understand societies and events under general theories.

It was not until the second half of the twentieth century that a few scholars returned to the previous research programme from the Hegel and Marx era. This time though, the disciplinary background of the majority of these academics was sociology rather than history. The aim of these scholars, referred to as historical sociologists, was to combine the idiographic stance with that of the nomothetic, with the overarching goal of gaining a greater insight into the ways in which societies function. For Abrams (1982), historical sociology is a way of understanding the ‘relationship of personal activity and experience on the one hand and social organisation on the other as something that is continuously constructed in time’ (1982, 16). 13

Writing in 1991, Dennis Smith stated that there have been two waves of historical sociology. The first, as mentioned above, appeared during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, whilst the second started in the 1950s and continued through to the millennium. From the vantage point of the 2010s, it is now possible to see the emergence of a third wave over the past twenty years, a wave which is developing strongly on the theories and methods used in the second wave, but alternatively applies them to non-Western cases.

The first wave of historical sociology concerns the period prior to the totalitarian era and the Second World War. For Smith, this wave includes the likes of Montesquieu, Hume, Tocqueville, Marx, Weber and Durkheim (Smith, 1991). For these scholars, their stimulus was a desire to understand how the world was changing when confronted with the expansion of capitalist modes of production and greater industrialisation. As Mahoney and Rueschemeyer (2003) point out, in order to comprehend the ‘patterning of social life’, this wave used historical analysis, focusing on ‘comprehensive structures and large-scale processes’ (2003, 7). It was through these means that their works attempted to make sense of these changes, specifically in Europe. They asked questions which they hoped would reveal why these changes were ‘mysterious, frustrating and obscure’ (Abrams 1982, 4). As Abrams points out, central to the analysis of these scholars was the question: ‘to what extent does the world have to be the way it is?’ (1982, 5).

For Smith, it is the second wave which is of most interest for those wishing to learn about historical sociology (1991). Mahoney and Rueschemeyer (2003) also give the same time frame for the production of the most significant works in historical sociology. During the post-war period (1960s and 1970s in particular), there was a surge in scholars using history as a device to understand sociology. The contexts, like the first wave, have focused on largely powerful states, most of which are in Europe. The works produced in this period attempted to construct new theories to understand social change (Anderson 1974; Moore 1966; Skocpol 1979).

The themes for emergent scholars from this second wave arose from attempts to understand the totalitarian regimes of the 1930s and 1940s. General theories, on an abstract level, were formulated to provide frameworks for understanding social systems. Parsons’ (1951) structural-functionalist model and Smelser’s (1959) work on the Lancashire cotton-textile industry provide examples of scholars from this era. From the mid-1960s through to 1980, the political background of the time produced works from a Marxist perspective. For example, a major work by Barrington Moore (1966) was swiftly followed by Anderson (1974), Wallerstein (1974), Thompson (1978) and Skocpol (1979). These works tended to bring forward a more comparative approach, considering the trajectories of development of the modern world. Case studies ranged from those on either side of the Cold War, however, as has been the case with the majority of historical sociology studies up until the past twenty years, dominant and powerful states were the usual countries of choice. In some instances, the focus aimed to understand why states have come to be positioned where they are in the global system (Wallerstein 1974); in most instances, class, revolution and balances of power formed the crux of the debate (Moore 1966; Skocpol 1979).

As the twentieth century continued, the second wave progressed with scholars who developed grand-scale works on state development, capitalising on the changes in the political situation. ‘As old political boundaries became more permeable, new imaginative resources were brought into play’ (Smith, 1991, 5). Michael Mann’s work (1986; 1993; 2012; 2013) can be situated within this era of historical sociology, with his combination of creating sociological theory through the detailed consideration of historical empiricism, taking large time frames as his chronological reference. His work, along with others (Gellner 1988; Runciman 1989; Runciman 1997; Tilly 1992), has stayed close to historical facts, whether through the use of archives or secondary literature. However, instead of providing historical narratives, they have carefully used this material to inform, expand or deliberate upon grand theory.

Over the past two decades, it is possible to see that a third wave of historical sociologists has emerged. They have started to challenge the dominant Eurocentric analyses of the previous two waves by investigating social change 15 in other contexts, namely those countries which are not perceived to be powerful. They do not necessarily develop new theories in order to provide generalisations. On the contrary, they use the theories coined by their predecessors in the second wave to test out the applicability of these to new contexts. In some cases, they prove that the theories cannot be transferred (see for example Centeno 2002), in others the theories have worked although sometimes with limitations (see Jacoby 2004b). Arguably, there has been a shift from inductive to deductive reasoning with the movement from wave two to three. However, as with all social science research, the lines between the two approaches are never clear cut. A new, dynamic path for the field of historical sociology has been created; expressing how the field does not have to cling on to its European roots, but that the theories can be used as comparative examples to investigate contexts which have been under-researched for understanding social change.

This thesis contributes towards the third wave of work within the field of historical sociology. It applies a framework, coined by one of the major historical sociologists of the second wave, Michael Mann, to a non-Western context, specifically Uganda. The country has experienced a dynamic and eventful history during the years covered in this research (1850s to the present day). A thorough investigation using a historical sociology framework on one African state has not as yet existed. This research contributes to filling this gap.

Mann’s model is a ‘history and theory of power relations in human societies’ (Mann 1986, 1); combining historical idiosyncrasy with sociological theory. Using four distinct but interrelated networks of power, it is a means for exploring dynamics amongst groups within or between states. The basic premise rests on the idea that ‘ societies are constituted of multiple overlapping and intersecting sociospatial networks of power ’ (Mann 1986, 1, emphasis in original). However, across societies and over time, there may be more extremes of each power type, described by Mann as the ‘messiness’ of societies (1986, 4). By analysing a society’s history through these dimensions we can see how people, materials and territories have been organised and controlled. This gives greater insight into understanding how states form and build upon structures. Within his own works on predominantly Western cases, Mann uses the framework to look at 16 how the networks of power are employed by a variety of actors within societies in order for them to achieve their own or collective goals. Further, others have used the model to varying degrees in diverse contexts. 1 This research brings Mann’s model to the field of Development Studies to examine the formation of a sub-Saharan African state.

Historical sociology and Development Studies? Development Studies is the primary lens through which Uganda is studied in the scholarship. Bill Freund, an economic historian of Africa, argues that ‘development studies as a university subject (must) contain a non-applied theoretical, political, sociological and historical aspect’ (quoted in Bernstein 2006, 57). This statement corresponds to Bernstein’s assessment of what ‘studying development’ should be, a process of understanding huge changes in the world through political, economic and historical approaches (2006, 55, 57). Since the mid-2000s, there has been a conscious turn towards politics in development scholarship (Hickey 2008), but history, although not invisible, is still lacking. As the quote at the beginning of this chapter points out, Development Studies departments throughout the world tend to focus on development as intervention without learning from past mistakes (Clammer 2012). The field is predominantly linked with policy and training development practitioners and is constrained by the institutions it works with (such as donors, international financial institutions or NGOs) (Corbridge 2007; Mohan and Wilson 2005; Bernstein 2006).

By employing Mann’s macro-historical sociological framework, this research aims to respond to calls not only for greater macro-theorisation (Mohan and Wilson 2005), but also for more history to be taken into account in development discourse. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, in response to the development impasse, there was an initial appeal for greater historiography in development theory. Through its use of ‘monocausal explanations’ of development stemming from the neo-Marxist approaches of the previous decades, 2 the literature from this period offered scant regard for the heterogeneity of developing states’

1 See for example Lucas (1998) on Nigeria, Jacoby (2004b) on Turkey, a special edition of Studies in Comparative International Development (2008) on various cases, Chen (2008) on East Asia and Lange (2009) on former British colonies. 2 Such as dependency theory and modes of production theories. 17 formation (Vandergeest and Buttel 1988). Those critiquing this literature emphasised the benefits of general nomothetic theorising for development, however, they underlined that this should be used in direct conjunction with historical empiricism (Vandergeest and Buttel 1988, 684–86). Development theory at this time lacked diversity, which can be traced to a paucity of historical scholarship, amongst other aspects, in accounts of developing societies (Booth 1992, 4). As noted by Van Donge (1995, 283), The heterogeneity and diversity of the outcomes of social change have to be explained, and this inevitably leads to the relevance of historical studies documenting them. Specific cases of actual development trajectories, [...], may not seem amenable to formulating the broad general views of possible world orders which are so alluring to development theory, but they can lead to the formulation of grounded theory which builds upon observation . Historical resources should have an impact on those working on development theory. An example of this method was applied in the mid-1990s, when the usefulness of historical examination and evidence shed greater light on an analysis of the role of the market in development (see Platteau 1994a; 1994b). Platteau’s use of a variety of disciplines to support his mainly economics based argument aimed to increase interdisciplinarity, and forge research agendas which had ‘remained insufficiently investigated’ (1994a, 537).

A more recent study, History, Historians and Development Policy: A Necessary Dialogue (Bayly et al. 2011), has focused specifically on the importance of history and an engagement with the work of historians for our understanding of development. The introduction states, that judicious efforts to ‘think in time’ – i.e., to take seriously the scholarly research that specializes in disentangling complex interdependent processes as they have played themselves out in particular contexts across decades and even centuries – are a desirable and potentially fruitful basis on which to try to enhance the quality of the responses to some of the contemporary world’s most urgent policy problems (Woolcock, Szreter, and Rao 2011, 7).

Unfortunately, the study of history and the use of historians’ work is an investment of time which many developmental scholars struggle to afford (Woolcock, Szreter, and Rao 2011). Woolcock et al.’s work may be the most recent to support the inclusion of history in development dialogue, however, it is not the only contemporary scholarship to do so. There is an emerging critique that Development Studies scholars should not only acknowledge the historical processes underlying and framing their research, but that they should also actively engage with history to inform theoretical approaches to development (Bernstein 2006; Hickey 2009). With regards to poverty reduction, for example, there is a clear need to engage with the ‘underlying processes’ of development and gain a deeper understanding of social change from a historical perspective (Hickey 2009, 480–81).

An analysis of development themed journals produces a similar picture (Hawkins 2014). Through a search of their databases, there are only a small number of articles in each journal which contain the words history, historical or historiography within their titles since 1995. Table 1 compares these numbers with the total article output for the same period of time. For example, over seventeen years, it is only Third World Quarterly which has more than twenty instances of both ‘history’ and ‘historical’ within article titles, however, this forms just two per cent of the total output. World Development , which has the highest output over the period, reveals only 0.4 per cent of articles which fall into these title categories. In another example, the annual Development Studies Association (DSA) conference at York in 2011 3 consisted of 56 panels and working groups. The History and Economic Development Study Group panel discussion, along with two other individual presentations, demonstrated the total extent of history focused papers at this event. 4 Five years later, the upcoming DSA 2016 conference consists of 73 panels, of which just one has ‘history’ in its title. 5 In addition, there are four individual papers with a historical focus. This evidence suggests that despite calls from some development scholars two decades ago, the development literature’s level of engagement with history has

3 Development Studies Association (DSA) / European Association of Development Research and Training Institutes (EADI) joint conference, Rethinking Development in an Age of Scarcity and Uncertainty . 4 Based upon a search of the archived 2009 and 2010 panel presentations with history, historical or historiography in the title. 5 Great Industrialization debates at critical historical and contemporary junctures . 19 not increased. Although these examples do not account for those papers which contain historical content, this evidence does present a rough portrait of the level of historical output in development forums, demonstrating a clear knowledge gap.

Table 1. Number of instances of the words ‘history’, ‘historical’, ‘historiography’ and ‘historicise / historicising’ in article titles (taken from Hawkins 2014, 301).6 Total number History Historical Historio- Historicise / of articles graphy Historicising (Historicize / Historicizing) Development 1408 5 1 0 0 Development 1125 9 3 0 0 and Change Journal of 822 4 1 0 0 Development Studies Journal of 2027 7 2 0 0 International Development Progress in 625 1 0 0 0 Development Studies (Established in 2001) Third World 1124 13 12 1 1 Quarterly World 2740 8 3 0 0 Development

6 Where possible data collected from Jan 1995 – June 2012 (book reviews not included) using journal databases. Total number of articles include book reviews and editorials and numbers given are based upon searches using the corresponding databases.

The evidence and data presented above indicates on a more general level that development tends to ignore one of its two main definitions. Little ‘d’ development, or in other words, the study of development as ‘geographically uneven, profoundly contradictory set of historical processes’ has been side- lined in the literature (Hart 2001, 650). This study aims to add to the historical scholarship in Development Studies, responding to Bayly et al.’s (2011) calls by taking the next step and historicise a developing country context. In contrast, to the mainly ideographic historical accounts which have been outlined above, I aim to move towards a theoretical approach which combines ideography with nomothetic theorising as a means to look at developmental processes. This thesis therefore contributes towards the small amount of historical scholarship but further moves beyond by taking a more long-term approach.

As Mann’s framework of social power stems from macro-historical sociology, i.e. using the past to understand contexts, it is evident why his method can be employed as a tool to explore the usually ignored little ‘d’ development. As Mann states, ‘[a]n historical-causal analysis of origins considers the conditions which gave rise to modern institutions relevant to understanding their present nature and likely persistence’ (1994, 39, emphasis in original). In other words, history brings a level of analysis to research which can help explain how societies have worked in the past and how they have come to be structured (Taithe and Borton 2016); but, to further this, a historical sociology approach enables us to go one step further by providing the tools for a study which embraces development as long-term social change.

Employing the social power framework uses secondary sources to form an understanding of how societies change. 7 This forges a direct link with the work of historians, enriching the ‘quality of scholarship and policy responses’ through expanding the amount of material available to the researcher (Woolcock, Szreter, and Rao 2011, 4). Further, the use of history brings to the fore the importance of context. Mann’s model uses historical data in place of ‘ a priori assumptions’ to draw out the links between the actions of individuals and the cultural circumstances, proving that it is only possible to study the details of

7 A detailed account of the methodology employed in this study is provided in the conceptual framework chapter. 21 social change through the thorough employment of empirical, historical data (Jacoby 2004a, 407–8). Consequently, this methodology is useful for development theory through its ability to enhance our understanding of the structures that underpin development processes (Kanbur 2011).

According to Fourchard (2011), normative visions of the state, such as “failed state” analyses ignore the ways in which local, national and transnational actors have built and reconstructed the African state during history. This leads to a categorisation of the African state as ahistorical. The framework of social power, through its reliance upon history, is not prescriptive. It focuses solely on the power relations which have existed in a society over a period of time, presenting to those who are tasked with policy proposals that there may be more than one way of supporting a causal empirical claim (Jacoby 2004a; Woolcock, Szreter, and Rao 2011; Mohan and Wilson 2005). The framework accounts for the uniqueness of individual states through its analysis of history, and yet, due to its focus on four networks of power, can be applied to different countries without dictating a prescribed route for development. Mann provides the theoretical model through which it might actually be possible to escape the ‘dirty worlds of practical policy-making’ (Corbridge 2007, 202); the method is a mechanism for understanding the legacies of history in different contexts.

Over the past twenty years, there are a number of works which have demonstrated the value of historical analysis for examining states in development. New Institutional Economics, for example, has forged a place for itself within the development literature. Some accounts from this perspective have attempted to explain current economic conditions by researching the historical roots of institutions in developing countries (Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson 2001; Acemoglu and Robinson 2006). Others use a historical analysis of institutions to provide causal explanations for cases of violence in societies and as a consequence of their research, establish ‘doorstep conditions’ which all states must go through in order for elites to achieve social control over society (North, Wallis, and Weingast 2009, 264).

Stemming from a different school of thought, African political theorists have successfully intertwined history within their research. Some have looked at the 22 political and economic structures which existed within African societies prior to the arrival of the colonisers, using history to investigate the legacies of Africans for their own innovations and their reactions to the struggles over power and access to wealth when the colonisers arrived (Bayart 1993). The political configurations between the rural and periphery have also been analysed over the course of the post-independence era (Boone 2003). Others have looked more closely at the colonial state and its impact on the contemporary African state, arguing that the reorganisation of political space and economic methods of production and conflicting interpretations of tradition and custom had detrimental consequences on the polities of the postcolonial states (Young 1994; Berry 1993). Finally, Mamdani (1996a) has investigated the lasting effect of indirect, authoritarian rule, dominated by the idea that access to state office (as a means for acquiring power and wealth), created modern African countries with bifurcated appearances.

In summary, combining historical analyses of developing countries with development issues has slowly started to increase in the literature over the past couple of decades. This thesis aims to expand upon this increase, demonstrating, from a historical sociology perspective, that history does matter for development and should, therefore, secure itself a place within the discipline, ensuring that Development Studies does include the study of social change over long periods of time (Cowen & Shenton, 1996; Thomas, 2000).

Chapter outline This thesis is framed according to the objectives and research questions. The following two chapters – the literature review and conceptual framework - address the first research question which looks at the ways the framework of social power provides a useful means for researching state formation in a developing country. The literature review provides a comprehensive analysis of the main themes and schools of thought pertaining to the subject of state formation. The review covers the literature on state formation in both Western and African countries. It demonstrates the commonalities in these theoretical discussions, as well as the divergences and outlines whether these differences are based upon choice of case study or school of thought. Further, it examines the key gaps within this literature. The conceptual framework and methods 23 chapter provides an examination of how Michael Mann’s model of social power can address these knowledge gaps on state formation. It provides a critical overview of the framework and its deployment of four networks of power. In order to understand social power in greater depth, this chapter situates Mann’s understanding of power within other discourses of power. The discussion then moves on to the research methodology, in particular the methods employed to conduct the study.

The fourth chapter places the research within the Ugandan context. Through a review of the literature on Ugandan history, this chapter provides a historical and current account of Uganda, identifying the key moments of state formation and state destruction. Following identification, these moments will then guide the analysis chapters.

The analysis chapters conform to the main research objective to understand how the networks of power have instigated major social change in Ugandan history. The research question which binds all four analysis chapters asks ‘how the deployment of the sources of social power has impacted Ugandan processes of state formation’. The first analysis chapter focuses on ideological power. Initially, the chapter looks at how Christianity created extensive and universal communities, changing peoples’ identities; it then investigates the role of language and literacy for ideological power; and finally, looks at this source of power’s relationship with rulers and enemies.

Political power is investigated in the second analysis chapter. This asks in what ways has political power contributed to the formation of the colonial, Ugandan state focusing on three research areas as identified by Mann in his understanding of political power. First, the formation and growth of the bureaucratic and administrative apparatus is looked at; second, the chapter investigates the assumption that states need revenue; and finally, the relationship between the colonial state and people, parties and society is interrogated.

The third analysis chapter centres on military power relations, a source of social power which has dominated (or at the least featured predominantly) throughout 24

Uganda’s post-independence history. This chapter aims to analyse how military power was deployed as a means of domestic repression and resistance; and how this impacted the form of the Ugandan state. As a consequence, when the state maintains control over military power but does not use it against its own people, then state formation processes can be seen at play. When military power is distributed throughout society as a means of repression, then the state stagnates.

The final analysis chapter focuses on economic power relations. It asks ‘how economic power has been deployed to form the modern Ugandan state’. Through a sociology of economic organisation, this chapter questions how classes, sections and segments of society have extensively or intensively achieved class consciousness through interactions with the state as a modern Uganda started to emerge. Throughout the four analytical chapters the third research objective of trying to assess the type of Ugandan state is touched upon. However, the final concluding chapter not only draws together the key findings from these chapters, but reinforces in which periods of Ugandan history each source of power has taken predominance.

Conclusion With a focus on processes of state formation in Uganda, this research applies Michael Mann’s framework of social power. The main objective is to analyse how the networks of social power have instigated major social change in Ugandan history. This leads to the main research question, asking how the deployment of the sources of social power resulted in significant social change which has impacted Ugandan processes of state formation. The four sub- questions tackle each network of power (ideological, political, military and economic).

This interdisciplinary research stems from the scholarship of historical sociology but is situated within the field of Development Studies. Through this combination of disciplines, the research can contribute to some notable discrepancies within academic thinking in these areas. First, the research adds to the third wave of historical sociologists who apply the theories and frameworks of second wave academics to new contexts, particularly non- 25

Western case studies. Further, the study adds considerable weight to the field by examining one state in great detail over a significant period of time. Second, by focusing on state formation, the research focuses on trajectories of development. This is an important addition to the field of Development Studies in which scholars tend to focus their attentions on big ‘D’ development, or development as intervention. With history at its core, this research calls for Development Studies to re-focus on the other aspect of studying development, social change and immanent processes, or as it is often termed, little ‘d’ development. Further, by using a macro-historical sociology framework, the study reacts to demands for Development Studies to engage more with grand theory and history.

The topic of this research covers a large period of time with the use of a framework which attempts to understand all aspects of society. The underlying task of historical sociology is to understand how societies work and change. For this study, in order to narrow down the scope, the focus is on Ugandan processes of state formation; using the framework of social power in order to understand and interpret these processes. The following two chapters uncover how this framework can contribute to theories of state formation, and discuss the methods employed in order to achieve this in the Ugandan context.

Chapter Two – Beyond the Western canon: Theorising state formation in Africa

Introduction Theories of the drivers of state formation are complex, plentiful and over-all, attempt to generalise how some sort of organisation consolidates or takes over another form of organisation to perform the functions of a state. Either implicitly or explicitly, these theories also define ‘the state’ in their conceptualisations of its formation. However, as Levi (1988, 41) has observed, ‘[r]arely, if ever, in history has a state emerged full blown from society’, signifying that definitions of a state must take into account the evolving nature of the organisation of people and territories and also the various ways this organisation is understood. This chapter interrogates the literature on state formation as well as various academic understandings of the state itself. The review demonstrates two problems in the academic literature on state formation. First, the nomothetic tendency for European and Western state formation theories to focus on geographical generalisations and second, the ideographic stance taken by scholars looking at individual states in sub-Saharan Africa which results in a lack of scholarship on African state formation as a theoretical point of entry. My analysis seeks to address both sets of scholarship and make the claim that there are intrinsic similarities of how the drivers of state formation have been theorised for the different contexts, signifying the need for a theoretical framework which can embrace the nomothetic and ideographic.

There is a degree of language complexity in state formation terminology. It is often linked to the term state-building, sometimes implying that they are inter- changeable. The literature tends to employ both notions to the process through which areas of land and its people become organised. However, such attributes lean more to the definition of state formation, describing a period of time when particular processes merge to create boundaries. State-building, on the other hand, is a concept employed when those administering the state attempt to bring together the capacity to enhance state functions, building upon the foundations constructed when the state was formed. Whaites (2008) and Dorussen (2005) demonstrate the variations in definitions of state formation and state-building. Whaites claims ‘[s]tate-building is the process through which

27 states enhance their ability to function’ (2008, 4). Dorussen (2005) describes state formation as the internal development of political institutions, whereas state-building can be an exogenous process which includes the implementation of political institutions. The structures which emerge in state formation can help or hinder the extent to which a state can build upon its ability to function effectively. As both concepts are frequently used to describe the ideas associated with state formation, the literature review reflects the convergence of both.

This chapter starts with an outline of the discussions of state formation, explaining the tendency for macro theorisation in the literature on European state formation and the more ideographic stance of those tackling processes of state formation in sub-Saharan Africa. The second section outlines the debates pertaining to how land and property affect state formation in both settings. The third part considers the scholarship on revenue collection, a perspective which many scholars subscribe to. Third, the chapter examines the theories of war and state-making in Europe and the divergences between that and the scholarship on colonial conquest in sub-Saharan Africa. Finally, after considering these drivers of state formation, the chapter moves on to encompass these understandings to provide a conceptualisation of the constitutive dimensions of state formation. This makes way for a basis to understand the processes as analysed in the subsequent empirical chapters on Uganda.

Nomothetic vs. ideographic stories of state formation It has been acknowledged that although states have existed in many different shapes for thousands of years (Hechter and Brustein 1980), the literature on Western processes concentrates on the emergence of modern states, most commonly those in Europe from roughly the thirteenth century onwards. These discussions make it evident that elites or groups of representative individuals form the backbone to state-forming endeavours. As Weber (1948, 82) comments, ‘the development of the modern state is initiated through the action of the prince’. In the pursuit of power, an individual can put in place the founding elements of a state by gaining control over people and land. Debates on

Western state formation contest the means by which elites achieve organised domination and the type of state which ensues.

In contrast, discussions which engage with state formation in sub-Saharan Africa focus on an objectified notion of the state, with the state presenting as the actor. The prevalent use of taxonomies such as weak states (Jackson 2002; Migdal 1988), failed states (Gros 1996; Herbst 1996; Rotberg 2003; Trauschweizer and Miner 2014) or fragile states (Duffield 2007) demonstrates the ahistorical and impersonal nature of scholarship. The complex past leading to present conditions of individual countries, no matter how ‘weak’, is ignored (Hagmann and Péclard 2010; Curtin et al. 1995). As Fourchard comments, ‘[t]he historicity of the state, the embeddedness of its bureaucratic organizations in society, the interactions between state officials and non-state actors, the material dimension of statehood, and the importance of accumulating basic legitimacies are all key dimensions that apply to African states as well as to many states in the world’ (2011, 240; see also Bilgin & Morton 2002). There are, of course, differences between the Western and sub-Saharan African state, but these also exist between states within these areas, they are not homogeneous; theories to describe, analyse and interrogate them should not be distinct and limited to one area or the other.

The number of macro-sociological works specifically investigating the complex topic of African state formation are few and far between (see for example Bayart 1993; Herbst 2000; Young 1994; Fourchard 2011). Furthermore, theorisation at a macro level which covers African history before the nineteenth century is lacking (Mamdani 2001b). This is due in part to the lack of archival data. Nevertheless, accounts which deal with some of the large empire movements on the continent, such as the Axum, Songhay, Cushite, Mali or even the Asante, rarely appear in recent analyses of African state formation. It is as if the colonial period wiped the slate clean of the continent’s rich past and instead the beginnings of Africa are reimagined as coinciding with colonialism. As Southall (1974, 154) observes, ‘[m]any African kingdoms and states were created by conquest, but many others developed through more peaceful borrowing and assimilation of ideas and institutions from neighbors’. The literature focuses on one particular state at a set period of time, shying away from generalisations. 29

The following outlines the main debates presented in both sets of literature to demonstrate the commonalities and differences between them, and shows how the theorisation of state formation should not be limited to Western case studies. Three broad themes have emerged and form the following structure: land and property, revenue, and war and conquest.

Land and property The desire to capitalise from land and to protect property initiates procedures which according to Poggi (2001) can be theorised through managerial and economic approaches to state formation. Furthermore, analyses focusing on land and property emphasise the impact on political configurations; land is deeply connected to the ‘building and legitimising’ of the state (Alexander 2006, 2; see also Berry 2002).

Philosophical accounts of state formation provide debates from this perspective on Europe. Contractarian theories emphasise a bottom-up process which asserts that men, when progressing from a subsistence living – the state of nature – to a life valuing labour as a product of mankind which can harness greater potential from the land, are forced to draw comparisons between themselves. In particular, comparisons are made about property (Locke 1988; Rousseau and Cole 1961). As Rousseau states, ‘The first man who, having enclosed a piece of ground, bethought himself of saying ‘This is mine,’ and found people simple enough to believe him, was the real founder of civil society’ (1961: 192). Accordingly, men contracted with each other to ensure their property was protected necessitating the establishment of a legislative group or government which could uphold the laws pertaining to the contract. Contractarian theories demonstrate how men (it is always men), emerging from the state of nature, affiliated themselves with a collective body built upon a contract.

Land for production and labour In more recent political and sociological accounts of Western and sub-Saharan African state formation, land is documented as a crucial component, particularly as it is utilised as a mode of production and source of labour. Some argue that 30 feudalism constituted an instigator for the development of the modern state in Europe (see for example Anderson, 1974; Hechter & Brustein, 1980; Moore, 1966; North & Thomas, 1973). It has been argued that increased economic development in agriculture improved dietary consumption of labourers, as well as cooperation between peasants meant that a feudal mode of production forged a type of social organisation superior to sedentary, pastoral or petty commodity modes of production (Hechter and Brustein 1980). Moreover, feudalism also prompted the establishment of political systems surpassing those in areas which favoured other types of production. For reasons outlined below, this method of using the land disseminated power from these feudal enclaves over increasingly greater territory.

In relation to Africa, Freund (1998) and Herbst (2000) emphasise how land and the environment also played a pivotal role in the lives of inhabitants and the types of social ties they formed in the pre-colonial era. The methods of land use changed in certain situations prompting a rise in more sedentary populations as opposed to the hunter gatherer family units which existed previously. For Freund (1998), hunting for fish prompted such transitions which together with the impact of long-term climate changes led to increased desertification and incentivised people to reside in areas where certain produce was plentiful, leading to an upsurge in agricultural innovation. Although evidence does show that villages continued to move from one area to another if the surrounding land became infertile, this practice was rare and did not involve movements across long distances (Wright 1999). In their study of the early Bantu societies, Curtin et al. (1995) observe that as early as 1000 AD, settled populations began associating with their villages and creating stronger ties with other communities because sedentary life was more fruitful for population growth and diversified economic forms.

Within this social organisation, groups associated land with ancestral ties, resulting in the emergence of community leaders, usually elder members who had the closest ties to ancestors (Freund 1998). Through intermarriage and cross-village lineage relationships, royal lines were established and strengthened (Diop 1987; Freund 1998). These elite members of sub-Saharan African society had control over trade rules which were necessitated by a new 31 surplus of agricultural produce and machinery (such as metallurgy). They could be expected to expropriate taxes or goods in return for the protection which they offered to the other members of society (Curtin et al. 1995). Raids were a common way of capturing resources and then levying taxes on those who stayed in the particular area of control, as Wright comments with regards to the Niumi Kingdom (1999, 414). Paying taxes gave people protection whilst acknowledging that the royal family now ruled over them. If they did not want this, then they would have to fight against the royal raids.

Similar trade-offs emerged in feudal Europe. The mode of production centred on the manor and the relations between lord and peasant. The peasant provided the labour to cultivate the land which in turn endowed both with food for subsistence. As repayment, the peasant was protected by the lord from foreign invasions. In such an environment, stability and security ensued which, according to North and Thomas (1973), engendered a population increase. Not only did this increase demand for land by lords and their vassals, it also created a surplus of labour whose skills had to be harnessed to other activities. These activities generated a specialisation of products and goods which offered the lords a means of making money through trade. Moreover, it started the monetisation of the economy and the gradual change in labour contracts between peasant and lord, establishing free labour (North and Thomas 1973). However, it has been emphasised that it was not until the great plagues of the fourteenth century when labour started to have more significance for state formation in Europe (Hechter and Brustein 1980). The sudden population decline allowed peasants to market their work and negotiate with land owners. It also gave them the opportunity to move to emerging urban European centres. From an economic perspective, capitalism was taking root and distinct, conscious groups of people were emerging.

The formation of different groups within society is seen as conducive to the formation of a country; as Hechter and Brustein (1980, 1083) maintain, ‘the development of strong states is aided by the existence of political divisions within a society and hindered by the absence of them’. Therefore, as landlords started to see land as a commodity and income-yielding investment, the peasants started to see their own labour value, threatening the position of 32 landlords. In England, ‘long before Adam Smith, scattered groups of Englishmen living in the countryside began to accept self-interest and economic freedom as the natural basis of human society’ (Moore, 1966, 8). The interests of the peasants had to be encompassed within the landlords’ desires for capitalist development. Moreover, with industrialisation, the emerging working classes proved invaluable to the capitalist project. Elites did not want to destroy such ‘assets’ through repression and conflict, so concessions were made, including parliamentary democracies and franchise rights (Acemoglu and Robinson 2006, 351). In other instances, more complex distinctions have been made about peasant-landlord relations. It has been argued that strong, ‘centralised, bureaucratic, and autonomously powerful’ states were made out of social revolutions which relied upon peasant uprisings (Skocpol, 1979: 285). These occurred in areas where peasants could unite together against rent collectors.

Changes in land had significant impact on African political and economic formation of states. Indeed, Diop (1987) makes the claim that when measuring political stability and administration, African empires and states were far superior to their European counterparts in the middle ages. Changes in land use had resulted in the creation of lines of communication so that the wishes of the king or leader could be enacted through governors positioned within communities. The will of the people was communicated back in return. Leaders had to maintain a population within their settlement to detract raids from other communities. The need to control the tension between villages brought about by population increase resulted in innovation of agriculture, cultivation and better social organisation (Curtin et al. 1995). Further, by 1500 an extensive trade route existed throughout equatorial Africa (Curtin et al. 1995). As Herbst points out, African states ‘developed as logical responses to their physical environments, most notably the cost of extending power over distance’ (2000, 51). Therefore, the boundaries of African states were not territorially or geographically delineated. Instead, they related to the people to which the central state elites could extend their power (Wright 1999). As a result, the physical borders of the state tended to contract and expand depending upon the movements of the people within the state.

Property rights The literature on property rights is more complex when examining the two contexts, with Western scholars theorising its impact on state formation, and those investigating Africa focusing on the colonial formations of property and the resultant states post-independence. In addition to peasant-landlord relations in Europe, an emerging bourgeoisie, particularly those appearing in the urban enclaves, posed a threat to the property of landowners (Hechter and Brustein 1980). As a result, state apparatuses were created by elites not to appease this opposing group as it is argued above; instead, the apparatus was established to secure the landowners’ position against threats. The institutions implemented guaranteed property rights and included greater taxation of the bourgeoisie, ensuring that they could not harness the financial capacity to inhibit the upper strata of society (ibid.). These institutions though, were congruent with the overall capacity of the state to reach further out into its territory more effectively.

State reach, then, could be extended through the symptoms of the creation of property rights. Many argue the economic success of the Netherlands and England by the eighteenth century can be attributed to the reorganisation of property rights (see for example North and Thomas 1973). Property rights contributed not only to advances in agriculture but also to the progress of commerce, trade and industry (ibid., 133). Furthermore, in order to maintain property rights, a judicial and legal infrastructure had to be implemented which penetrated throughout society. Law and order became a fundamental institution coinciding with the emerging state (Anderson, 1974; Strayer, 1970). For all property owners, whether they were landlords, peasants or urban bourgeoisie, the protection of such rights forged their loyalty and support to the unit providing this security, the state (Moore, 1966; Strayer, 1970). A network of administrators and bureaucrats are established to enact legal policy, closely followed by the creation of courts (Poggi 1978; Strayer 1970).

In contrast, the scholarship on sub-Saharan Africa from the land perspective focuses on the impact of colonialism and its state forming institutions. According to some views, colonisers used land as a strategic tool to extend colonial power. The re-shaping of local political organisation affected how land was administered in the colonial and post-colonial period (Lund 2008). In this case, 34 the ways colonisers attempted to gain control over the African populations, directly affected land tenure which, in turn, was used as a means of control by elites at independence. In the case of Ghana, for example, the British had little interest in land management; in 1932 they made the decision to empower local chiefs to manage and make decision about land, to the exclusion of others (Lund 2008; see also Berry 2001; Berry 2002).

The organisation of land tenure in the postcolonial period depended heavily upon the colonial political relationships between the centre and the periphery (Boone 2007). The administrative structures built in rural peripheries were designed so that the central state elite could appropriate pre-existing configurations of power. As Boone elaborates, state control over land and the surpluses gained from it, firmly exists underneath the jurisdiction of local powerbrokers (1998). To continue with the example of Ghana, the Nkrumah regime in the late 1950s and early 1960s tried to reverse the powers of local owners of lucrative cocoa means of production by investing in strong state institutions and reverse the decentralisation of colonialism (Boone 1998, 17).

Within debates on property rights, institutions or the ‘rules of the game’ (North 1991, 98) are highly significant. The New Institutional Economics (NIE) School emphasises how institutions, and property rights in particular, are key to economic development, and in turn, can contribute to processes of state formation in the Global South. The establishment of property rights is seen from this perspective as the institution which leads to greater development and progress (see for example Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson 2001). Through securing property rights, further state-building processes can take place, such as the creation of judicial frameworks, greater space for private contracts and enhanced economic growth, not to mention protecting citizens from expropriation by powerful elites and governments (Acemoglu and Johnson 2005). With an emphasis on economic growth as the end result, literature from this perspective has focused on the impact the type of colonialisation has had on the degree to which property rights were implemented (Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson 2001). Acemoglu et al. (2001b) demonstrate that private property rights have led to a strong, economically viable state, through the establishment of good policies. 35

Critiques levelled at the NIE literature focus on the centrality of economic growth to these analyses and the importance placed on private property rights as the main institution required to establish this. Regarding state formation, it is not just economic approaches which can explain struggles over land. As historical accounts from political economy and sociological perspectives maintain, rights over land can be influenced by a multitude of institutions, ranging from the formal to the informal, which provide alternatives to the Eurocentric interpretations of property rights, as they are termed by some (Bardhan, 2005, Evans, 2004, Lange et al., 2006). In other words, in order for property rights to contribute to state formation, they have to be legitimated by other institutions, thus negating the sole primacy of property rights for development. Other institutions may include norms and customs within society, including informal legal institutions (Lund, 2008).

In order to use land to its full potential and protect and secure property, a plethora of state forming institutions emerged from the feudal period onwards in both Europe and sub-Saharan Africa. Moreover, as land and labour increased in productive value, processes were instigated that changed the landscape and economic output of a territory. Further, struggles over the meaning of property rights and land created disputes which required resolving. Through these struggles, citizens have made decisions about the legitimacy of those who attempt to act as the state, by judging and arguing over who should have the right to decide about land ownership (Berry 2002; Alexander 2006).

Whether from a neo-marxist perspective (Anderson, 1974; Skocpol & Fulbrook, 1977) or neo-classical, these political economy approaches converge on the general principles of the nexus between property and state formation. In particular, they emphasise that efforts to secure and utilise property resulted in a host of institutions which gradually formed state-like structures. According to Lund, it is the issues and debates pertaining to land and property which ‘determine ’ state structures and political configurations on a local and national level (2008, 174). However, other discourses of state formation veer away from the notion of property and instead focus on how elites fund their day-to-day activities, leading on to the next debate in the literature on both Western and sub-Saharan African state formation. 36

Revenue generation In order for a state to exist, it needs to be fed. As a result, by virtue of rulers and elites needing to fund their activities, institutions resembling a state are formed. As Levi (1988, 2) comments, ‘revenue enhances the ability of rulers to elaborate the institutions of the state, [and] to bring more people within the domain of those institutions’. Moreover, the type of revenue collected can influence not only the type of structures established but also the economic foundations of the state; ‘[a]n enormous influence on the fate of nations emanates from the economic bleeding which the needs of the state necessitates, and from the use to which its results are put’ (Schumpeter 1954, 6). The following considers a number of means through which the literature associates revenue as impacting state formation. It first considers trade. In particular, how population mobility and labour shortages created an economic demand which established the slave trade; the consequences of which forged political organisation in sub-Saharan Africa. The second point interrogates how elites in both contexts bargained for revenue thus creating state forming processes. In particular, the literature looks at the consequences of bargaining on welfare and legal institutions. Third, the consequences of aid and loans are interrogated in relation to post-colonial Africa; and finally, extraction of resources is analysed.

Trade The forced movement of people as a thesis for the cause of states forming is controversial in its ethical implications. By its very nature, the slave trade was a contributor to European economic development (Rawley and Behrendt 2005), yet some argue it played a role in state and society development in Western Africa. In the centuries before colonial takeover, some scholars argue that the control over people was far more important for elites than the control over land (Wright 1999, 414). As Fage (1969, 399) points out, as early as the fifteenth century, ‘individuals in West African society, or persons who wished to gain or to extend positions of privilege in that society, sought to mobilize the wealth inherent in the land and the people on it’, a process which was already in place before the expansion of the European slave trade in the seventeenth century. Internal and external slave trading had significant impact on the economic and political development of the polities of West Africa (Fage 1969; Fage and Tordoff 1995). Senegambia, for example, was a region which emerged from the 37 remnants of the Jolof empire in the mid-sixteenth century as it developed links with Portuguese slave traders (Curtin et al. 1995). Their trade was not limited to people and expanded to include ivory, iron, cotton, nuts, textiles and salt (Curtin et al. 1995). Within the region, political kingdoms emerged to take control over trade in their specific provinces and lineage formed the key component to power over the state, either horizontally or hierarchically organised (Barry 1998). During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, West Africa exhibited large, powerful and commercially orientated states which gave Europeans neither the desire nor opportunity to penetrate further than the coasts (Fage and Tordoff 1995, 247).

Eventually though, the increase in demand and prices led to more ‘slave-raiding and more wars being fought for the express purpose of securing slaves, and so to a growing political instability which was destructive of economic and social progress’ (Fage 1969, 402). With the gradual end of the export slave trade in the mid-nineteenth century, the kingdoms of Africa lost a significant portion of their revenue resulting in the collapse of the economic institutions which supported the trade. Consequently, these states struggled to deal with the change that this brought, impacting their ability to fund and maintain the state as the nineteenth century progressed (Fage 1969, 403).

Through the slave trade, elites established administrative features which created the conditions for state formation. The development of an infrastructure to exert power over people became central to political control; fundamental to this was the building of roads which radiated out from the political cores. Two examples during the nineteenth century are the Asante Empire and the Fanti Confederation, which both used roads to allow the movement of troops and the forging of economic connections (Herbst 2000). Not too dissimilar from the experience relating to the ownership of land, trade became an outcome of increased relations between groups and greater political control over people. In terms of slavery, in order to acquire more people or to trade slaves, elites had to create structures which helped move slaves, either through a network of adherents or through middle men. A network of communication had to develop (Diop 1987). Further, especially in East Africa, inter-area trade strengthened elite control over villages or groups, whilst concurrently causing the demise of 38 others. For example, Freund (1998) mentions that by the mid-nineteenth century the Nyamwezi had developed a prosperous economy from trade, along with the Kamba and Kikuyu. Alternatively, the Maasai pastoralists struggled to maintain any grip on their surrounding areas due to their lack of trade.

Revenue bargaining The literature on European revenue collection focuses predominantly on the state forming effects of taxation, rather than trade. That on sub-Saharan Africa explores the linkages between both. In pre-colonial sub-Saharan Africa, taxes on trade were the most common type of taxes. In one instance, the Ghanaian empire levied taxes and tariff duties on goods and merchandise brought in by Arab traders as far back as the eleventh century (Diop 1987, 90). However, a reliance upon trade taxes has been cited as having regressional impacts on state forming processes in Africa, particularly when they are not combined with taxes on property and, more importantly, income (Di John 2006). From a political economy approach, Di John has underscored how the historical layout of tax collection needs to be brought into analyses for understanding present day fiscal issues (2006). In particular, taxes from trade do not forge a bargain with a state’s citizens which can hinder the progress of state formation (Di John 2006). Recent literature on Africa terms this bargaining element as a social contract (Bräutigam 2008; DFID 2009; Di John 2006; Moore 2008). Coercive means of tax collection can only have limited benefits for elite who are trying to enhance their revenue. Bargaining, therefore, provides a more constructive way of collecting taxes and can provide the legitimacy which the elite needs in order to gain control over the territory. It has been argued that bargaining is critical especially between state actors and elite groups who may have in general greater control over production and export sectors of the economy (Di John 2006, 21). The introduction of such systems not only enhances state capacity, but also establishes procedures and infrastructures which are more difficult to eradicate as a state demands taxes and the people demand more in return.

It is the notion of bargaining which preoccupies the literature on European state formation from the perspective of revenue collection. In particular, the bargaining deals which emerged as factors and symptoms of taxation. For example, Levi (1988) points out that leaders negotiate with society in order to 39 maintain control, without allowing others to usurp their power. For instance, elites had to pay for the maintenance of their court, including paying those nobles serving their interests to act as court or military officials. As a result, they initiated taxation on the society surrounding the court (Schumpeter 1954). Through the creation of a chain of command, orders could be communicated throughout the territory. Moreover, resources and people were enveloped within the elite’s arms of power (Poggi 1978). For example, during the Carolingian period, elites used comites and missi dominici , counts and envoys, to execute elite demands (Poggi 1978, 19). By doing this, an administrative structure starts to emerge. As the line of command grows, so does the need for bureaucratic institutions. The structure enables elites throughout the territory to maintain power and strengthen ties with the centre; furthermore it enhances the state’s consolidation and creation of other institutions (Strayer 1970; Tilly 1992). Two consequences emerged. First, the taxable population grew steadily as the chain increased in size. Second, the tax collection became easier as the state strengthened and became more bureaucratically efficient. As Schumpeter (1954) argues, administrative institutions were also advocated by those being taxed, in the belief that they could ensure monies would be channelled towards benefitting the community.

Other accounts refute the idea that elites instigated taxation out of the desire for control. Instead, taxes were levied in desperate circumstances, such as war or due to the elite’s mismanagement of their own affairs (Schumpeter 1954).8 Prior to such measures, elite ‘owned his sum of rights and positions of power for his own benefit’; he had no reason to perform acts which would be advantageous or favourable to the community surrounding his court, unless of course they were constructive for his own affairs (Schumpeter 1954, 11). It was only when domains were managed inefficiently that debts appeared. Taxation was therefore of no benefit to the general community who had to pay them but were essential to the survival of the elite’s court. This is when the symptoms of taxation emerge as elites have to provide something in return for the payment of taxes.

8 The idea of war and taxation is explored in greater detail in the next section. 40

Bargaining for revenue could result in the opening up of political space and public participation. As taxes were levied more frequently and upon a greater number of people, consultations became more common. As Strayer (1970) observes, gaining compliance from the people not only made it easier to collect their taxes, but also gave substance to the future establishment of other laws. In England, for example, communities relied upon representatives of the Shires and Boroughs to act upon their behalf in parliament during decision-making about tax decrees (Strayer 1970). Moreover, in the nineteenth century, distributive and egalitarian reforms to the taxation system coincided with significant changes in franchise rights and a reorganisation of elected seats in parliament (Braun 1975; Bates and Lien 1985). This tells us that a sense of affiliation begins to emerge as the state starts to penetrate the lives of individuals; and individuals demand more from the state in return for taxes. At this point, loyalty to religious organisations or family gives way to an association with the emerging state structures, creating what Benedict Anderson calls Imagined Communities (1983). Plus, tax payers can play a ‘key part in building the constitutional checks’ on the state (DFID 2009, 9). In Europe, the nobles from estates increasingly adjusted to the emergence of a central political power as they themselves became entwined with the central elite’s court and could disseminate information between the community and central state (Downing 1988). As Bräutigam (2008, 1) points out, this type of bargaining can foster a ‘representative democracy’.

Welfare and service provision is another area of state formation which, in the literature on Europe, is seen as a symptom of taxation and on the literature on sub-Saharan Africa is a complicated outcome of aid and loans, diminishing the state formation factors which taxation could have. Social welfare could include education, pensions, health care, law and order. Sanderson (1999) explains that throughout the world, education is perceived as a comprehensive part of state formation arising ‘in direct conjunction with the process of the building of modern states’ (1999, 316). Not only is the provision of educational services seen as compensation for paying taxes, it also inculcates within individuals the values of taxation and further enhances state loyalty. Furthermore, education has the added value of enhancing the state’s economic prosperity and instilling a national culture for heterogeneous societies (Sanderson 1999). However, 41 education in itself is seen by some as a state forming process through its ability to convey ideological understanding of what it means to belong to a state and society (Mann 1993). Even though, as Mann (1986) argues, ideology forms the norms, values and practices which disseminates a cultural identity, it is an area that is often missing from theoretical approaches to state formation in the West (Rennie 1984).

Local law enforcement is seen by some as a state-forming institution which is provided to society in return for taxation. However, police forces and local protection have also been depicted as being necessitated by tax enforcement, rather than a method through which citizens could be appeased (Braun 1975). The use of such tools in effect created a public service provision that contributed towards state forming and state-building processes that endured long after tax enforcement ceases to be their main prerogative. In Brandenburg- Prussia, for example, a police force was primarily instigated to enforce the fiscal encroachment of the state onto the lives of those living within the borders, ‘shaping the minds and consciences of the subjects with respect to their obligation toward the state’ (Braun 1975, 316). Further, law enforcement also ensures that taxes are paid and that tax evaders and embezzlement is avoided (DFID 2009).

Aid and loans It has been argued that aid from donors and financial institutions can have a complex impact on taxation and social welfare policies in the Global South. According to research conducted by the Crisis States Research Centre, inflows of aid have had no consequences on states’ ability to collect domestic taxes. For example, since the 2000s, countries such as Rwanda, Mozambique, Tanzania and Uganda, which received around 50 per cent of government expenditure from aid, have all seen increases in tax collection (Di John 2010). This contradicts other research which finds that high amounts of aid have negative impacts on states’ abilities to collect taxation (Bräutigam and Knack 2004; Remmer 2004). Taxation in this context needs to be accounted with exogenous effects which can have implications on state formation. For example, there is evidence that aid effects social welfare provision and the state’s ability to bargain with society, which is detrimental to state formation (Di 42

John, 2010; Moore, 2008). If, through external rents such as aid, the state is not compelled to bargain with its society for taxes, then the type of institutions which are initiated as a consequence of bargained taxation are not established. Further, the provision of social goods are not necessarily provided by the state, first, due to the lack of state funds and second, due to the diminishment of bargaining between the state and society (Di John 2010; Boyce 2008). In some instances, social goods such as education and health care may be provided by external organisations, meaning citizens do not associate these goods with the state or the payment of taxes. This raises questions about state legitimacy, accountability and strength. Further, international financial institutions and multinational corporations have leverage over taxation rates which can often problematize the state’s position regarding their ability to tax international trade and domestic production (Moore, 2008). In some instances, developing countries rely almost exclusively on taxing the private sector which can put domestic companies out of business or force them to conduct trade informally, amounting to 32.7 per cent of the official GDP of low-income countries (DFID 2009, 5).

Debates exist about whether loans from donors and IFIs contribute to or hinder state making processes in the Global South (Ferguson 2006). Not least because of the external shocks during the 1970s and 1980s which led to sovereign debts no longer being serviceable and neoliberal structural adjustments which coerced states to withdraw from public services (Bracking 2009; Ferguson 2006; Kiely 2007; Hoogvelt 1990). In addition, loans or aid may come with conditionalities which may actually undermine present or historical bonds states may have with their societies by putting demands on how the state should perform (Hesselbein, Golooba-Mutebi, and Putzel 2006). Such large- scale and long-term foreign income streams have, arguably, had a negative impact on taxation and have reduced the bargaining power of state elites with their citizens and civil society groups (Bates 2001; Bräutigam 2008; Centeno 2002).

The literature on this approach to European state formation sees other forms of revenue collection, such as borrowing, extraction and expropriation, as secondary to the state forming impacts of taxation. Loans came in various 43 guises, sometimes they involved negotiations between elites and nobles, in other instances, they were received from banking establishments at home and abroad (Downing 1992). They were only temporary solutions and had to be repaid. For Downing, the measures used to secure repayments had an effect on state-building (1992). In England, for example, negotiations between the Tudor and subsequently the Stuart monarchies with parliament not only opened up political debate, but also instigated taxation methods which could resolve debt issues. By contrast, Spanish elites relied upon the expropriation of wealth from the New World colonies to assure creditors, explaining in part the rise of an absolutist state (Anderson, 1974). According to North and Thomas (1973), with two-thirds of its revenue coming from external sources, including their colonies, the Spanish crown experienced prosperity in the fifteenth century, which was followed by insecurity due to the lack of infrastructure at home to collect sufficient revenues when the external sources dried up (1973, 128–30). As the authors state, throughout the Spanish bid for geopolitical power, its own economy ‘remained medieval’ (ibid., 131).

Extraction of resources Extraction of natural resources and its effect on state formation is also a key issue within the literature on sub-Saharan Africa (Bebbington et al. 2008). In historical analyses, natural resources formed an important source of revenue prior to colonisation in Africa. Diop (1987) argues that the principle source of revenue for the leaders of states in Africa was extracted gold. It provided the means through which such states could develop trade with other states north of the Sahara (Diop 1987; Freund 1998). The subject of minerals is greatly contested in the post-independence era. In some instances, states have profited from minerals and thus diversify their economies to the extent that the majority of citizens, not just those groups linked to mineral extraction, have benefited. Bräutigam mentions Botswana and South Africa as examples here (2008, 18). In other instances, the ‘resource curse’ is cited as affecting state- building processes. This results in competition for rents from mining and challenges elites to use the resources for the benefit of the state without corruption and pressures from private corporations (Bebbington et al. 2008). Further, there is evidence that contrary to the pre-colonial era, countries who were rich in natural resources suffered slower economic growth than those who 44 were resource-poor in the 1970s and 1980s (Rosser 2006). Such consequences of having natural resources suggests that ‘rentier states’ are formed, combining both a bipolar world 9 and globalisation, which create polities based upon ‘ unearned income ’ (Moore, 2004, 304 emphasis in original). As a result, such states are formed without any infrastructural apparatus or political relations with the domestic citizens.

In sum, debates which discuss revenue collection emphasise its centrality for state formation. Trade, taxation and borrowing can develop relations between elites, forging communication and cooperation on a subnational basis. Taxation can also be a necessity for loan repayments and can constitute the salaries of elites’ officials. In turn, it further enhances the state’s administrative capacity, extending its reach to more people and taxable goods over the territory. Bargaining for the right to tax is also a key element. Such measures encourage greater political participation of citizens and an increase in social welfare provisions. The consequence is the foundation of a bond between the state and its people. However, the types of taxation and conditions of loans can affect the type of state forming institutions which emerge.

War and conquest On reviewing the literature on processes of state formation in the West and sub- Saharan Africa, it is the topics of war and conquest which primarily diverge in their theoretical contributions. War has featured as consequences for both the debates centred on land and property and economic triggers. Indeed, some scholars see war as a factor for instigating revenue collection, yet it is also viewed in its own right as an ‘independent variable in accounting for state formation in early modern Europe’ (Downing 1988, 47). This does not appear to be the case for the literature on sub-Saharan Africa. As a result, the debates focus on the state forming effects of colonialism which are outlined in the second part of this section.

9 Moore (2004) defines a bipolar world as a world where the ‘population of one group of countries is much richer (by factors of 20, 40, or more) than the population of the others’ (304). 45

War made the state Accounts which follow a militaristic perspective of state formation in Europe see the state in Weberian terms as an entity which has the monopoly over the use of violence (Poggi 2001). War, in this sense, cannot be easily defined along inter-state and intra-state terms; as this would not be possible before the existence of a state. Instead it relates to waging a conflict against another geographical area, usually controlled by an enemy, in order to acquire or protect territory (Tilly 1992). Those focusing on a military perspective emphasise that the threat of war and carrying out conflict can lead to state formation and state- building institutions. The products of war are not limited to the collection of greater revenue; they also present the opportunity for an early state to infiltrate all aspects of a society. For Tilly, the elements constitutive of national states, such as treasuries, courts and central administrations were ‘usually formed as more or less inadvertent by-products’ of the need to create and support an armed force (1992, 26, 75). Moreover, military organisation forged governments which could coercively unite people under the banner of a state primarily for defensive and offensive reasons (Hintze 1975a).

From the literature, there are four aspects of state formation which war can forge in European settings. The first, relates to taxation. As pointed out earlier, some scholars (for example Braun 1975; Levi 1988) do not see war as a monocausal explanation for the instigation of taxation; instead it is just one reason. However, for these scholars, the collection of taxes is a direct consequence of warfare and the preparation for war. The means through which an elite endeavours to protect their territory and provide an offensive are focussed centrally on raising funds. As Downing (1988, 17–18; 1992, 100) comments, ‘[h]igh taxation and the growth of the state came not from public demand for services or from anyone’s class interest; they were consequences of war and the need to prepare for it’ and a military victory was the ultimate ‘edifice’ of legitimising the state’s right to tax. As Bean (1973) continues, while elites can borrow or collect land rents, such measures are only short-term solutions, particularly in light of expenses such as soldiers, material defences and weaponry. Consequently, methods of taxation are introduced, creating the fundamental structures mentioned above (Downing, 1988, Centeno, 1997, Centeno, 2002, Herbst, 1990, Tilly, 1992, Downing, 1992). As Ertman (1997, 46

73) demonstrates in relation to Europe, ‘[t]here existed a well-established medieval principle [...] that taxes could be levied so long as there was “evident necessity,” i.e., the safety of the country was in danger’. This then has a ratchet effect once the war or threat of war has diminished, leaving the state with no option but to continue tax collection in order to repay loans or provide revenue for newly acquired territory.

The second aspect war instigates is the state’s increased control over people and resources. War results in elites having to create central hubs to organise and administer the militarisation of their people; as such, cities are formed along with associated infrastructures such as roads, navigation stations, and communication systems (Herbst 2000; Tilly 1992). For leaders, the implosion of people and capital into cities and towns presented threats and opportunities. Namely, according to Tilly, the ability of labour to organise against leaders and also the chance for leaders to extract and control to extents never seen before in feudal societies (1992, 63). War also enabled leaders to develop closer relations with landlords or the aristocracy as they searched for alternative forms of revenue and more soldiers to fight for them (Ertman 1997). In England, for example, these were based upon strategic alliances, with kings entering into contracts with nobles to recruit, and where necessary, subcontract men for military means (Centeno 2002; Ertman 1997). Networks of people who relied upon landlords for subsistence and protection could then be called upon to form reliable standing armies who would fight to secure the territory if required (Downing 1988; Downing 1992; Bean 1973).

In terms of administration, the state had to become organised in order to fight another group, territory or state. As Centeno mentions in relation to European cases, ‘the advance of bureaucratic forms may be in part a result of increasing demands for administrative efficiency’ generated by war demands (2002, 102). Bureaucratisation, once implemented, was very difficult to reverse and often proved an essential tool for administering newly conquered lands or implementing services to the general public in the aftermath of conflict. For example, despite heavy losses to human life during the Second World War, the Soviet Union had built up a ‘formidable state organization’ which augmented its

47 ability to extend state control over other Eastern European states after the war had finished (Tilly 1992, 198).

The debates contend that war opens up political space and prompts the introduction of public services, rather than those processes being directly attributed to revenue collection, resulting in the third consequence of war on state formation. To encourage people to make sacrifices during war, rulers ‘bargained out access to communities, households, and enterprises, sweeping away autonomous intermediaries in the process’ (Tilly 1992, 103–4). Bargaining tools varied, but they could include the founding of public assemblies and the opening up of national politics. In areas such as France, Iberia or Sicily, rulers were compelled to create a national assembly as a means to secure financial assistance for wars (Ertman 1997).10 Supporting military combat has also given leverage to suffrage campaigns – notably the Women’s Suffrage Movement after the end of World War One in the United Kingdom (Scott 2001, 187).

Finally, other bargains included concerns for citizens’ welfare through the introduction of public services. Initially, the aim would be to ensure the ‘military effectiveness’ of all young males by educating them and improving their general health (Tilly 1992, 106). Rulers gained compliance for the militarisation of the state, but also a sense of affiliation from the people towards the state. It is this affiliation which these scholars believe forges nationalism (Finer 1975). From the nineteenth century onwards nationalism emerged as people increased their commitment to the state, and disassociated themselves from local sources of authority, such as churches, as they started to realise that they could defend themselves better as a unified state rather than individually (Tilly 1992; Giddens 1985). In some cases certain classes in society served in the military as a means of forging a place for themselves within the emerging state society (Downing 1992).11 The central authority could gain legitimacy from their people who were not only affiliating themselves with the country, but were also becoming entwined in the political and social aspects of the society, this is the fourth aspect.

10 National assemblies also helped to enforce the ideological imperative of war (Ertman 1997: 68). 11 Downing (1992) refers to the German educated middle class. By serving in the reserve corps, men displayed an ‘obedience to the state’ which was the ‘true freedom’ of man (100). 48

The four consequences of war - taxation, control over people and resources, opening of political space and bargaining with society - all support the perspective that war, in the European case, has made states form. As Tilly has stated, ‘war made the state, and the state made war’ (1975, 42). Scholars who write from this tradition may pay more attention to one of the four aspects, however, all emphasise how war can be a ‘stimulus’ for creating state-building institutions (Huntington 1968, 123). Although there are debates over the type of state which emerges out of war, the general consensus is that war and the preparation for war cannot be ignored when theorising about state formation (Ertman 1997; Hintze 1975b). However, it is a phenomenon common to theories of European state formation, which has rarely been used in the non-European context (Herbst 1990; see for example Hall 1987).12

Conquests For the literature which considers state formation in sub-Saharan Africa, it is to the conquests of colonialism that significant debates centre upon. For some, the political identities created by colonialism directly affected state formation in the region (Mamdani 2001b). The identities which are created by the colonisers are inscribed in law and the infrastructures of that state; this has an impact on all other processes of state formation from that point onwards. For example, the formation of the Rwandan state in its postcolonial form during the second half of the twentieth century can be traced to the political identities which were created and thus instilled by colonial laws (Mamdani 2001b). Mamdani (2001b; 1996a) argues that this type of colonialism, indirect or direct rule, forged two types of political identities which had consequences on post-colonial state formation. 13 Direct rule resulted in political identities based on a racial imperative, distinguishing ‘settler from native’, whereas indirect rule fractured the ‘race consciousness of natives into multiple and separate ethnic consciousnesses’ (Mamdani 2001b, 23). In the postcolonial period, indirect rule translated into bifurcated states, with civic identities being part of the central state and its consequent formation and ethnic identities guided by customary rights, thus continuing with a divided citizenship. For example, the 1927 Native Authorities

12 Herbst (1990) mentions the cases of South Korea and Taiwan and Hall (1987) has linked war with China’s state formation. 13 He adds that there were also ‘halfway house’ colonialism as well, which incorporated indirect and direct rule (Mamdani 2001b, 34). 49

Ordinance in Tanganyika gave indigenous chiefs the right to make rules over their own people, rules which were seen by the population as emanating from their own people when behind the law stood the colonial administration (Mamdani 1996a, 124). This was replicated in independent Tanzania where the central government enabled local district councils to create by-laws, deflecting anger against forced labour in agriculture from the central state to the local level (Mamdani 1996a, 174–75).

Traditional or customary authority during colonialism covered all aspects of daily life and order and created an authoritarian rule of law; jurisdictions were made according to how those in customary power saw fit. This often excluded or marginalised many sections of the colony’s population. The formalisation of customary ideas of property rights is an example (Berry 2002). Officials often failed to interpret land customs correctly, sometimes ignoring groups within the state in order to create one set of formal laws (Berry 2002, 643). The bifurcated authority described by Mamdani forged a distinction between the centre and the periphery. For the centre, usually the capital or main urban enclave, civil authority existed, for the towns and villages further away, customary authority was imposed. This is the basic underpinning of indirect rule (Mamdani 1996a; Englebert and Tull 2008; Joireman 2001).

Alternatively, Boone (1998) argues that the ability of the post-independence African state to stretch itself to rural enclaves depended more on the elite configurations in colonial rural areas and the ways they interacted with the colonial administration. For example, in Southern Ghana the colonial state ‘remoulded and reinforced’ the local political hierarchies in the cocoa region (Boone 1998, 18). Once the colonial powers had left, the new Nkrumah regime saw this elite class as a competing power. Consequently, the earlier colonial structures were deconstructed to ensure that the central state could extend power throughout the country. Boone concludes that in states where such practices were common, regimes built extensive administrative apparatuses in areas far from the central political enclave, yet this created power struggles in the following years.

The legacies of indirect rule add a further dimension to theorising of state formation. As some have argued, indirect rule meant that the infrastructures of the state were not in place outside of the central points of colonial control, creating a ‘decentralized administration’ (Mamdani 1996a, 73; see also Herbst 2000). This included the demarcation of ‘tribal units’ which formed the basis for colonial authority beyond the urban enclaves. If a group of people could not be clearly identified as a tribe, they were created as one and a ‘chief’ (most commonly from the centre) assigned to them as their administrative leaders (Mamdani 1996a, 79). For the future independent states, such demarcations created a form of tribalism and a distinct lineation between groups within territorial boundaries, presenting issues for state-building initiatives. Chad exemplifies the ambiguities of state administration and the legacies of colonialism (Englebert 2009, 20–21). The country was demarcated by the French in 1900. They created a distinction between the North, which featured little French authority, and the South, which was used for cotton cultivation and deemed more beneficial to their interests than the deserts of the North. The North-South divide persisted into the postcolonial era on the political spectrum as the two regions attempted to grasp power through insurgencies and conflict.

For scholars taking this perspective, colonialism affected cultural, social, political and economic processes of state formation. Colonialism meant that small states which may have otherwise been subsumed by larger states, continued to exist and remain even after African states started to gain their independence (Southall 1974). According to post-colonial scholarship, the dramatic change in African societies created by colonialism was of ‘decisive importance’, because it triggered ‘a reversal of fortunes in which more economically developed pre-colonial territories became less developed, and less economically developed areas became more developed’ such as Australia and the United States (M. Lange, Mahoney, and vom Hau 2006, 1450) Further, the bifurcated organisation of power in the colonial state pointed society towards native authorities rather than to the central state, leaving the colonial authorities free to pursue their own ambitions unchecked (Young, 1994). Therefore, in a territorial sense, the colonial state formed borders peacefully without the warfare so central to the European experience of state formation.

However, as the above debates have shown, it impeded the state’s post- independence development and affected the type of states which emerged.

Summary – moving forward with the concept of state formation This chapter has provided a review of the literature focusing on processes of state formation in two settings, Europe and sub-Saharan Africa. The debates can be delineated into three broad sections in the scholarship. In the literature on Europe, there has been much theorisation around these three perspectives of land and property, revenue and war (Poggi 2001). Indeed, the scholarship from each perspective is forthright and clear in their individual assessment of how the European state has formed, and although there are overlaps between the three perspectives (such as taxes collected during war), the debates place primacy on their perspective for the instigation of the institutions which make up states. The literature from the sub-Saharan African context is not as clearly categorised and has not been assembled into any work which attempts to succinctly trace the main theories as Poggi has done for Europe. However, on close reading of ideographic, historical, political and development orientated texts on the region, it is possible to compartmentalise the main discussions. What is surprising is that there are convergences with the theories of European state formation.

First, the chapter examined the state forming effects of property and land. In both contexts, changes in the use of land as well as demands for protection over property resulted in elites having to negotiate with those inhabiting the land. These interactions created institutions of communication, networks of trusted officials to enact leaders’ demands, diversification of economies and also systems of protection both internally and facing outwards as compensation to the people for elite claims on the land. The second section outlined the debates in the literature on revenue collection and its impact on state formation. It is interesting to note that literature from both contexts claims that taxation has positive impacts on state formation, yet the literature on Africa points towards its failure to achieve these benefits, seeing taxation in technical and developmental terms rather than looking at what has been put in place. There is, however, much which discusses the types of state forming institutions which emerged in Africa due to the slave trade. Debates from these perspectives focus on the 52 bargaining elements which revenue collection can have and how this can impact the types of state which emerge. There is a stance that taxes which forge welfare policies, legal institutions and political institutions constitute a better form of state.

The third section of the chapter outlined where the two contexts diverge the most, relating to war and conquest. The European literature from this perspective maintains that the waging of interstate war has four main state forming consequences, introductions or increases in taxation, better control over the population and resources in the region, the creation of political space for the populace and the state bargaining with society. In contrast, the conquest of Africa by said European countries forged states which were subjected to institutions based upon colonisers’ own interpretations of administration, traditions, customs and societal divisions.

What emerges from all three perspectives is a static notion of state formation, i.e. that once one of the instigators has occurred, the state ceases to continue to form. By remaining in one particular camp, the theories and perspectives do not acknowledge that states are ‘moving target[s]’, constantly reforming with new processes of state formation (Jessop 2016, 15). The review above has demonstrated that all perspectives are relevant to different states at different times, and, therefore, when trying to study the formation of a particular state, it would seem prudent to use a theoretical framework which can encompass the relevant varieties and causes of state formations. In this regard, this literature review points to a number of ways of conceptualising state formation whilst veering away from a static and one-dimensional perspective of the state. The following definitions move away from a set theory, and instead encompass the ideas presented above and provide a way forward for analysing state formation in Uganda.

Territoriality One of Weber’s three elements of the state, 14 territoriality or Staatsgebiet refers to how a bounded space is used to achieve particular outcomes (Taylor 2003). Territoriality signifies ‘spheres of influence’ and is linked directly to sovereignty and the ability of the state to ‘mould politics into a fundamentally state-centric social process’ (Taylor 2003, 101). Developing further on this, Jessop (2016, 29) says that ‘[T]erriorialization denotes the division of the earth into more or less clearly demarcated areas that are governed by a political authority empowered to make decisions binding on the residents of these areas’. These state-centric definitions consider how state formation is defined by the geographical entity which is secured through boundaries and as a result, designates the responsibility of making decisions on behalf of said territory and the people within it to those who constitute the central administration, i.e. the state.

However, there is another level to territoriality through which state formation can also be constituted. For this we turn to Anderson’s Imagined Community (1983). A state can be defined even when it does not have structured, secured borders, instead, territory can be seen as an affiliation which people may have that is common to each other and to a political realm, or a centre. Anderson’s work continues to outline his theory of nationalism, but for the sake of understanding the state, his idea of a community of people territorially bounded within their imaginations speaks to similar perspectives, particularly when considering the drivers of state formation on Africa as outlined above, where polities are not ‘delimited by boundaries in the classical sense of the term’ (Mbembé and Rendall 2000, 263), but instead can be spaces which might move, where the state controls people, areas or both. In some cases, there may be plural states acting in a specific space, however, boundaries are only of significance through the relationships the state exhibits with these people, areas and other states (Mbembé and Rendall 2000). However, when considering state formation in this way, it is necessary to understand how the institutional structure of the state works and what exactly the state’s projects are and how they are perceived (Ferguson and Gupta 2002); in this regard a definition of what is state formation must encompass more than an analysis of its territoriality.

14 His three elements are identified as territoriality, violence and legitimacy (Weber 1948). 54

The final element to consider under territoriality is the impact that globalisation can have, whereby the domains of economy, politics and culture may no longer be placed into neatly bounded units but instead overlap to extend the territoriality of states on an international level (Walby 2003). For Scholte (2000), this form of a state or ‘supraterritoriality’ as he terms it means that territories of states can no longer be seen in simple terms where the social space of a state can be mapped by its borders. Instead, processes of globalisation have changed state geographies and in fact, in some cases may result in a form of deterritorialisation for some states as they lose the elements which created a community, whether bounded by the imagination or by borders (Brenner 1999; Scholte 2000). By seeing state territoriality through this wider lens, it is possible to understand how individual states act as ‘site[s], medium[s], and agent[s] of globalization’ and in turn how they react to the actions of other states in the same vein (Brenner 1999, 41). The next section, returns to these actions of pressure and resistance but on the national scale by examining how state formation can be conceptualised by modes of representation.

Modes of representation Modes of representation can take formal or less formal ways in which people access the apparatuses and institutions of the state. These can be visualised in many forms, such as political parties, corporate bodies, pressure groups, social movements, trade unions, social media or the press to name a few (Jessop 2016). This section considers how state formation is defined by examining the ways the views, goals and aspirations of a society are represented by the state. These bodies may have formal, observable roles and interactions with the state which are then judged and checked by society, such as through political parties or elected members of parliament or local government. However, the literature also examines those forms of representation which may not always be so visible to the general population, such as corporate bodies and think tanks who may be representing only the views of a select section of society to the state and the state may respond only to these views in return. The following examines Jessop’s ideal-typical modes of representation and includes some of the groups which may engage with the state through these modes.

For Jessop (2016) the ideal-typical modes of representation demonstrate the hierarchical structures of access to the state. The first of which, clientalism , is self-explanatory as a ‘hierarchical relationship between dependent client(s) and superordinate patron(s)’ as political support is exchanged for advantageous access to state resources (Jessop 2016, 62). The second, corporatism , is also based upon a form of exchange, particularly from an economic perspective which sees political representation through the division of labour. As a result, the organisation of distinct economic classes is promoted. Mann (1993) also sees this as a mode of representation as certain classes, segments and sections gain access to the state in order to consolidate their position through the extraction, transformation, distribution and consumption of economic resources. The third is parliamentarism and is perhaps how we see a traditional engagement with the state, through citizens’ ‘indirect participation in policy making’ by electing members of parliament or through voting or by being a member of a political party (whether on a local or national level) (Jessop 2016, 62). Mann’s work on infrastructural power demonstrates how societies use political parties as a means to form a two-way street with the state, ensuring that checks and balances are in place as well as trying to achieve their own goals (1993, 57).

The fourth, pluralism , represents the different modes through which civil-society organisations can channel their requests to the state and in turn are seen as legitimate groups in the eyes of the state. Important to note here, according to Jessop is that ‘the access [to the state] is far from even’ and these groups are constantly having to renegotiate the structures and operating dynamics to maintain this access (2016, 63). This varies depending upon the type of group; trade unions, think tanks or charities may have better access than say a social movement group (Knoke and Zhu 2016). These interest groups are especially important in democratic states because they act as the go-between the state and society, with some having more power than others (Baumgartner and Leech 1998).

The final mode is raison d’état , when groups use non-formal mean to represent their views to the state. This may involve risks to the security of the state and society and can result in the state operating beyond the normal rule of law to secure order or maintain its hegemony. Jessop (2016, 64) includes acts of 56 political protest, civil disobedience, whistleblowing and even investigative journalism as forms such a mode. What is not so clear from his definition is whether social media and perhaps more peaceful social movements can be situated within this mode – they do not necessarily threaten the security of the state or society (although can in some instances), but they are none the less informal means through which society can express its views and try to change the actions of the state. Perhaps a better description would be unrecognised modes .

The main issue with defining state formation through an examination of the modes of representation is the unquestioned fact that representation does exist; what then for states which are dictatorships or contain authoritarian forms of leadership? For this, Mann’s term of despotic state power becomes useful, helping us to examine states where societies have no access or ability to represent themselves (Mann 1984). It allows for a conceptualisation which accepts that some states do not have any or exhibit very little democracy, possibly resulting in state destruction rather than formation.

Internal institutional architecture Internal institutional architecture as a concept considers how the literature defines formed states according to what they look like, in other words the apparatuses, organisations, institutions of the state which enable it to function and act out its interventions and projects discussed below (Jessop 2016). This examines the extent to which some states are capable of governing or keeping hold over this architecture, turning to approaches of state capabilities and state reach. In this regard, there are a multitude of institutions which represent the arms of the state but not all of these may be controlled by the central state elite; further their existence in the first place presupposes certain ‘door-step’ conditions have been met. These represent ‘institutional and organizational support for increased impersonal exchange’ which ensures that society can be controlled by the state without recourse to violence (North, Wallis, and Weingast 2009, 26).

Broadly put, institutions are the norms which determine the rules of behaviour and structures of societies (North 1989). However, within this definition, it is also important to understand the processes which enable these institutions to function (Abrams 1988). Those institutions which are usually governed by the state can include the executive, the legislature, the judiciary and the police and military; these form the core apparatus of the state (Althusser 1971). Other institutions are generally more autonomous from the state, such as the family, education, religion and the media (ibid.). Without institutions, a state can be defined as a ‘black box’ without anywhere or any means for its demands or the demands of its society to be transmitted (Jessop 2016). In Mann’s work, institutions of the state are defined through his understanding of infrastructural power, however, other norms, values and traditions, such as education, religion and familial relations form part of ideological power, which can be an immanent part of the state or transcend the state (Mann 1986).

Modes of intervention Defining state formation along the lines of whether it has the capacity or modes to intervene revolves around an understanding how the state ‘penetrate[s] society and organize[s] social relations throughout its territory’ based on decisions made in politics (Jessop 2016, 70). An analysis of state power leads to a focus not just on how this is conceptualised but also on the tools and mechanisms used by states to achieve these desired outcomes (Smith 2009). These could involve authority, bureaucracy, force, incentives, regulation, risk and surveillance. Further, these tools may express state power which is seen as legitimate in the eyes of society or in contrast a form of intervention which contravenes the wants and needs of society. State power, can, therefore, be seen as abusive or necessary.

Skocpol (1979) outlines that the power of the state is very different to that which society may express, because of its access to resources such as the bureaucracy, finance and the military. In this regard, a state is able to have more far-reaching effects than any other group in society. However, what Skocpol does not examine so clearly is the efficacy of these modes of intervention; the extent to which a state has an effective bureaucracy or 58 financial system can affect its ability to achieve its goals. Mann measures these modes through his understanding of infrastructural power (1984); likewise, Giddens uses the term administrative power (1985). By assessing the modes of intervention through an infrastructural power perspective, it is possible to assess the strength or “reach” of the state (Soifer and vom Hau 2008). This diverts from a conceptionalisation of state failure (Zartman 1995; Rotberg 2003), but instead defines states by the exact means they are using to intervene in society. This could involve the means through which it raises funds, the methods of communication throughout the territory, law and order, and the bureaucratic reach of state apparatus.

Infrastructural power is a means to assess the ability of society to interfere in these modes of intervention when they are not able to dominate over all aspects of society (Mann 1984). In this regard, Migdal’s work on state-society relations reminds us that states cannot always be defined by autonomy, but instead by the ways society places checks and balances on the power of the state (2001). For example, how political parties function throughout the infrastructure of the state and within the central state organs, or the demands which citizens place on the state in return for paying taxes. Furthermore, in reality, according to Smith (2009), states cannot achieve any of their goals without relying upon the help and cooperation of other actors, resulting in what he terms as ‘exchange relationships’ (2009, 86). Once again, the concept of infrastructural power allows for this assessment of the two-way street going beyond a traditional Weberian understanding of state power being the sole force for deciding what happens to society.

A coercive mode of intervention can stem from two forms of perspectives, from a Weberian, elitist point of view, the state’s ability to monopolise the means of violence forms one and a rational choice, contract perspective forms the other. For rational choice scholars of the state, coercion is necessary to impose property rights, contracts or to enable the freedom of economic activity. The biggest proponents of this definition stem from North et al. (2009). In practical terms, the activities are legitimate because of the contractarian nature of the coercion (Smith 2009), if left otherwise, a Hobbsian state of nature may occur where anarchy persists, therefore it is in everyone’s best interests to submit to the coercive state. The alternatives are not worth it. Alternatively, a Weberian 59 perspective analyses the ability of the state to maintain secure control over violence, for Mann, the nature of military power relations. Once a state loses control, then others in society may grasp hold of military power and challenge the power of the state; alternatively, the state’s other modes of intervention may be so weak or inactive that it has to rely almost exclusively on military power to achieve its goals, leading to what Mann terms as a despotic state (Mann 2006).

Social bases This section examines the main different social forces which constitute the support which enables the state to form and exist (Jessop 2016). The focus is on the relationships which emerge and how the state shapes and maintains these for its own advantage whilst also maintaining this social base, and not alienating others at the same time. The social bases of the state could take a variety of forms. Agents of the state might, but not always, include the media, mercenaries, religious institutions and economic elites; and on the other hand, civil society, which again could include all the examples above. Both of which are fluid concepts and open to change in any given society (Ray 2016). Key to these understandings according to Jessop (2016) is Gramsci’s concepts of power bloc and hegemonic bloc (Gramsci 1971). The former relates to the alliances in place between the state and dominant groups to ensure both groups are achieving their aims, through give and take. Again, Mann’s understanding of infrastructural power and two-way street comes to mind here (Mann 1984). Indeed, the Staatshoheit , or sovereignty and legitimacy of the state are verified by the checks and balances which exist between the state and this social base.

The concept of hegemonic bloc is a ‘broader ensemble of national popular forces mobilized behind a specific hegemonic project’ which may attempt to overcome the power bloc of the state and dominant groups (Jessop 2016, 73). Thus indicating the role which civil society can plan on the actual projects of the state. The state, in turn, may mitigate this block through forms of citizenship, such as representation, enfranchisement and in turn Staatsvolk relations of taxation (Mann 1993). Thus a relationship has to exist whereby through the payment of taxes, the population gain the opportunity to have their say on state activities and gain allowances, such as social welfare and security, in return.

As with the former category of modes of representation, defining state formation in this manner rests upon the assumption that state actors need these social bases to achieve their goals. Authoritarianism and despotism may actually only need to rely upon a few state co-opted social bases to maintain a state; these could include the army, police and the media. As a result, the views, opinions and wishes of other social bases can be ignored through the threat of violence. Once again, Mann’s broader definition of political state power and military power, including despotism encompasses these scenarios (Mann 1984).

Conclusion From the definitions outlined above, it is clear that state formation and the state is a ‘messy concept’ (Mann 1984, 187), justifying the varieties in state forms. Further, following from Jessop (2016) it is important to underline that just one conceptualisation does not work and that a variety of definitions are required in order to explain the complexities of how elites organise themselves into a state- like organisation. However, there are some definitions which are more convincing than others and helps this author to justify employing a Mannian approach to the state. When considering territoriality, modes of representation, institutions, interventions and social bases, Mann’s understanding of political power proves to serve the many variations that could exist. As outlined later in the Chapter Three, his perspective accounts for not only the reach, capabilities and interactions of state power but also the authoritarian nature which the state may exhibit. This leads towards defining state formation, through a lens of power, whether on a level of geography, sociology or politics. We are then able to discern the varieties of activities which agents of the state engage in. It is this lens through which the thesis continues when reference is made to the state. The next chapter now considers the theoretical framework proposed by Michael Mann and outlines how it encompasses the debates outlined above.

Chapter Three - A model of social power: Framework and methods

Introduction The previous chapter outlined debates on processes of state formation in Western and African settings. A number of common themes emerged focusing on the role of property and land, revenue, conflict and colonialism in explaining how a state forms. This highlights a number of prerequisites for a historical sociology of an African state. First, any framework needs to be able to examine long term social change. Much of the literature examining African state development focuses on one period of time, such as the colonial moment or pre-colonial kingdoms. Historical sociology analyses of European states tend to take a longer perspective, and demonstrate benefits of this approach more clearly as a result. Secondly, European perspectives conform to Poggi’s (2001) assessment that theories fail to acknowledge state formation as a process which can encompasses multiple causes. For example, the literature on property, revenue and war in state formation show that conflict, taxation and the provision of state goods are intrinsically linked, yet many scholars assign primacy to one approach. Third, literature on state formation implies that the state is static. Leading debates do not acknowledge the dynamic and evolutionary nature of states.

As the debates on state formation demonstrated, there is not one set definition of what an end-result state should look like, never mind enquiring as to whether this is desirable or not. Some common themes have emerged not only in the literature on Western state formation, but also more significantly for this study, in the literature on sub-Saharan Africa. For a state to be formed, it must have relations with a society (Jessop 2007; 2016). Without a society, a state would cease to exist and indeed, processes of state formation rely upon the interactions between the state and society. Second, the state in itself is not an actor (Williams 2013). It is very hard to resist describing the state doing something as a subject when actually the state consists of many differing institutions and actors which work on behalf of the state. 15 Third, the state’s institutional and agential composition varies from context to context and its activities depend on what its components and its society deems it should do.

15 I am guilty of this throughout this thesis, see also Jessop’s discussion (2016, 21). 62

There is not one activity that the state always performs and not one that it has never performed (Weber 1948). Fourth, the state consists of a boundary. In some cases this may be an imaginary boundary, extending out as far as the people it governs. It may be a moving boundary which ebbs and flows depending upon relations with external actors. Or, the boundary may be a territorial demarcation which can be viewed on a map. However, the boundary marks the extent of state reach.

Michael Mann’s model of social power offers an innovative and alternative approach for understanding state formation and development trajectories (1986; 1993). It focuses on relations between four sources of power: ideological, political, military and economic. These sources of power, which, according to Mann, appear in all social spheres, account for the ‘messiness’ of social development (1986, 4). This chapter explores Mann’s model and sets out the conceptual framework of the thesis. In doing so it will offer a brief outline of the framework, then a discussion of the concept of power will follow; situating the model vis-a-vis other theories of power. A detailed elaboration of the framework will highlight how it responds to the three points identified from the literature review, noted above. The chapter finishes with a discussion of the research methods.

Power and Social Power Mann claims his model of social power can be utilised to understand ultimate primacy. He asks what basic elements affect stratification, change and interactions within society? For Mann, this is the most common and difficult question which troubles sociological enquiry (1986, 3). His framework of social power is, thus, a ‘proximate methodology’ for comprehending the issue of ultimate primacy (1986, 4). At the heart of the model is the assumption that in order to achieve anything in life people must interact and cooperate. These social relations are sometimes very basic interactions, but can also be interactions which can alter societal structures. These powerful relations are seen as more effective means through which people can achieve their personal goals (1986, 5). As a consequence, social power reflects the ability of a person to achieve their goals through interactions with others.

Defining power The concept of social power has emerged from debates about power. Giddens (1979) makes clear that social systems are created as a consequence of ‘transactions between agents’ (1979, 95). Power, then, according to Giddens, is an agent’s capacity to render these transactions achievable. Therefore, understanding transactions which lead to state formation and development requires an understanding of power. It is ‘the single most important organising concept in social and political theory’ (Ball 1992, 14). As with most concepts in social science, it is essentially contested. Despite being central to the study of social science, it is a ‘complex and multi-layered concept’ for which a definition with universal appeal or fit has yet to be found (Csaszar 2005, 137; see also Jessop 2016). As Morriss (2002) outlines, power is employed by different people to describe different contexts, with each scholar attempting to persuade the reader that their context is ‘ the context’ (2002, 37, emphasis in original). Consequently, it is an individual’s responsibility to recognise the concept’s many facets. This enables a more comprehensive foundation for Mann’s conceptual framework. The following account outlines how power has been seen as a ‘phenomenon of willed or intended action’, and by others as a means through which common goals can be achieved (Giddens 1979, 88). The table below details dominant discourses on power, showing the spectrum of approaches.

Table 2. Definitions of power Type of Conflictual (distributive) Power Middle ground Consensual power power Concept Pluralism Two faces of Potential power Elite power Relational power Collective power name power Definition Relation Includes Acknowledges Power centred Power only exists Power can be used to amongst pluralism but pluralism & on a few who when there are achieve group outcomes actors also non- second face but have power relationships, a two- decision also idea of a over others way process making power latent, potential – values and conflict cultures Action Visible & Visible & Not observable Who rather than Power interlinked with Power to behavioural behavioural & latent what knowledge

Involves? Community Community Individual or Individuals over Does not belong to Community & elites working group anyone together

The story of power is ‘a tale of conceptual transfers and transformations from one face or dimension to another’ (Ball 1992, 15). Three political science approaches have been identified (Ball 1992; Hay 1997). The first is drawn from pluralism, emerging in the post-war period. This perspective understands the exercise of power as a transparent component which can be seen in all decision making processes (Bachrach and Baratz 1962; Hay 1997). It has been compared to mechanics - the ability of A to place a degree of force on B and compel B to act, perhaps against B’s instinct (Dahl 1957). In a societal setting, the pluralist perspective asserts that power is linked to conflicting issues within a community. Power is not held exclusively by one individual; instead groups will cooperate to exercise power to resolve issues. Furthermore, power can be exercised fleetingly or for long periods (Bachrach and Baratz 1962). For example, within a pluralist society, members of the public are seen as having power when they cast a vote, choosing an individual to act on their behalf (Dahl 1957; Newton 1969). This, in turn, means that political decisions are made by ‘shifting participants drawn from all areas of community life’ preventing a single person from controlling said community life (Merelman 1968, 451). This analysis concentrates on ‘concrete, observable behaviour ’ to judge how decisions create power (Lukes 1974, 12, emphasis in original; see also Bachrach and Baratz 1977).

The second dimension of power addresses a gap in pluralism; in that it does not account for potential or latent behaviour. Building on the pluralist version of observable actions between people, it includes a non-decision making element of power (Bachrach and Baratz 1977). This element may not be measurable but can be of ‘decisive importance’ (Bachrach and Baratz 1962, 948). This occurs when ‘A devotes his energies to creating or reinforcing social and political values and institutional practices that limit the scope of the political process to public consideration of only those issues which are comparatively innocuous to A’ (Bachrach and Baratz 1962, 948). Therefore, A can exercise a degree of power by exerting control over a situation without acting directly on another actor. However, another actor may be disadvantaged as a consequence of A’s actions. It still defines power as an observable phenomenon but also seeks to explain instances where there is no direct relation between two actors. Within a community, this would involve acknowledging biases in decision-making arising

from traditions and practices which have let dominant individuals or groups have the upper-hand in what issues and decisions can be brought to the table (Benton 1981). The two dimensions create a behavioural notion of power, which has been called the two faces of power (Bachrach and Baratz 1962).

While not dismissing the two faces of power, the third approach attempts to go beyond the behavioural by examining the potential of a situation (Lukes 1974). In this sense, through institutional practices or individual’s actions, potential problems may develop, creating latent conflict, which may be averted or may eventually manifest (Lukes 1974). Though difficult to empirically support, it has been pointed out by Lukes (1974) that potential matters because it cannot be simply assumed that power does not exist just because it cannot be easily observed. Within societies, this third face of power can be exercised over an individual or group ‘against its preferences, but, nevertheless, in its real interests’ (Benton 1981, 161).

Elitism presents an alternative approach to the three presented above, which has its roots in sociology (Hunter 1953; Mills 1956). From this perspective, power is centralised to a few situated at the top of the political, economic or military domains (Bachrach and Baratz 1977). Elitism considers who has the power within a community, rather than what power is, focusing on a small number of people who control or influence the daily lives of ordinary men and women in a given community (Mills 1956; Hunter 1953). Individuals may use coercion or force in order to achieve their goals. For some elitist theorists, power is a ‘circulatory medium’, which involves elites rotating (not necessarily voluntarily) in powerful positions (Clegg 1989, 47). Clegg (1989), notes that elitist theory, by focusing on a particular group of individuals, ignores organisations, groups or institutions which also exert power. Elitists differ from this view by claiming that power is centred upon one small group of individuals rather than spread out amongst a community.

All four approaches above are embedded within a school of thought which sees power as conflictual (Csaszar 2005). Counter to this, the consensual school of thought believes that power can result in mutually beneficial outcomes and, thus, does not have to be a zero-sum game (Csaszar 2005). Giddens offers a 67 middle ground, arguing that power may be conflictual and consensual, leading to discussion of power over or power to .16 Parsons (1960) terms power over distributive power (Parsons 1960). In contrast, power to can be defined as collective power; when one group is not disadvantaged for the benefit of another. Instead collective power is tied to ideas of ‘authority, consensus and the pursuit of collective goals’ (Lukes 1974, 28; see also Parsons 1960; Wrong 1979). Within a society, collective power means that actors, groups or institutions will work together in order to achieve aims and goals without compromising the aims and goals of others. As both Lukes (1974) and Wrong (1979) note, collective power does not rely on coercion or force, as may be the case with distributive power. It is more complex than, and superior to, distributive power, as groups which use coercion are perceived as lacking a strong powerbase and demonstrates insecurities which have negative connotations (Parsons 1957; Giddens 1968; Chambers 2006).

Collective power relies upon leaders having their positions legitimised by citizens in a society, with the assumption that leaders will act in the best interests of the majority to achieve collective goals (Arendt 1969; Giddens 1968; Parsons 1960). This is social power in action (Csaszar 2005) and has been described as the ‘glue that keeps society together’ (Eyben, Harris, and Pettit 2006, 1). As Giddens argues, elections are one way citizens accept a group of leaders, demonstrating that legitimacy is a central component of collective power (Giddens 1968, 260; see also Lukes 1974). Hannah Arendt (1969), however, does not give it the same name; the same principles can be found within her definition of power: power ‘belongs to a group’ however, it can only stay ‘in existence [..] so long as the group keeps together’ (1969, 44), reinforcing the importance of legitimacy. In addition, collective power must be created which means it is intrinsically linked to the ‘reproduction of social order’ (Csaszar 2005, 141).

Giddens adds to this debate, acknowledging the importance of agency in defining power. He highlights that agency is only possible due to the value

16 Drawing from continental approaches, Foucault (1980; 2001) offers another middle ground defined by governmentality and the disciplinarity of power which also accounts for a multifaceted definition of power. Due to space limitations, this is not discussed further in this thesis. 68 placed on resources in society and the structural rules which govern society (McPhee 2004). In other words, ‘[p]ower cannot be attributed to resources; rather it is constituted through processes of negotiation between individuals in society’ (Csaszar 2005, 142). Power can only be power over others in society when structural constraints allow (McPhee 2004). However, crucially for Giddens, power relations ‘are always two-way; that is to say, however subordinate an actor may be in a social relationship, the very fact of their involvement in that relationship gives them a certain amount of power over the other’ (Giddens 1979, 6).

For Giddens’ definition of power, resources do not create power, it is peoples’ use of them and the value placed on them that creates power (Giddens 1979). The role of resources in creating power is contentious for historical sociology. Some argue that power only came into being when a surplus of resources emerged, such as in the beginnings of an agrarian society. Gellner (1988) states that people assume roles of power as a consequence of the surplus, aligning with ideas of distributive power. However, other scholars, whose work focuses on capitalism, suggest that a surplus of wealth for some states created greater collective power (Braudel and Reynolds 1984). Skocpol (1979), in contrast, believes that resources are a key factor for state leaders to make concessions to people in society which fits more with a collective power thesis. The examples above demonstrate that when analysing power, both distributive and collective power can prove useful, depending upon the context being studied.

In the Global South power ‘can seem monolithic and impenetrable for people who have lived under regimes that deny or repress citizen participation’ and as such social change can seem stagnant as power is viewed in these one- dimensional terms (VeneKlasen and Miller 2002, 39). The conceptualisations above show that power must be understood through analyses of the state and also society along with the relations between the two and within these institutions (Navarro 2006). As Chambers (2006) argues, power with and power within should also be added to the melting pot of definitions to take into account people on a societal level acting together through an organisation ( with ) and individuals’ own sense of personal power ( within ). For Chambers, these 69 concepts of power are value-neutral; what is important is how power is deployed. However, no definition of power can be universally applicable and no one definition should take precedence. As Eyben et al. (2006, 3) have noted, how a researcher applies a definitional lens to power in a given context depends heavily on their ‘various personal histories, ideological positions and disciplinary backgrounds’. As the next section will discuss, Mann incorporates this stance into his own theoretical model and also adds elements which forge a route for understanding state formation.

Mann’s interpretation of power In line with Talcott Parsons (1960), Mann sees power as having two dimensions: distributive and collective. In some cases, distributive power takes precedence. One group may be disadvantaged considerably in order for a group or individual to achieve this type of power. Central to this idea is elitism’s perspective of power over , as discussed earlier. In other instances though, actors will work together to achieve collective goals in the face of resistance from other third parties or through the exploitation of nature. Collective power’s existence is based upon consensus and legitimate election of leaders to act on a group’s behalf (Arendt 1969; Giddens 1968). Collective and distributive powers express Mann’s first characteristic of power.

The second characteristic concerns how power is spatially organised. It can be coordinated extensively, which means steady, albeit minimal, collaboration from large numbers of people is achieved over great expanses of territory (Mann 1986, 7; 1993, 6). Alternatively, power can be organised intensively, when it is possible to command people within a tight-knit structure over small or large areas, and in return higher levels of commitment are received from those involved (Mann 1986, 7). The third characteristic concerns how power is organised by people. It can be organised authoritatively, which involves demands which are obeyed. This relates to the first dimension of power from the pluralists (Dahl 1957). Alternatively, diffused power is implicit acceptance of how social practices are performed, which may be naturally or morally upheld social codes (Mann 1986, 8). This is similar to Lukes’ third dimension of power, where conflict is latent within society, and people accept the status quo (1974). In this way power is not observable. In sum, Mann argues that there are six 70 characteristics which explain how power can be organised: collective, distributive, extensive, intensive, authoritative and diffused power. In a society, according to Mann, ‘[t]he most effective exercises of power combine’ all of the above (1993, 6).

In addition to how Mann sees the organisation of power, there are substantive sources of power which are deciding factors for influencing ultimate primacy. Within sociological theory, there have been three substantive sources of power consistent with both Marxian and neo-Weberian interpretations. For example, Runciman (1989; 1997) cites political, economic and ideological sources. In the case of England, he argues the economic source of power is capitalist means of production; the ideological source of power is liberalism and the political a democratic system. Generally, these three sources of power can be categorised as class, status and party (Mann 1986, 10). Mann’s model, though, adds a fourth source of power - military - completing his model: 17 ideological, political, military and economic sources of power (1986, 28). The model of the sources of social power forms the conceptual framework employed in this research. Further, as the previous chapter demonstrated with regards to European and African state formation, these sources respond to the dominant debates in both contexts.

Michael Mann’s model provides an analytical tool for the analysis of social change. In particular, this research uses it to analyse state formation in Uganda. The sources of power are networks, which may act independently of each other or may intertwine. As Mann has argued (2013), human societies form around these four distinct power sources. In their purest form, the four sources are ‘ideal types’, as described below (Mann 2013, 1). What becomes evident in each of the four analysis chapters (Chapters Five-Eight) in this thesis is that the sources ‘congeal’ around other institutions in society as the people deploying them as a source of power rely upon other networks of power to achieve this (Mann 2013, 1). The following sections describe the theoretical framework, using Mann’s works on social power, which are used in the subsequent analysis chapters. This is illustrated in the table below.

17 In Mann’s work, he shortens the framework to the IEMP model, however, for the purpose of this study the model is applied in an alternative order: IPME. 71

Table 3. The sources of social power Source Ideological Political Military Economic Definition Meaning of life, values, Regulations and coercion Social organisation of Extraction, norms used by a central concentrated lethal transformation, organisation to organise violence by state and distribution and and control people and non-state actors consumption of nature resources and management of these processes to meet basic needs. Expressions Immanent or Coordinated and Projected inwards or Internal or global, of power transcendent regulated internally outwards through markets & modes of production Organisation Intensive or extensive, Despotic or Intensive and extensive, Intensive and extensive of power authoritative or diffused infrastructural authoritative Examples Religion, nationalism, Feudalism, democracies, Gangs, military dictators, Industrial capitalism, from Mann’s liberalism, socialism imperialism and Nazism, genocide globalisation, state work autocracies economy Framework Tracklayers of belief Bureaucracy, revenue & Control, organisation and IOTA as measured for this thesis systems political representation functions through classes, segments and sections Based on Mann (1984; 1986; 1993; 2012; 2013).

Ideological Power Ideological power concerns the way in which ‘ultimate knowledge and meaning’ are organised within social life (Mann 1986, 22). As a source of power it originates from ‘the human need to find ultimate meaning in life, to share norms and values, and to participate in aesthetic and ritual practices with others’ (Mann 2013, 1). As Mann states, ‘[i]deologies change as the problems we face change’ (2013, 1). Ideological movements gain power due to people’s inability to make sense of the world with the knowledge they have; therefore in order to fill the gaps, people turn to ideologies to help them achieve this goal. Mann continues, ‘[i[deologies become especially necessary in crises where the old institutionalized ideologies and practices no longer seem to work and where alternatives offered have as yet no track record’ (2013, 1); they provide people with answers to aspects of life which they are uncertain about. In some instances, people may turn to new ideologies when faced with unforeseen challenges and, in some cases, this is when people are vulnerable to the power of ideologists, even if their ideology is unproven previously (Mann 2013, 1).

Ideology can be exhibited as immanence, in other words, it uses ideological infrastructures to support the existing power of the ruler, ruling elite or state. At the same time, or in contrast to immanence, ideology can be transcendent, cutting across other networks of power and even that of the state, transcending boundaries. In this case, it ‘legitimates itself with divine authority’ but still manages to provide answers to those questions which people cannot answer in their day-to-day lives (Mann 1986, 301). Furthermore, ideological power can appear intensively or extensively and authoritatively or diffusely (Gorski 2006, 105). For Mann, the power of Islam, Hinduism and Christianity is reflected in their ‘ability to generate a transcendent social identity independent of military, political, or economic relations’ (1986, 362). Furthermore, the emergence of prominent religions in the centuries before and after the first century A.D. were track-laying vehicles due to their extensive organisation and universal attraction which was more than any other power relation had offered before. Mann terms this era the ‘first great reorganizing achievement of ideological power movements’ (1986, 363).

Throughout Mann’s work he considers a number of sources of ideological power, these include religion, nationalism, socialism, patriarchy, feminism, liberalism, racism and environmentalism (2013, 2; see also 2011). The strength of ideological power varies according to the social setting and the extent to which the other sources of social power are causing social change. People turn to a new ideology as a result of a change in other power relations. For example, Mann dedicates a significant amount of space in his final volume to the rise and fall of neoliberalism in the second half of the twentieth century. The turn to neoliberalism as an ideological source of power was as a result of changes in economic, political and ideological power relations, of which, he states, problems with Keynesianism, import substitution industrialisation and the Bretton Woods institutions were drivers of this change (Mann 2013, 133). In another example, Mann examines the rise of early twentieth century fascism. The ideological, economic, military and political crises of the post-First World War climate attracted people to the new ideology. Fascists proposed apparent solutions to all four crises (Mann 2004). However, it is his analysis of the rise of the first large religions from which we draw his greatest contributions to the theorising of ideological power.

Featured in his first volume, he argues that that belief systems are ‘“track- layers” of history’ (Mann 1986, 363). Belief systems became important within societies because they exhibited a ‘translocal sense of personal and social identity that permitted extensive and intensive mobilization on a scale sufficient to enter historical record’ (ibid., 363). The track-layers are achievements of ideological power which Mann has placed into eight categories outlined in the next section. Seven of his eight track-laying achievements provide a framework through which to analyse the ideologies which emerged in Uganda in the nineteenth Century. 18

Mann defines these belief systems as “track-laying” because they were novel; they offered a ‘more extensive and universal membership than had any prior social power organization’ (Mann 1986, 363). In other words, for the first time, there was an organisation of power which transcended territorial boundaries.

18 The eighth achievement, ‘the establishment of a ritual cosmology and a religious society’, Mann relates specifically to Hinduism as it diminishes the second achievement of a broad community due to its values of the caste system (Mann 1986, 369). 74

The first 19 achievement of ideological power is the extensive and universal form of membership. Ideological power is built upon the extensive networks which had been created by other economic, political and military power relations. Through the work of unofficial groups, these infrastructures were used to share culture, values and practices. The second achievement relates to the types of institutions which are used to gain this extensive and universal membership. In some cases, an ideology will be deployed by existing institutions, reinforcing or legitimising the power of the existing military, economic or political structures. In other cases, ideology transcends these other sources of power, creating its own institutions through which ultimate knowledge, meaning and values can be found, they were of a ‘ specifically ideological’ nature (Mann 1986, 365, emphasis in original).

The third achievement is the ability of ideologies to control and standardise the core social sphere of individuals; including how people perceive life, death and the regulation of family relations. Fourthly, personal and social identity became extensive and diffuse, cutting across gender, class and state divides, forging the possibility of a universal identity and realising the ability of human beings to share similar experiences in a stable, extensive and diffuse manner, wherever communication infrastructures existed. The fifth achievement relates to the specific strategy of religions. Their aim was to acquire overall control over the infrastructure of literacy, which may, in some instances, extend to all written documents, such as laws.

Sixthly, ideological power created a link between the masses and those who were in control at the centre. Before, elites could exercise what Mann terms as ‘macrosocial power’ without having to take into account the beliefs of the populations which they ruled. Through the extension of ideology, people could potentially be mobilised through their shared beliefs, therefore, elites had to take notice of the people. The link between the masses and the centre could be manifested in various guises, such as democracy or authoritarianism, but

19 For consistency, these achievements are listed in the order in which they are examined in the fifth chapter of the thesis. The numbers, therefore, do not correspond to Mann’s ordering of the achievements in his 11 th chapter in Volume 1 (1986). They are the same achievements, just ordered differently. 75 ideology ensured that the ‘beliefs of the masses were far more relevant to the exercise of power’ (Mann 1986, 365).

The final achievement is more macro in its appearance. Further, this achievement contradicted that of the second achievement of the universal nature of ideology – ideologies, through the use of warfare and the solidarity, faithfulness, and belief of their troops, can manifest themselves as dark forces for those who do not believe as they do. Mann states, ‘the infidel enemy was likely to be treated as less than fully human and butchered accordingly’ (Mann 1986, 368). Not all ideologies reach these achievements, but from Mann’s work, he sees their struggles, particularly of world religions, as attempts to do so. It is these seven achievements which are employed as a methodological tool to guide our analysis of religion within the territory of Uganda. This tells a story of how a certain type of ideological power formed roots within the land and took hold, whilst at the same time laying tracks for other sources of power to latch on.

Political Power Of the four sources of power in Mann’s framework, it is political power 20 which has been analysed most by other scholars. He first drew attention to this theorisation through his 1984 article, ‘The Autonomous Power of the State’. Political power consists of the regulations and coercion used by a central organisation, the state, to organise and control people and resources (1993, 9). The state can be any function of government; including local and regional governments. However, unlike other sources of power, political power is territorially bounded (Mann 1986, 27). Religions can transcend national borders; military power can be exerted over other states; and economic power relations can be global. However, political power is coordinated and regulated internally. This understanding of political power deviates from other sociological and political science conceptualisations. For Weber, and others, political power can be found in any organisation, for example, corporations, NGOs and social movements, as well as the state (Mann 2012, 12). However, Mann states that this describes governance rather than political power. People have the option of disobeying the rules and regulations of other organisations and even to leave

20 As explained below, Mann uses political power and state power interchangeably. 76 their control. However, for Mann, ‘I must obey the rule of the state in whose territory I reside or suffer the punishment’ (2013, 2).

Mann identifies two types of centralised and territorial regulations of social life. Political power can display either despotic or infrastructural characteristics. Despotic political power refers to actions performed by elite without consultation with society. Elites can perform a range of actions within the state without any negotiation with civil society (Mann 1984). Thinking back to the various definitions of power discussed earlier, despotic power is a clear example of distributive power. Mann points out that a state with despotic powers becomes either ‘an autonomous actor, as emphasized by true elitism, or multiple but perhaps confused autonomous actors, according to its internal homogeneity’ (1993, 59). In history, Mann cites Chinese Emperors and monarchs of early modern Europe as examples of despotic power (Mann 1984).

In contrast, infrastructural political power is the capacity of the state to permeate all aspects of society whilst acting out the demands of society (Mann 1984). This type of power Mann refers to as collective, where power works through society, penetrating throughout its territory and implementing decisions that will affect all areas of society (Mann 1993). It accounts for relations between the state and society and provides a tool to analyse the extent a state can exert control to the furthest borders of its territory. The state is defined by the institutions through which infrastructural power flows. These institutions enable the state to enact decisions made centrally, throughout its territory to ensure they impact every member of society. For example, an infrastructurally powerful state may know the exact numbers of its population and tax everyone accordingly. A state can be despotically and infrastructurally powerful. A ruler managing a state with strong infrastructural powers can order the execution of anyone in her realm. With weak infrastructural powers she would only be able to execute those in her immediate locality (Mann 1984, 189).

Infrastructural power can also be a useful tool for civil society. The central and radial institutions of a state enable a ‘two-way street’; civil society parties can use the power of the state (Mann 1993, 59). In this sense, political parties and other pressure groups can place demands on the state, just as the state does 77 on individuals, ensuring the state acts in the best interests of said group. As such, the despotic power of the state is curbed. Mann uses these two dimensions of state power to explore the types of states which can exist, according to the extent to which they exhibit low or high despotic or infrastructural powers. This is demonstrated along with Mann’s own examples in the table below.

Table 4. Two dimensions of state power Infrastructural power Low High Low Feudal, e.g. Medieval Democracy, e.g. Modern states in Europe Great Britain or the United States Despotic power High Imperial, e.g. The Single-Party, e.g. The Chinese Empire Soviet Union or the CCP in China Adapted from Mann (2008, 357).

Mann’s work on political power is built on three assumptions about its organisation. These form the framework of analysis for the sixth chapter on the political power of the colonial state. First, political power requires a bureaucracy; the basis for state administration. There are five characteristic which bureaucracies can exhibit (Mann 1993, 444–45). First, those working within a bureaucracy are salaried employees; separated from the ownership of office. Second, bureaucrats, are appointed, promoted and dismissed based on their competency, not their relationships to government officials. Third, bureaucratic offices demonstrate a division of labour, which is organised centrally into departments. Fourth, these departments are hierarchically organised within a single, umbrella administration. Finally, the bureaucracy implements the decisions of the state, but does not embody the values or struggles of political parties; it is isolated from politics.

The second assumption is that the state needs revenue to function. An assessment of the source of this revenue, whether coercive, consensual or externally driven provides an understanding of state power (Mann 1984; 1993). 78

Third, political power has a relationship with the society it wishes to govern. This involves an analysis of the relationship between the state, political parties and pressure groups and the society which they claim to represent (Mann 1993, 57). It is how a state organises these three aspects which determines whether it is despotically and/or infrastructurally powerful.

Military power As Schroeder (2006) has noted, economic, ideological and political power are all familiar concepts for social theory, used by Marx, Weber and Durkheim, for example. However, military power adds a fourth type which should be considered separately to political power. Traditionally, the Weberian definition of the state - as having the monopoly over legitimate violence – has been taken as standard, and this was the case when we considered the impact of war on European state formation. Critiques of Mann’s separation of military and political power have come largely from social theorists focusing on Western states (see for example Poggi 2006). For those looking at non-Western cases, the inclusion of military power as an independent variable is essential to any analysis. Military power allows the researcher to acknowledge ‘ the social organization of concentrated lethal violence’ which the state and non-state actors exhibit (Mann 2006, 351, emphasis in original).

In some societies, military power is organised and monopolised by the state, curbed by law. However, in other societies, non-state actors use military power to circumvent or challenge the political power of the state, giving military elites the opportunity to wield social power. As Mann points out, ‘institutionalized, law- governed political power yields to the arbitrary violence of military power’ (2008, 364). This has been emphasised by others within African studies, whereby armies and states are not necessarily ‘institutional scaffolding’, detached from the societies in which they are situated (Lemarchand 1992, 180; Luckham 1994). Luckham argues; Although African states possess the basic instruments of despotic power in the form of armies, police forces and other enforcers, such power is increasingly inadequate, even for the purpose of preserving their inefficient despotisms. The problem is not so much that they lack the technical means – weapons and other 79

technologies of repression – to impose “grids of material coercions” upon a recalcitrant and “uncaptured” populace. Rather, the crucial limitations have been the absence of sustained accumulation in their economies; the lack of surpluses for investment in infrastructural power and popular support; and their consequent reliance upon brute physical force (Luckham 1994, 19). It is clear that military groups can be wholly separate from the state; working against it or organising resistance from within. For example, in Rwanda, as the political power of the Hutu National Revolutionary Movement for Democracy (MRND) started to dissolve, patron-linked but independently acting paramilitaries started to emerge prior to the coup which preceded the genocide in 1994 (Mann 2005, 428–48). Concurrently, an army was being built by the Tutsi led Rwandan Patriotic Front in the northeast and in neighbouring countries. The Hutu state was not the sole organiser and controller of military power as autonomous sources emerged outside of the central state.

Military power is derived from the intensive and extensive organisation of violence, it is used to force cooperation from society and can appear in an authoritative capacity, led by state elites, but also elites autonomous from the state (Mann 1993: 9). This power source is ‘focused, physical, furious, and above all lethal’ (Mann 2013, 2). When a state holds the monopoly on military power, it has profound effects on the social life of its citizens. Making war affects state finances which then places demands on its citizens, this leads to citizens asking their state elites for more in return. In other words, external aggression or defence requires militarism to be firmly legitimised in the home society. During Mann’s assessment of military power in Western states, this has become evident. For Mann, the fiscal-military competition between European states was a key determinate of European state formation and the dominant position which European states held in the nineteenth century compared to the rest of the world (Mann 2011). Ironically, military power contributed to their geopolitical demise in the twentieth century.

Military power differs from the debates in the literature about the role of war in state formation. It casts light on the fact that the co-ordination of military power 80 can help or hinder development trajectories. Moreover, it does not see war, or the threat of war, as being tantamount to a state’s development. Analysing this source of power forces researchers to consider both the actions of individuals and the societal structures which create military institutions. As Mann has pointed out, ‘[m]ilitary power holders say if you resist, you die’, invoking a sense of fear in those who are being forced to act (2013, 2). When trying to understand instances of state formation, the use of military power leads to an analysis of who is mobilising it. If it is not the state, then, in what ways does this alter the structure of society and what are the consequences of this for the stability of the state? In the development of Western states, military power has been exerted in its most lethal form in interstate wars, however, as Mann has pointed out, since World War Two, military power has existed in the form of intra-state wars, sometimes organised by the state and in other times organised by non-state actors, such as gangs, paramilitaries, insurgents or rebel movements (Mann 2012, 11–12).

When analysing military power within the framework of social power, it is the interactions between state organisers and non-state organisers of military power which become significant for understanding state formation. Mann suggests that there are a number of issues which should be interrogated in understanding the use of military power (2005, 32): What military groups exist? How are they being funded? What is the recruitment and training processes of armies? How is military power deployed to eliminate opposition to the state? Mann (1993, 402–3) divides these issues into three groups, control, organisation and functions . The measurement of military power includes an assessment of the funding, recruitment and training of armies and non-state paramilitaries and also looks at those elites which prefer military measures over non-lethal means of achieving goals (Mann 2005, 32). Further, military power can be assessed on the ways military elites engage with citizens and the administrative functions of the state. This involves the bureaucracy implementing policies which maintain military power, the repression of citizens and finally, the elimination of opposition by various means. Control asks who is in charge of the armed forces, whether state institutions or an autonomous body, and additionally, the sources of funding. Organisation relates to how armed forces are structured, who is within them and how they interact with 81 society. Finally, functions are what armed forces do and their purpose. The table below outlines the considerations under each category.

Table 5. Analysing military power Control Organisation Functions ‹Who controls the armed forces? ‹Military organisation is ‘essentially ‹Functions of military power depend upon ‹Is it an autonomous state elite, a pluralist “concentrated coercive”’. who controls it. party democracy or dominant classes? ‹Armed forces are disciplined hierarchies. ‹If controlled by the state, then functions ‹Are armed forces an institution which is ‹How are relations between officers and can be duel: Geopolitical – pursuing autonomous to the state or working directly armed forces organised? external interests in a bellicose manner; for the state? ‹How are armed forces recruited and pointing military power inwards to control ‹How do changes in time and space trained? and repress social discontent within affect who controls armed forces? ‹How are relations between armed forces society. ‹Where does funding come from? and society organised? ‹If they are paramilitaries, are they ‹Are armed forces organised within working with the state, and if so, what is bureaucracies and are they their role compared to the regular army? If professionalised? not, what are the aims of the rebel force? ‹Militaries are segmental power ‹What are armed forces trained to do? Is organisations, cutting across notions of violence seen as a way to resolve social class and citizenship. problems? ‹The main agencies of military power are armies, police forces and ‘irregular extrastate paramilitaries’.

Taken from Mann (1993, 402–3; 2005, 32).

In Mann’s second volume on the emergence of the nation-state, functions of military power change throughout a four-hundred year period in Western Europe (1993). Private garrisons owned and organised by Lords were gradually encompassed and their military power enveloped by state armed forces (Mann 1993, 403–5). At this point, the military’s functions were to point inwards and outwards. They continued to embark on interstate war, as chapter two identified, this was a key basis for the formation of states at the time. However, armed forces were also used as a means to pacify domestic unrest, quelling and repressing demonstrations and riots. As states gained more political power and greater judicial might, internal military power started to transform. By the eighteenth century, police forces took shape. Military power changed from dual functions of war and repression to a singular function of war as political and social citizenship was achieved for states’ citizens (Mann 1993, 405–6). Writing in the early 1990s, Mann says the lack of political and social citizenship in developing countries explains why militaries still point inwards. Ten years later he applied this framework to religious and ethnic cleansing in some of the non- powerful states of eastern Europe and Africa to cast light on how military power functions (2005). What is evident is that while military power is a distinct network of power, political power may play a part in its control, organisation and functions in some settings. Its rise as either state power or as autonomous power, organised by an independent elite, should be viewed within the context of the political power of the state at the time.

A framework of economic power Economic power is the requirement to satisfy basic nutritional needs; achieved through the extraction, transformation, distribution and consumption of nature, and the management of these processes (Mann 1986, 24; Mann 1993, 7). As Mann argues, ‘[e]conomic relations are powerful because they combine the intensive mobilization of labor with more extensive networks of exchange’ (2013, 2), such as capital, trade and production chains; it is as a consequence also authoritative (modes of production) and diffused (markets) (Mann 1993, 7; Mann 2012, 9). Social change through economic power relations is a slow, cumulative and profound process, however, economic power relations are those which people engage with most on a daily basis, as most have to work and source food (Mann 2012, 9). In Mann’s third and fourth volumes industrial

capitalism was the main form of economic power organisation, which developed over a number of centuries (2012; 2013). This type of power does not create social change as quickly as military power. In addition, economic power, especially during what Mann terms as ‘modern society’, involves a crystallisation of economic and political power relations, when the two rely upon each other in order for people to achieve their goals (Mann 1993, 628).

In all ‘complex societies’ there is an unequal distribution of control over economic resources (Mann 1993, 7). This is organised through classes, sectional and segmental economic groups (Mann 1986, 24; 1993, 7). Those within each class have a ‘common relationship to economic power resources’ (Mann 2012, 10). Classes are broken down into sectional actors, such as those exhibiting a skilled trade or a particular profession. Economic organisation fragments classes leading to sections which rarely identify with others sections in their class, farm labourers and industrial workers, for example (Mann 1993, 28). Those working in these sections may organise without regard for their wider class. For example, many labour unions organise in this fashion today (Mann 2012, 11). Classes and sections are organised horizontally, within a hierarchy of classes and sections. A higher stratification of class for example, capitalists, exploit classes below, such as workers. Segments on the other hand, may be drawn from various classes and sections; they are vertically organised. A segment may be drawn from one particular tribe, lineage, locality or enterprise. For example, a segment may be all the employees of one particular firm. This firm may need ‘experienced workers with job-specific skills’, in order to achieve this, the firm offers special benefits to encourage the workers to remain at the firm (Mann 2012, 11). This distinguishes these workers from those of the same class or section who work elsewhere. Therefore, in contrast to Marx, Mann places value on understanding sections and segments as well as classes.

Mann’s approach to economic power analyses are based on four components of economic consciousness: identity, opposition, totality and alternative (IOTA) (1973, 13; 1993, 27). Throughout his work, he has distanced himself from Marxian notions of class and theorised the organisation of people within economic power levels through a multi-dimensional lens. In doing this, he 85 appears to acknowledge that identity may not just relate to classes, but can be forged on various economic platforms. As he comments regarding the IOTA model, ‘Most of these identities confuse, some oppose, a clear-cut sense of class. Societies are confusing battlegrounds on which multiple power networks fight over our souls’. Other identities influence those who may be in similar economic circumstances. He continues, ‘[o]nly a few will experience their lives as dominated by a class – or by a religious, national, or any other single – identity’ (1993, 28). As a result, Mann urges caution when talking about a ‘class’ identity as the boundaries between classes can be ‘fuzzy’; focus should be on how economic distribution, production and consumption is organised.

Opposition is the belief that the bosses and managers of workers are the main opponents. This may result in conflict which could be expressed sectionally, such as within a workplace or trade (Mann 1993, 27). This is more intensive rather than extensive. Totality refers to the acknowledgment that identity and opposition are the ‘defining characteristics of 1) the workers’ total social situation and 2) the whole society’; when both of these exist together, sectional conflict is intensified which then leads to a widening of extensive class conflict (Mann 1993, 27). Finally, alternative , the rarest expression of economic consciousness envisages an alternative form of economic power relations resulting in revolutionary struggle. ‘Consciousness grows […] as the worker links his own concrete experience to an analysis of wider structures and then to alternative structures’ (Mann 1973, 13). Identity, opposition, totality and alternative can be formed not only along class lines, but also along sectional and segmental classifications.

The four sources of power present themselves in many guises in societies. They can be institutions or organisations; functional ends, for example a person’s desire to achieve something; or they can be functional means, the methods by which something is achieved. Finally, they are also factors which can determine a consequence (Mann 1986, 12). Dominant theories of state formation and development struggle to do justice to the history of social change in developing countries. Development theories are accused of being ‘theoretical contradictions and ideological polarizations’ which advance a Eurocentric ideal of how development should proceed in other nations (Hettne 1995, 17). 86

Theories of state formation have been confined to Western contexts despite chapter two demonstrating relevance to the African context. The framework of social power provides a way to interrogate state formation, which encompasses the debates in the previous chapter, whilst forging a space for a multidimensional lens of analysis.

Research methods The research draws on secondary sources, including historical works which have concentrated specifically on certain periods of Ugandan history. It will also use government documents, newspaper articles and reports from Ugandan and international organisations. These have been collected through archival research at the British National Archives in Kew, the Uganda National Archive in Entebbe and the University of Manchester archive for sources produced during the colonial period and missionary periods, and via various online sources. I have also used the Africana sections at various University libraries in Uganda, including Makerere and Gulu. The research takes a hermeneutical approach to historical data, along with a critical-realist ontology. Hermeneutic research adopts an interpretive stance focusing on ‘historical meanings of experience and their developmental and cumulative effects on individual and social levels’; this applies not only to archival data but also data collected from secondary sources (Laverty 2003, 27). Further, critical-realism posits that objects of knowledge are neither empirical phenomena nor artificial constructs created by humans, instead, they are ‘real structures which endure and operate independently of our knowledge, our experience and the conditions which allow us access to them’ (Bhaskar 1997, 25). Historical sociologists attempt to provide narratives of the past through a ‘dialogical or interrogative relationship to the records and remains’ of previous times, whilst understanding that human actions and the structural conditions of the time may have a consequence on their content (Bryant 2000, 492). This study adopts a deductive approach, testing a framework of social power in a context which has previously been untouched by such a framework.

The Ugandan Case Study As detailed in Chapters One and Two, historical sociology, and specifically Michael Mann’s model has been confined mainly to western or northern case 87 studies. The main exception to this have been a number of works which have explored his model in South America, Turkey and a small work on Asia (Lange 2009; Jacoby 2004b; Chen 2008). There is therefore a gap in the application of the model to a country in the African continent, which this thesis seeks to address. The case study of Uganda was selected for a number of reasons. First, when undertaking a historical sociology study, the research relies primarily on secondary sources, which are usually monographs or peer reviewed articles, i.e. ‘the primary research of others’ (Mann 1994, 42). Uganda, thanks in part to its eventful history, has attracted large quantities of historical scholarship focusing on all periods and many contexts in its pre-colonial, colonial and postcolonial history. These works have used a variety of research methods from oral histories and testimonies, to qualitative interviews and surveys, methods which are often no longer available to a researcher wishing to investigate the past when key participants are no longer around. Perhaps of even more significance is the fact that this scholarship has been able to dedicate large amounts of time to the archives of Uganda. As two scholars have pointed out, the Ugandan National archives in particular, only produce results when one is able to dedicate lengthy periods to them (Barrett-Gaines and Khadiagala 2000).

Second, taking inspiration from Mann’s choice of case studies, I have selected a country which has experienced major transformation in its short history, as is demonstrated in Chapter Four. Mann does not dedicate much text to Belgium, Switzerland or Poland, for example, instead he focuses on those countries which exhibit dramatic changes in their internal history and external pursuits, such as the USA, Russia, the UK or Germany. This then, tells us that he feels his model has more to say for those which do have major transformation, than those who do not. For me, Uganda’s history reflects this in terms of its macrosocial change. In this regard, I follow Gerring’s (2007) advice when it comes to case study selection by assuming temporal and spatial boundaries, by focusing on the territory now known as Uganda from the period when the political entity started to emerge, namely as external forces shaped land within Africa into colonial territories.

In terms of the research process, a large amount of time has been dedicated to reading the major texts on Uganda’s history and identifying the common 88 instances of social change with regard to the state as recorded by these scholars. It was not my initial intention to focus on one source of power for each historical period. Indeed, at the beginning of this study, I examined each source of power, especially for the pre-colonial and colonial period. However, in the process of writing, it became evident that a number of methodological issues were arising. First, by focusing on each source of power, my unit of analysis inevitably diverged from the state, considering actors who were, without doubt shaping the interests and lives of those around them, but were not impacting upon the dynamics of how the state was being formed. This would result in a thesis investigating social change in Uganda, rather than one specifically on state formation. Second, such is the historical scholarship, archives and other secondary literature on Uganda, the data emerging meant that each chapter could form a monograph on its own. As a result, I would have to choose one particular epoch for the thesis and would lose my aim of producing a historical sociology of Uganda over a long period of time. It therefore became evident that I needed to focus a) on the dominant source of power affecting processes of state formation and b) limit myself to one source of power. This follows Mann, who acknowledges that there is no source with primacy, instead we should accept that at various periods, one source may carry more weight than others for affecting social change (1986); and for the purposes of this study, for affecting state formation.

The method for deciding on the dominant source of power for each period relied upon a number of factors. First, a close application of Mann’s understanding of each source as identified above. Second, a thorough application of this to the secondary literature. Finally, a clear conceptualisation of state formation as guided by the literature review and reiterated at the start of each analysis chapter on the period of investigation. It is acknowledged and is apparent throughout the following context chapter and analysis that other sources of power are always present, however, there tends to be one source which dominates during a particular period; especially when significant changes in state formation occur. Once the key periods and dominating sources were identified, the research turns back to a detailed account of the framework using the secondary research and other sources.

Throughout the process of this research, it is understood that state formation should not be taken as distinct stages in a country’s history. Even with dramatic changes such as revolutions or declarations of independence, it may be some years before the structures of the state change. Although one dominating network of power is investigated at a time, other networks of power may also be at play, feeding in or being used by those wielding the dominant source. Therefore, although this thesis follows a broadly chronological order in the analysis chapters, there will be crossovers where one chapter may jump ahead a few years in order to fully explain the prevalence of one source of power, demonstrating that at one period of time, more than one network of power may be employed by those instigating social change.

Conclusion This chapter has presented the conceptual framework and methodology employed for this thesis. First, by theorising power, the conceptual framework of Michael Mann’s model of social power was situated within other literature on power to demonstrate its unique ability to help the researcher analyse social change and state formation in Uganda. A detailed account was provided of Mann’s theory of social power along with an outline of each source of social power. These outlines should be consulted as each source is deployed in the four analysis chapters. It was demonstrated that one of Mann’s initial intentions when starting out on his four volumes was to develop a framework which could be applied in all societies, yet, over-all, he has only applied it to the West. Therefore, the main aim of the research is to apply Mann’s model to the case of Uganda.

The framework of social power sets out an alternative approach to researching social change in the Global South. The framework allows a researcher to explore each source of power in a society. In doing this, it is possible to understand when transcendent or immanent paths have been carved out, instigating social change and consequently explaining the trajectory of the state and its society whilst accepting that a state is constantly evolving (Jessop 2016). As Mann states,

The sources of social power are “tracklaying vehicles” – for the tracks do not exist before the direction is chosen – laying different gauges of track across the social and historical terrain. The “moments” of tracklaying, and of converting to a new gauge, are the closest that we can approach the issue of primacy (Mann 1986, 28, emphasis in original).

Crucially, the framework values the uniqueness of individual states and yet, the four sources of power can be applied to different states and societies without dictating a prescribed route of development (Hawkins 2014). As one scholar notes, ‘causality is constructed through the establishment of a narrative relating historical pathways and agency’ as opposed to using general theories which cannot account for unique social change (Jacoby 2004a, 418). A macro- historical sociological framework deserves to be applied to a non-Western setting to assess what it can tell us about social change there; in particular, this research uses Mann’s model to cast light on processes of state formation in Uganda.

The chapter then dealt with the practical elements of conducting the research for this thesis. This research attempts to fill the gap identified in the first chapter - a lack of historical research in Development Studies - by using historical sociology. The works of historians, anthropologists, sociologists and political scientists are used to interrogate periods of Uganda’s past. These works provide a wealth of information from their own empirical research which should not be ignored when writing a history of the Ugandan state. In summary, this chapter has examined the foundations of the conceptual framework and methodology employed in this research; this forms the basis for the empirical analyses in chapters’ five to eight. The next chapter moves on to examine the case study of Uganda by providing the necessary background information in order to understand the subsequent chapters.

Chapter Four - Uganda: “A Story of Unfulfilled Hopes”?21

Introduction This chapter provides a contextual analysis of the case study for this research. For a historical sociologist, Uganda is a fascinating case for an application of Mann’s model. There have been huge ruptures in social change and state formation in the past one hundred and fifty years. The purpose of this analysis is to situate the following four chapters, whilst also outlining what the literature defines as the key instances of social change in Ugandan history. These instances frame the subsequent chapters.

In 2015, Uganda was placed 163 rd on the Human Development Index, with a life expectancy of 58 years of age and a gross national income per capita of $788 (in 2013/14 PPP) (UNDP 2015) and a GDP of $26.37 billion (current US$) with 5% GDP growth rate in 2015 (World Bank 2016). According to the World Bank, Uganda has established a ‘strong record of prudent macroeconomic management’ being one of the first sub-Saharan African countries to adopt liberalisation policies in the 1980s (World Bank 2016). As a result, the country is referred to as a ‘mature reformer’ (ibid), however, its population is 39.03 million people of which 48 per cent are below the age of fourteen (World Bank 2016). The country has already reached the Millennium Development Goal (MDG) of halving poverty through a reduction from 56 per cent in 1992/93 to 22 per cent in 2013 (World Bank 2016), but did not reach other MDGs such as those on maternal mortality and achieving universal primary education. Indeed, in one target of halting the spread of HIV and Aids, Uganda is seeing a reversal in its earlier achievements (Kyomuhendo 2015; Ministry of Finance Planning and Economic Development 2013).

Geographically, Uganda is situated on the equator, 874 miles inland from the East African coastline (Ibingira 1973, 3). It is a land locked country, but features a number of lakes within its territory, including Lake Victoria where the River Nile starts its journey north. Furthermore, the country contains the Rwenzori mountain range and hosts a number of national parks which form the majority of its tourist industry, an industry along with agriculture, oil and forestry which are

21 Mutibwa (1992) 92 key for Uganda’s future economic growth (Government of Uganda 2010; The Government of Uganda 2015).

The rest of this chapter provides an overview of the key events in Uganda’s postcolonial, colonial and pre-colonial history according to historians of Uganda. First, the chapter examines the pre-colonial period. The second section describes the period of colonial state formation, with the gradual establishment of the territory now known as Uganda. Third, the chapter traces the post- independence era, working in order of Presidents, of which there were six terms, with five different men, some elected, some deposed of and some taking control of the state by force. Finally, the period from 1986 is examined. This is an era dominated by one man, Yoweri Museveni, the current President of Uganda, ‘acclaimed by foreign correspondents, donors, diplomats, and some academics as a new style of African leader to be emulated’ as his army seized power in the January of that year (Tripp 2010, 2).

Pre-colonial Uganda Reid (2011) comments that there is a marginalisation of the pre-colonial period in academia. This is perhaps a consequence of the lack of archival material available prior to the first European explorers and a general reluctance in the early period of colonialism to record the oral histories of indigenous people (Ingham 1958). Yet, an examination of the structures of the polities which existed prior to colonialism is essential for understanding the formation of any colonial state and the identities of the people who inhabit it (Atkinson 1994, 2).

Pre-colonial Uganda consisted of many different polities, some of which were centralised, hierarchical societies, such as the Buganda or Bunyoro Kingdoms. These were headed by a king who controlled the state through a network of hierarchical leaders. Other societies were acephalous, such as Lango in the North, which consisted of hundreds of clans based upon a loosely formed horizontal structure, where group identity was based upon territorial and kinship ties (Tosh 1973). This area’s main activities were pastoral with many households moving in small groups in order to search for land, water or grass

(Mamdani 1976). However, by the late eighteenth century, the disasters 22 in the Northern regions had created an impetus for greater societal structure, ‘it had become virtually impossible for lineages to exist on their own outside one of the chiefdoms’ (Atkinson 1994, 80). However, these chiefdoms never reached the structural and social scale as the kingdoms further south. In contrast, the southern areas had long benefited from a better water supply and climate, which lent itself to a feudal mode of production based within the kingdoms (Mamdani 1976).

The success of the state of Buganda was ‘founded upon its ability to marshal economic and human resources for what was perceived to be the common purpose’ (Reid 1998, 351). This involved having an army, a road network and a navy of canoes, making it the ‘most powerful of the Great Lakes kingdoms’ by 1800 (Kigongo and Reid 2007, 372). Prior to the creation of the Protectorate, the Buganda Kingdom was organised into ten administrative units, called saza , these were headed by saza chiefs who were appointed by the Kabaka (Tosh 1978). The voice of the king was more important than that of any religious Gods (although they were also worshiped). People turned to them mainly during an individual or national crisis, with the Kabaka remaining the central figure of the state (Ingham 1958).

The nineteenth century saw a significant number of new visitors to the East African region. Arab traders from the Zanzibar coast and from Khartoum to the north came to Buganda in search of ivory and slaves in the early 1800s (Low 2009). In return they offered goods which previously had not been available in Uganda, such as guns, cotton cloth and other manufactured items. Moreover, Islam became a new ideological force in the region. In 1862 the first European explorers, Speke and Grant, followed soon by Baker and Stanley, arrived searching for the source of the River Nile and plotting geographical formations (Low 2009). It was Stanley, a journalist originally, who established a clear connection with the Buganda Kabaka, Mutesa and the missionaries of Britain and France, writing a letter to the Daily Telegraph in 1875, encouraging church leaders to come to Buganda and teach the word of God (The Daily Telegraph 1875). British and French missionaries soon arrived in the region in 1877. As

22 A drought and famine hit the region from 1725 onwards (Atkinson 1994, 80). 94 the missionaries started their long journeys across East Africa to Buganda, it is worth mentioning that the region was on Britain’s radar, and as German and other European powers started to make claims, the British very quickly adopted a defensive strategy to secure the Nile, as the route to India had to be protected. This included safeguarding not only Egypt and the Suez Canal but also the Nile and its sources (Lugard 1922, 4). However, it was not until the arrival of the Imperial British East Africa Company (IBEAC) in 1890 when British interests were secured (Low 1954).

The bankruptcy of the Imperial British East Africa Company was a make or break moment for the British acquisition of Uganda. Over the years between 1892-4, a number of British government officials were sent over to the area to conduct reports on the financial viability of the government acquiring the demarcated area from the IBEAC, whilst at the same time providing financial support to the company in order for them to continue having a presence in Buganda (Hansen 1984, 58). Eventually, the Protectorate of Uganda was ratified by Parliament in 1894, although at this point it only covered the area pertaining to Buganda, ‘the presence of the missionaries and the future of the Christians being decisive factors in the debate’ (Hansen 1984, 58). The wheels were now in place for a Ugandan state to be formed.

Colonial Uganda It took over thirty years for the boundaries of Uganda to be drawn out and administered within the Protectorate (Thompson 2003). In the years that followed 1894 the British organised the political and geographical structure of the hitherto many kingdoms, satellites and other regions of Uganda into five kingdoms, Buganda, Bunyoro, Toro, Ankole and Busoga and the Northern region (Low 2009, 21). The boarders of which hardly reflected the social and political make-up prior to the British arrival. The Kingdom of Bunyoro proved to be the most difficult to pacify. In the end, it lost a significant amount of territory, known as the Lost Counties, to its greatest rival, Buganda.

The Uganda Agreement of 1900 was essentially an agreement between the British, represented by Sir Harry Johnston and the Baganda. The Kabaka was a minor, therefore three representatives from the highest offices in Buganda 95 negotiated with the British, Apollo Kagwa, Stanislaus Mugwanya and Zakaryia Kizito Kisingiri (Tuck 2006; Ingham 1958). The result was an agreement which favoured the Protestant religion and the Buganda hierarchical style of governance, later replicated in other regions as they were acquired by the British (Twaddle 1969).23 Furthermore, the 1900 agreement established the mailo land system, designating estates of freehold land to significant elites within Buganda, establishing a ‘landed aristocracy’ in the central region of the Protectorate (Twaddle, 1969, 310; see also Mamdani, 1996).

The British implanted the Baganda hierarchical system of political organisation in Uganda which they (wrongly) felt reflected custom throughout the Protectorate (Gartrell 1983). In the early years of the colonial state, Baganda were used as the main chiefs in external areas, reporting to the district commissioners. The areas of the North became a resource for labourers to work on the new cash-crop farms in the South and as soldiers for the colonial armies. It was believed by the British officers that people from the North were more suitable for military activities especially as most of them would be stationed in the southern areas of the Protectorate, which conformed to British colonial policy of having a military force which was racially or tribally different to the area in which they would be deployed (Lwanga-Lunyiigo 1987). In contrast, the southern areas benefited from greater commercial activities to make the colony pay its way and many Baganda had opportunities for employment within the colonial administration (Mamdani 1984). Moreover, many Indians were encouraged to migrate to East Africa to become the main merchants in the colony.

Economically, the early colonial administrators were tasked to ensure that the colony did not cost anything to the British Government. As a consequence, various hut taxes were introduced and eventually the cash crops of cotton and coffee took hold to overcome the surplus of the cowrie shell currency and plough the way for a monetary system and a railway infrastructure (Ingham 1958). Cotton soon became Uganda’s most valuable export, reaching 60,000

23 The agreement with Toro also happened in 1900 and with Ankole in 1901 (Low 2009, p. 5). See appendix 2 for a full list of areas and dates of colonial acquisition. 96 tonnes in the 1930s and making Uganda the biggest exporter of the crop in sub- Saharan Africa by the 1960s (Nayenga 1981; Baffes 2009).

The years leading up to independence were fraught with negotiations between the colonial government and the Buganda Kingdom which wanted to secede from the geographical entity known as Uganda (Karugire 1980). The other kingdoms also followed suit in trying to sway independence negotiations in their favour and curb Baganda ambitions. These discussions were further compounded by the Lost Counties boundary dispute between Buganda and Bunyoro. The Buganda government refused to participate in both the 1958 and 1961 elections to the Legislative Council, encouraging their citizens to follow suit (Karugire 1980). The Catholic Democratic Party (DP) won the majority in the latter elections, creating a fear amongst the Protestants within the Protectorate that a Catholic Party would preside over them once the British had left (Karugire 1980). As a result, the Protestant dominated party, the Uganda People’s Congress (UPC), started to negotiate with the Kabaka for the possibilities of forming a coalition as the proceedings started in London to determine the nature of self-government. The final elections of colonial Uganda were held in April 1962; this time the UPC won the majority and formed an alliance with the Kabaka Yekka (KY) party from Buganda to ensure that the DP did not have any say in the new Uganda. The country gained its independence in October 1962.

Independence for whom? Milton Obote became Uganda’s first Prime Minster and the Kabaka of Buganda its Constitutional President (Ibingira 1973). There presented a number of problems according to one scholar for the new political elite (Karugire 1980). First, Obote and his ministers had only ever had experience as opposition, never as a ruling government with the powers this ensues. Second, the political formations left by the colonial administration resulted in the populace having allegiances to diverse ‘institutions of authority’ resulting in the central state having a lack of territorial authority (Karugire 1980, 189). Third, Obote’s party, the UPC was not coherently organised with a clear hierarchical structure. Instead it was a party of leaders, all exhibiting potential to take on the task of leading the country if called upon. Consequently, as Karugire continues, Obote 97 was left with no choice but to proceed through a manipulation of the political structures in order to exert his authority over his ministers and the country. Although, in contrast to the years that followed, the first four years of independence were relatively quiet and taken with ‘caution’ by Obote, with a slow process of undermining the authority and legitimacy of the civil service, the judiciary, trade unions and religious institutions to name a few (Mutibwa 1992, 30).

May 1966 was a distinct turning point for the Obote administration. The factions within his own party culminated in the army having to choose which side to work with when faced with armed revolution from the Buganda Kingdom in opposition to the national government (Young 1966). Ultimately, Obote won the army’s support, supressing the resistance on all sides, whilst scrapping all the institutions resembling civilian rule, including the constitution, federalism, the Kabaka as President, abolishing all the kingdoms and assuming the role of President himself. The new state started to resemble a quasi-military structure with close ties between the head of the army, Idi Amin, and the new President, Milton Obote. Within this new structure of government, Obote attempted to forge a ‘basis for national unity, to allay tribal suspicions and to prevent individual and collective ambitions from undermining stability and progress’ (Glentworth and Hancock 1973, 242). His ‘Move to the Left’ and ‘Common Man’s Charter’ were an attempt to create a political ideology which would appeal to the masses, in particular the peasants, especially those in Buganda, to rally together under a common cause of a unified Uganda (Woodward 1978). However, in reality, the move to the left was seen as a means for Obote to secure his own power and alienate those who he saw as political rivals (Glentworth and Hancock 1973). One of these rivals included Idi Amin who took the opportunity of increased military division along ethnic lines and a trip to Singapore by Obote, to seize control over the state in January 1971 (Mutibwa 1992).

Amin broadcasted to the nation that Obote and his government were corrupt and served preferential treatment to Obote’s home region of Lango (Sembuya 2009). Amin received a welcome reception, especially from Baganda who had seen their Kingdom destroyed under the hands of the previous President 98

(Mutibwa 1992). Amin made gestures to many previously alienated groups to create an impression of peace and stability, the most significant of these was returning the body of the first President of Uganda, Kabaka Mutesa for a state funeral (Mutibwa 1992). He did his upmost to make himself popular with ordinary Ugandans, politically and economically. For instance, during his early years as President, he vowed to rearrange the income inequality created by colonialism. In this regard, he viewed the 60,000 Asian population, some of whom were Ugandan citizens, as a threat to African self-development and in 1972 declared an Economic War, resulting in all but 1000 Asians being expelled from the country and their businesses and homes transferred to African Ugandans (Jamal 1976). The larger businesses were transferred to the state, whilst a few lucky Ugandans gained control over the smaller establishments, leaving the country bereft of skilled traders and business people.

In the same year a small force of 1000 soldiers, mainly in support of Obote, invaded from Tanzania. It was a failed expedition which signified a turning point in Amin’s foreign and internal policy. He abandoned previous friendships with the UK and Israel and instead relied upon Gadaffi’s Libya for financial and military support (Oded 2006; Hansen 2013; Brett 1995). Internally, he used the opportunity to purge the country of his enemies, within the government, civil service, army and even at universities, a reign of terror which would continue until he was ousted by a Tanzanian led army in 1979 (Hansen 2013; Kiwanuka 1979).

The seven years after Amin feature four changes in the presidency, a continuation of violence against civilians and a civil war. Opposition to Amin had created a number of military and political factions, the majority of which formed in Tanzania and joined together to constitute the UNLF (United National Liberation Front). However, they often had contradictory ideologies and goals (Mutibwa 1992). The two main groups within the Front included Obote’s Kikoosi Maluum and Museveni’s FRONASA; however, there were more than twenty-five groups who formed this resistance movement. The main political arm of the UNLF was called the National Consultative Council (NCC), led by Yusuf Lule, the former leader of Makerere University (Kasozi 1994, 126). After the Tanzanian army had gained control over the capital, Lule was installed as the 99

President with Museveni as his Minister of Defence (Kasozi 1994). The army that had defeated Amin was not only composed of Tanzanian forces, but soldiers from many sides. As they worked their way around the country ousting Amin supporters, they also recruited. This was the case for both the Kikoosi Maluum and FRONASA, the former gaining five thousand soldiers and the latter reaching three thousand in numbers by the time Kampala was taken (Kasozi 1994). President Lule had to contend with an armed force which had been united in its opposition against Amin; however, once this goal had been achieved, there was little to hold together the multitude of military factions. In addition, Lule was taking over a country with a devastated economy. As Sathyamurthy (1986, 661) points out, by installing fellow Baganda around him and ignoring the requests of the NCC, Lule was ‘doomed from the start’. He was ousted by the NCC after just sixty-eight days of rule (Kasozi 1994, 129). The NCC elected Godfrey Binaisa to replace him, a decision also supported by Tanzania who still had forces in Uganda.

Binaisa’s presidency was also short-lived, lasting just under a year. Binaisa did not control any military power which meant that when the Kikoosi Maluum took hold of Kampala he had no choice but to let it happen (Mutibwa 1992). The military commission wanted Obote to be installed in a manner which would be perceived as legitimate to the outside world, therefore they called elections for December 1980. ‘Obote wanted to maintain his image as a civilian ruler who could assume power only through legal means – through the ballot, not the bullet. Tanzania, which had protected Obote, eliminated Amin, and helped Obote’s forces in Uganda to consolidate, did not wish to appear to be returning him to power in an undemocratic and illegal way’ (Kasozi 1994, 136). At this point, Museveni was leading the Uganda Patriotic Movement and he was asked by Tanzania to provide support to Obote, which Museveni refused (Mutibwa 1992). It was obvious to all that Obote’s UPC would not gain a majority in the elections. The Kikoosi Maluum used intimidation, violence and arbitrary arrests to thwart candidates and supporters from other parties (Kasozi 1994). During the election results, it became clear that the Democratic Party was winning the majority, so the military commission took the matter into their own hands by stating that only they could announce the results, allowing them to rig UPC candidates for constituencies which were far away from Kampala. As a result, 100 the military declared the UPC as the winners and Obote as the new President for his second term in office (Brett 1995; Apter 1995).

Obote promised reconciliation and no acts of revenge at the beginning of his presidency, however, during this term, Kasozi (1994, 145) estimates that almost half a million people were killed, this included the mass killing of civilians (see also Apter 1995). There were at least five guerrilla movements during Obote’s presidency, formed to create an opposition to his rule. The most prominent of these was Museveni’s National Resistance Army (NRA). According to Mutibwa (1992), there were two main reasons for Museveni taking his men to the “bush” 24 to fight a civil war; first, the rigged elections had meant that the most popular party, the DP, did not win its place in government; second, the NRM wanted to remove a ‘repugnant system’ which had fostered Obote and Amin and was in essence the colonial system of governance (1992, 155). The NRM and its army based itself in what is known as the Luwero Triangle, an area of Buganda situated directly north of Kampala.

As a result, Uganda experienced not only state led violence, but also civil war. Obote was faced with varying degrees of resistance in different regions of the country, however, the Luwero region received a great deal of this violence (Mutibwa 1992; Apter 1995). During the second half of his term Obote started to lose his international and military support as evidence emerged of the atrocities happening inside the state and his own armies started to fracture; mutinies became common place. Within the military, it appeared that only the Acholi soldiers were facing the NRA whereas the Langi, from Obote’s own tribe, were kept in safe and stable positions (Mutibwa 1992). Two leaders of such a mutiny were the Acholis Barjilio Olara Okello and General Tito Okello. Faced with a much weaker military support for Obote, they managed to take over Kampala in July 1985 and depose of Obote, with Tito Okello replacing him as president. For the second time, Obote had been replaced by his own army (Mutibwa 1992). Peace talks between the Okello regime and the NRM did take place in Nairobi, however they did not lead to anything concrete, especially as the NRA was now taking strategic positions throughout the country, and by August 1985 had

24 The term “bush” is used commonly by Ugandans recounting their experiences of the civil war in the eighties, as a result, I will also, where appropriate, use this term (see for example Kutesa 2006) 101 established an interim government in Toro (Mutibwa 1992, 172). The disorganisation and disunity in the state’s army could not withhold the growth and strength of the NRA who marched into Kampala in January 1986.

1986-present day During the civil war, the NRM developed a Ten-Point Programme, a set of proposals for implementation once the incumbent state was defeated (see appendix 1). It claimed to provide the basis for a better future for the people of Uganda who had suffered twenty years of repressive government. The Programme aimed to bring in a new political order, based on institutions of governance at the local and national levels (Oloka-Onyango 1995; Mutibwa 1992). Amongst ideas related to the restoration of democracy and social services, it also sought to re-establish a functioning economy. Specifically, point five aimed to build an ‘independent, integrated and self-sustaining national economy’, and point ten declared the intention to implement a ‘mixed economy’ economic strategy (Museveni 1997, 217). The restoration of a productive economy was seen as the most important aspect for the reconstruction of Uganda (Museveni 1985).

Yet just two years into the NRM regime, one scholar commentated in 1988 that the ‘economy represents the single most important failing of [the] government’ (Mamdani 1988, 1155). In this respect, policy focused on a see-saw effect of devaluation and revaluation of exchange rates, with large increases in the prices of commodities and changing valuations of the price of labour (ibid.). In addition, there was increasing pressure from the IMF for the country to adopt Structural Adjustment Programmes which Mamdani described as ‘highly inappropriate in a country where existing structures are very much part of the problem’ (1988, 1164). The NRM had inherited a weak state with infrastructures which could not support their economic plans (Brett 1993). Consequently, the NRM turned away from its original intentions of creating a ‘socialist-nationalist economic programme’ and fell into the arms of the International Financial Institutions (Sjögren 2013a, 117), deciding to adopt stabilisation and structural adjustment reforms in May 1987, resulting in rapid growth averaging six per cent of GDP over the next ten years (Muhumuza 2007, 62).

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By 1995, the public perceived poverty to be increasing, even if this was not strictly the case (Tumusiime-Mutebile 2010; Appleton 2001). After two years of consultation with stakeholders, the Ministry of Finance and Economic Planning launched the Poverty Eradication Action Plan (PEAP). The PEAP, whilst ‘underpinned by a foundation of continued macroeconomic stability’, aimed to augment the income of the poor, improve their quality of life and reinforce better governance by using funds from the Heavily Indebted Poor Country Initiative (HIPC) (Mugambe 2010, 159). Unlike other Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers which were a conditionality of receiving the HIPC funding in other countries, Uganda’s PEAP aimed to be a bottom-up, indigenous process (ibid.). It hoped to increase sustainable economic growth and structural transformation, promote good governance and security; enable the poor to increase their incomes and raise their quality of life (The Government of Uganda 2001). In turn, its main activities aimed to reform primary health care, education, road infrastructures and water supplies; along with promoting the commercialisation of agriculture (Bahiigwa, Rigby, and Woodhouse 2005). The process was seen as having a significant impact on poverty reduction as levels of absolute poverty reduced from 44% in 1997 to 35% in 1999, an eleven percentage point decrease in just two years compared with the same amount in the previous five years (Ellis and Bahiigwa 2003, 998).

During the same period, the Government initiated the Local Government Acts which aimed to overcome some of the shortfalls of Uganda’s ‘no-party’ democracy and criticisms from abroad through a process of decentralisation (Francis and James 2003). This involved converting the Resistance Councils which had been established by the NRM during the civil war into a Local Council system of five levels with LC1 representing the village level and LC5, the district. The aim was to devolve power down to the local level with regards to resources, functions and competency (Francis and James 2003), enabling local people to have a say in the government of their country. In reality, though, power has tended to stay at the district level rather than emanating down to the levels below (Green 2013).

After a number of PEAP revisions, the Ugandan government’s next major change in economic strategy involved launching the National Development Plan 103

(NDP) in 2010. This moved away from a discourse of poverty reduction to one of transformation and prosperity, alongside the discovery that the country had up to two billion barrels of oil at its disposal in the Albertine region, an area in the west of Uganda close to the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo (Hickey 2013, 197). The NDP aimed to create employment, raise average income per capita, improve labour force redistribution, increase human development and gender equity and bring the country up to middle income country competitiveness (Government of Uganda 2010, i). One of the central aspects of the plan was to shift Uganda’s political economy to developing its productive sectors, in particular agriculture, manufacturing, mining, oil and gas, forestry, housing, tourism and ICT-Business (Hickey 2013). Indeed, the NDP resembles a ‘more productivity political economy of development’ which attempts to emphasise sovereignty over its political economy whilst distancing itself from international interventions (Hickey 2013, 202). The NDP II was launched in 2015, working hand-in-hand with the Vision 2040 document, it aims to strengthen Uganda’s competitiveness for ‘Sustainable Wealth Creation, Employment and Inclusive Growth’ (The Government of Uganda 2015, i; The Republic of Uganda 2013).

The NRM has been credited with bringing stability to Uganda, however, it has seen its fair share of conflict and violence since 1986, as military power holders have attempted to challenge the authority of the state and the state, in turn has tried to subdue protests. The most notorious is that of the war between the government and the Lord’s Resistance Army. 25 Based in the Acholi region, the LRA, fronted by Joseph Kony, led an almost incomprehensible battle against the local population from 1986 until they were pushed into neighbouring countries in 2006. The region has received a great deal of interest from researchers and NGOs alike who have been working on the many issues resulting from the conflict ranging from post-traumatic stress disorder, child abductions, rape and mutilation, displacement and extreme poverty to name a few. The NRM government itself is not blameless in its response to the LRA. Since 1991, it responded with Operation North, a campaign by the armed forces of ‘mass displacement along with a series of massacres’ against the Acholi

25 For more details on the emergence of the LRA please see Dunn (2004), Ward (2001) and Doom and Vlassenroot (1999). 104 population (Branch 2009, 480). In other words, if people refused to go into government created Internally Displaced People camps, then it would be presumed that they were corroborating with the LRA and punished accordingly. Since the end of the conflict, the marginalisation of the North has continued and despite general reductions in poverty, the rate is almost double that of the rest of the country (Nystrand 2014).

Despite the introduction of multiparty elections in 2006, modern Uganda is still seen as a one man / one party state. With elections in 2016, Museveni has secured another term as President, albeit under dubious results (Kakaire 2015; Marima 2016). The ability of the NRM to maintain its secure grip over society for the coming years is up for debate.

Conclusion Working chronologically, this chapter has used the literature on Uganda to draw a contextual analysis of the country. Through an examination of historical works, including diaries, and more contemporary sociological, economic and political studies the chapter has identified the key moments in Uganda’s history. The first section outlined the existing polities and kingdoms and interactions with visitors prior to the declaration of a colonial state. The second section investigated the key dynamics in Uganda’s sixty-eight year colonial period. The literature shows that the Protectorate was a typical indirectly ruled state, which relied heavily upon the infrastructures of state power to maintain order, stability and ensure there were no additional costs of having the colony. Third, key instances of social change in the period between 1962 and 1986 were investigated. A period characterised by a militarisation of the state and extremes of violence and economic stagnation.

The final section of this chapter analysed the literature on what is termed as modern Uganda, the period since Museveni became President. It demonstrated that the period has been characterised by political and economic changes with regards to the state and to its people as the country adopted policies introduced by the IFIs.

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As I demonstrated in the previous chapter, Mann is very clear to establish throughout his works that although there may be one dominating form of social power, it does not mean that the other networks of power are dormant or that the dominating network is not crystallising with other sources. The analysis throughout this study focuses specifically on the dominating sources of power with regards to processes of state formation. However, a careful reading of all the chapters and a return to Mann’s original definitions of each network of power shows that in each period other sources are at play for state formation and also social change in Uganda. The table below provides an account of the other sources of social power which were being used by state and non-state elites during each period which feature in the four analyses chapters. As a result, the research shows that an application of the model of social power to a non-western state demonstrates the multifaceted nature of all states, something which Mann’s own research has been unable to do due to his focus on western, powerful countries.

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Table 6: Sources of social power in Uganda, 1850-2015

Period and Other sources of power for Other sources of power for dominant the state social change in society source of power for the state

Pre- Military – The trade in Economic – new trading partners at colonial - weapons, the IBEAC, British earlier point in period, wider world Ideological army takeover view

Colonial - Economic – Military – to Ideological – continuation of Political use of cotton gain missionary education along and coffee to control bifurcated lines maintain over other existence of areas and colony and pay use of its way indigenous soldiers to maintain security

1962-1986 Ideological – understandings Economic – Expulsion of Asian - Military of different ethnic groups population created new African (created by colonialism) had businesses that were not trained or an impact on who lived and profitable who were under threat from the state militarism.

1986 – Political – Military – Economic Military – Ideological present - decentralisation Past two – the – Increase Economic policies, elections decreases conflict in in new patronage and has seen a in poverty the north Christian neoliberalism closer amongst has had a sects, (can also be relationship some huge impacting seen as an between groups. impact on human ideological the state the lives rights. influence) and the of military northern power as a Ugandans means to and their threaten wellbeing. opposition

The subsequent four analysis chapters focus specifically on the dominant source of power (or a crystallisation thereof) for processes of state formation in that period. The next chapter, the first of these analyses into Uganda’s state formation, employs Mann’s theoretical framework of ideological power to

107 understand the defining moment of social change in East Africa’s history in the years leading to colonialism.

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Chapter Five - Ideological power: Laying the tracks for the colonial state

Introduction The Protectorate of Uganda was established in 1894, some fifty years after people in the Buganda region started to encounter external religions. This chapter explains how sources of ideological power laid down “tracklaying achievements” which enabled the British colonialists to form another colonial state for the British Empire. 26 This chapter is framed by the research question: how did changes in the organisation of ideological power lay the tracks for colonial control over Buganda and subsequently Uganda? The “tracklayers” are mechanisms which are used by those with an ideological basis in order to establish and spread an ideology throughout a territory, and it is this tool which Mann deploys in order to help him understand the rise of the most prominent religions in existence today. The belief systems which Mann examines are defined as “tracklaying” because they deliver a membership to a group which extends far further than any other form of social power (Mann 1986, 363).

When studying the pre-colonial conditions for colonialism, the literature in the fields of history, sociology and development studies focuses on a number of key debates. The main precondition as discussed in the literature focuses on the River Nile and in particular the notion that the territory now known as Uganda held its source. By the 1880s, this gateway to India became imperative for British international interests; not only was it important to secure Egypt, but the whole Nile valley which included Uganda (Tvedt 2004; Cross 1968). Only then could Britain prevent the Nile falling into the hands of others and thus making her other interests insecure. The other dominant debate in the literature has no direct relationship with the countries of Africa themselves, but everything to do with international politics in Europe. Until the mid-nineteenth century, European colonialism was focused solely on Northern and Southern Africa (Mamdani 1996a). However, the European Scramble for international power made Uganda’s history inevitable. The 1884-5 Berlin Conference had established a demarcated line between British and German interests in East Africa. However,

26 Tracklaying achievements is here in inverted commas as this is the term Mann uses to describe how ideological power is established in a social organisation, however, for those who are becoming enveloped within this power source, they may not see such ideological changes as achievements. 109 when British interests were threatened when a German explorer, Carl Peters, drew a treaty with the Buganda king, Mwanda in 1889, it became necessary for the boundaries to be secured not only in a formal treaty, 27 but also with a physical presence using the Imperial British East Africa Company (Kabwegyere 1995; Roberts 1962). These narratives, despite outlining real issues at the time, render the populations within the territory of Uganda as faceless and actionless. They imply that the colonial acquisition of Uganda was based upon decisions made in board rooms away from Africa. Instead, an application of Mann’s model of ideological power permits the researcher to investigate the social relations existing in this region at that same time and provide a more nuanced and novel perspective of how the colonial state was formed.

To analyse ideological power, Mann’s achievements, as outlined in chapter three, are used as a framework. 28 The first section of this chapter investigates two of Mann’s achievements of ideological power in Buganda. First, how ideological power was established, creating an extensive and universal Christian community; and second, how the missionaries used various different infrastructures and institutions in order to achieve this. The second section uses two more achievements, the capacity of ideological power to be used to change people’s values and social sphere, and also the way an ideology can create identities which traverse borders and social demographics. The strategies used by the missionaries drastically changed the lives of individual converts.

The third section of this chapter looks at one achievement of ideological power – its ability to monopolise the infrastructure of literacy. The missionaries were the key drivers for creating not only a literate language in Buganda, but also for creating an elite section of society who had this skill. The fourth section looks at the relationship between the ruler and the people, and how ideological power makes a ruler become aware of his or her people. This was a sticking point for the two Kabakas who ruled during the period covered in this chapter; neither could acquiesce to the new ideological power being wielded by the missionaries and Christian Baganda. Finally, Mann’s seventh achievement – the ability to destroy ideological enemies – frames the context for the last few steps leading

27 The Anglo-German Treaty of 1890. 28 See page 74. 110 to colonial acquisition of the territory. This is the focus of the fifth section. The seven achievements of ideological power are then summarised in the conclusion section. The majority of this chapter situates itself in the second half of the nineteenth century in the pre-colonial period, however, on occasions, for the purpose of a thorough application of the framework, the analysis continues into the early colonial period, particularly in the third section.

To this end, state formation is conceptualised in this chapter as consisting of a number of the elements identified at the end of Chapter Two. First, the state is seen as being formed when it has a form of territoriality, in both a spatial and imagined sense. The end of this chapter coincides with rough borders being drawn and with the population of Buganda’s affiliation change from that of their King, to that of a new institution, the church. This leads on to the second dimension, as the state is formed through the institutions within it, specifically that of religion and the consequential institutional forms that this resembles. Third, state formation is examined here through its social bases, namely the agents of the state. In the case of Uganda, the church did not see itself as explicitly acting as agents of their former metropoles but through the tracks laid down, they became entangled in a much broader international competition of colonialism.

To provide some perspective on religious social change in Uganda, it is worth noting that in recent times, roughly 94% of the population declare that they belong to the three main religious institutions in Uganda: the Protestant or Catholic Churches or Islam (Ward 2005); the difference in numbers between the two Christian churches is slight. In 2000, the total number of Christians amounted to 88.3 per cent (Ward, 2013, p. 410). As an ideological source of power, religion has had a serious impact upon the population since these three religions were introduced in the latter half of the nineteenth century.

Infrastructures and institutions for extensive and universal membership – converts to catechists This section of the chapter focuses on two of Mann’s achievements of ideological power. First, the universal and extensive membership which transcends borders is examined. Second, in order for this to be achieved, those 111 wielding ideological power deploy existing or new infrastructures and institutions to gain access to a wider audience. As discussed in the conceptual framework chapter of this thesis, elites who wish to increase the numbers engaging with or believing in an ideology may indeed turn to other networks of power in order to spread their messages. This may involve using extensive networks of economic, political or military power relations to transmit ideological power across borders. By using these infrastructures, ideological power can be established in areas where it previously did not exist. Mann’s work has shown how the Christian Church transmitted ideological messages through political forms of communication, along with channels traditionally used for military actions and trade (Mann 1986, 310–12).

Uganda had infrastructures which enabled Christian ideology’s universal membership to be extended further, specifically in East Africa. There were a number of infrastructures already in place which created opportunities for the missionaries to insert an ideological basis of Christianity within the Kingdom. The first was based upon military infrastructures. Mann has shown, for example, that military forces can provide a means for ordinary people to come into contact with culture and values which are not part of their own social sphere, linking them to the wider world (Mann 1986, 311). The complex relationship between the sword and the cross becomes evident here. The arrival of Christian missionaries capitalised upon the insecurities which Kabaka Mutesa had concerning not only the military threat of their long-term enemy, the Bunyoro Kingdom, but also the credible threat of growing Egyptian imperialism to the north of the Kingdom (Kiwanuka 1972). The explorers from Europe, including Stanley, a Protestant himself, worked hard not only to undermine Islam, the current favoured religion at the time in the Kabaka’s court, but also to diminish the influence which the Arab traders had over the Kingdom. Most notably, the inferior quality of the weapons which the traders were providing to Mutesa was demonstrated, compared to the far superior weapons of the Europeans (Jeal 2007). Kiwanuka notes, Mutesa ‘knew what he wanted from the Christian missionaries, and he possibly saw in them not the bearers of a new faith, but a political and military counterblast to the southward thrust from Egypt’ (1972, 169). Indeed, in his dispatch to the Daily Telegraph, Stanley requested that the mission to Buganda should bring military items, including pistols, ammunition 112 and a rifle (The Telegraph 2005). The White Fathers, on arrival in 1879 brought gifts of guns, swords and gunpowder (Stock 1892).

In order to extend membership to Christianity, the missionaries used gifts of weapons to gain access into Kiganda society, despite the fact that the Christian Missionary Society (CMS) had received strict instructions not to give weapons as gifts. Each missionary carried a rifle, revolver and double-barrelled shotgun; these were to be used as gifts for Mutesa if the need arose (Matson 1981, 209). In addition, they brought with them many different skills: including engineering, carpentry, and medical knowledge (Brierley and Spear 1988). They used this to their advantage when trying to negotiate with Mutesa for better land for their mission house and plantation by building carts for him and constructing Mutesa’s own brick house (Matson 1981). As Mann has made clear about the first achievement of ideological power, there was a clear use of tools of another source of power to create an extended membership to Christianity, in this case military tools (Mann 1986).

The second infrastructure to be employed by the missionaries was economic. The missionaries used the trade relations which were already in existence between the Baganda and Muslim, Arab traders to establish a secure basis for themselves in Buganda. This involved using the caravan trade routes which existed between the coast and Buganda, indeed the CMS group chose the trading caravan track used by the Muslims. This was a route which had been in use since the Arab traders had ventured out of Zanzibar and crossed Lake Victoria to Buganda (Brierley and Spear 1988).29 These previous trade relations had had an impact on the ideological beliefs of Kiganda society, with many Baganda, including Kabaka Mutesa, converting to Islam from the 1840s onwards (Kiggundu and Lukwago 1982; Owusu-Ansah 1987; Kasozi 1986; Kiwanuka 1972). Not only did the missionaries use the Arab trade routes but they also relied heavily upon the Arab traders to support them during the journey; traders occasionally supplemented missionaries’ goods when they did

29 There has existed a Muslim presence in East Africa since roughly AD 739, however, they were mainly situated along the Kenyan and Tanzanian coastlines (Holway 1972). Trade was orientated outwards towards the Arab Peninsula, Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean (Oded 1974, 7). Trade relations between the Kingdom and Arab traders based on the coast had started at the end of the eighteenth century (Owusu-Ansah 1987, 136; Holway 1972, 200; Kettani 1982, 114; Kasozi 1986, 4) . 113 not have enough tribute or gifts for the journey (Beidelman 1982, 605). Indeed, once established in the Kingdom, the missionaries used the Arab traders to ensure they received necessary supplies often trading medicines in return (Hartwig 1970). If the missionaries had not made use of the infrastructures of trade routes created by the Muslim traders then their chances of reaching the Kingdom and surviving the journey would have been significantly reduced. As with Mann’s work, an extensive universal membership to Christianity in the region relied heavily upon other ideological and economic infrastructures (Mann 1986).

Third, the missionaries took to their advantage the openness which the Baganda, and specifically Kabaka Mutesa, exhibited to other cultures. According to Bridges (1982), Mutesa became interested in European cultures after the arrival of the explorer John Hanning Speke in 1860 and other explorers including Grant, Baker and, of course, Stanley were warmly received by the Kabaka (Jeal 2011; Jeal 2007). As demonstrated above, ‘by attracting more white men to his country, he [Mutesa] would be able to buy guns from them’ (Jeal 2011, 303). However, openness to other cultures was not new to Buganda society. As a population, they were already ‘accustomed to looking outwards’ beyond the traditional Kiganda culture and amenable to becoming members of other ideological groups (Oliver 1952, 75; see also Wrigley 1959, 38). In fact, one scholar has noted that the Kiganda belief system which rested upon the worship of clan gods and ancestors was already reducing in popularity by the time of the first Muslim conversions; indigenous beliefs were hardly seen as an ideological force, only serving societal needs for festivals or for medicinal treatment (Peel 1977). For example, with the arrival of Muslim traders, those within the Kabaka’s court swiftly, and without recourse to other traditions, adopted the Arab style of dress (Stuart 1957). This was not a new characteristic; the very nature of Buganda’s changing and expanding borders during the three centuries prior meant that new people and cultures were added to the Buganda mixing-pot. Kiwanuka points out that the Kingdom absorbed these differences into its Kiganda way of life, creating a society which socially and economically benefitted from these differences (Kiwanuka 1972, 149), and one which was almost secular (Peel 1977). Kiwanuka continues,

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Culturally as well as socially, such extensive social intercourse [...] brought tremendous benefits. It widened people’s horizons, as well as accustoming them to new things and new philosophies. This is an important aspect of Kiganda history which should be fully weighed when discussing the amazing readiness with which people embraced Europeanisation (Kiwanuka 1972, 152).

Becoming members of a European ideology was seen by Mutesa as providing economic and military opportunities for his Kingdom, making the religions universally attractive for Baganda. For the missionaries, the warm welcome given to Rev. Wilson, Lieutenant Smith and Alexander Mackay, the first CMS missionaries, provided them with ample opportunity to firmly plant Christian seeds in Kiganda society and build more extensive networks. As Mann points out, new faiths bring alternative sources of ‘ meaning ’ and ‘ultimate knowledge’ to help people understand their social sphere (1986, 22, emphasis in original). This is the fourth infrastructure through which the missionaries were able to place a stable foothold in the country. As the Buganda Kingdom had grown in strength, so did the ultimate power of the Kabaka; by the nineteenth century, the Kabakas were strong enough to challenge the supremacy of the traditional Gods, however, tradition was still strong enough to ensure that the Kabaka could not become a God himself, instead people turned to alternative religions, such as Islam and Christianity for explanations of life (Low 1971). Without direction from the Kabaka, Baganda were free to engage with the Christian churches and the missionaries had more leniency to preach as they wished in a state which had previously been controlled by just one man (Low 1971; J. V. Taylor 1958).

Those who converted in the years that followed were all based around the Kabaka’s palace, including his sister, daughters, royal pages, servants and slaves, future Katikkiro, and perhaps most importantly, many batongole and bakungu who lived just outside of the palace. The batongole and bakungu split their time between the capital and their administrative seat (J. V. Taylor 1958). This fact is significant for the extension of universal membership to Christianity as many chiefs, once converted, converted their whole household, situated in both the capital and in their administrative area. Thus proving to be an ideal 115 means through which Christianity could spread outside the Kabaka’s palace. ‘[T]he missionaries hoped to convert the chiefs and leaders of the region, as they believed that conversion of the chiefs could function “like Constantine to the Romans” and convert their people en masse’ (Gifford 2012, 166). By 1884, both the White Fathers and the CMS had each baptised around 200 people from the Kabaka’s court alone (Low 1971, 26). By 1885, despite a three year absence of the White Fathers, the numbers of converts had grown to six hundred, which included not just those surrounding the Kabaka’s court, but also three new Catholic communities which had emerged in other areas of Buganda (Shorter 2006, 6) .

Herein lie the two final infrastructures which ensured the extensive and universal membership of the Baganda and then other people of Uganda to the Christian Church. 30 The new converts became catechists themselves. The missionaries provided those who were willing, with the necessary skills, to transport the ideological messages of Christianity to areas which, due to low numbers of British and French missionaries, they were not yet able to access. The converts became ‘missionaries to themselves’ (Shorter 2006, 6). This conforms to Mann’s definition of this achievement of ideological power, sharing identities and values in an extensive and diffuse manner (Mann 1986). The readers became the teachers, as they graduated from lessons in the missionary houses to conducting bible study in their own homes, gaining converts outside of the Kabaka’s court (Ashe 1889). The ability of the missionaries to penetrate the regions outside Buganda would not have been as successful, had it not been for the Baganda who joined them as they set up their new missions. Shorter says this movement was an ‘indigenous missionary movement emanating from Buganda, and in virtually every instance, the missionaries followed on the heels of indigenous evangelists’ (Shorter 2006, 47).

At this point, achieving universal and extensive membership outside of the borders of Buganda required further crystallisation with another of Mann’s sources of power, the military again. The Imperial British East Africa Company

30 Both Christian churches are considered together here as, although mostly Protestant Baganda profited from the early years of colonialism, the missionary elites from both churches organised ideological power to such an extent that enabled the Imperial British East Africa Company and then Britain to gain access to the country. 116

(IBEAC), with its royal charter, established its presence in Buganda in 1890 and became a key infrastructure used by missions to maintain their position in Buganda until it became a Protectorate in 1894, the details of which are explained in the final section of this chapter. However, in order to gain access into the hinterland of Uganda, outside of Buganda, the missions had to rely upon colonial British troops. For example, 20,000 soldiers were used to gain access to the Bunyoro Kingdom in 1894 and 1895 (Kiwanuka 1968, 614). In another instance, two companies of the King’s African Rifles were deployed to pacify the Busoga Kingdom (ibid). 31

Most European mission stations were established once the British had secured the area after 1894. For example, after the British and Baganda had defeated the Bunyoro Kingdom and incorporated it into the Protectorate, a CMS missionary, Rev. H. B. Lewin and a Mugunda evangelist, Tomasi Senfuma, arrived in Masindi, Bunyoro in September 1898 (Byaruhanga 2008). Missions were then extended to Bunyoro Kingdom’s capital, Hoima, and was followed by the arrival of more Baganda evangelists to spread the Protestant message and train the king’s young son and other prominent chiefs (Byaruhanga 2008). In other kingdoms, such as Toro, their friendly relations with the Baganda ensured that prominent leaders either had already been trained by the church in Buganda, or were soon enveloped into the new missions which were established in their regions (Shorter 2006). This is reflected by the dates in which missions were established in these regions. For example, the White Fathers set up a base in the Toro Kingdom in 1895, only a year after the declaration of the Protectorate, whereas they did not establish a Catholic base in Hoima until 1902 (Dunbar 1965; Shorter 2006). Using Mann’s understanding of ideological power shows that these achievements of universal and extensive membership were achieved easily and quickly due to the deployment of Baganda catechists.

31 According to Nunneley (2000, 3), the King’s African Rifles were not formally named until 1902, prior to this they had been called the East Africa Rifles or Uganda Rifles in Buganda and descended from armed troops used by the IBEAC. 117

Regulating the social sphere of individuals and transforming identities – Christian values for colonial advancement According to Mann, those wielding ideological power have the ability to change people’s personal and social identity, which becomes extensive and diffuse. That this involves cutting across other divides such as gender, class and the state helps to extend the universality of ideological power. An identity is created which people share with others outside of their usual social domain (such as the family or village unit), wherever communication infrastructures exist. Moreover, adopting a new ideology instils different values and cultures which are associated with the new religion. As a consequence, the core social sphere of individuals is changed, including how people perceive life and death and how family relations are regulated. These third and fourth achievements of ideological power contribute to the establishment of universal and diffused membership. Missionaries were able to change existing rules and values held in Baganda personal spheres, thus creating ‘civilised’ agents which then became useful for the colonial state when it was established. It is these achievements of ideological power which this section turns to.

In Uganda, the rise of Christianity instilled into people a new set of norms and values which fitted the colonial mould. The explorer David Livingstone believed that by becoming Christians, the Africans could be saved from the “savagery” of the continent (Brantlinger 1985, 178) and Sir Harry Johnston, the special commissioner to Uganda (1899-1901), is quoted saying that the work of the missions ‘induct the natives into the best kind of civilization’ (Oliver 1957, 182). By confronting ‘local populations with their own values and determinations’ Christian missionaries were the ideological impetus for empire building (Comaroff 1991, 7), thus unconsciously preparing the way for the creation of the colonial state. They achieved this by changing and regulating the personal social sphere of Baganda.

New Christians were given Christian names and converts were instructed on how to be married properly, which was now based upon a certificate and a ring, rather than mutual trust between two families (Tiberondwa 1977, 63, 66). Polygamy was also denounced. In order to be baptised, all new converts had to accept a life with just one wife (Low 1971). Converts were instructed by the 118

White Fathers to oppose forced marriages and prevent beatings of women (Shorter 2006, 183). The missionaries even managed to change how funerals were conducted; Kabaka Mutesa was the first person to be buried in a coffin and interred in a grave after his death (Ashe 1971, 66–67).32 Mann’s work on early Christianity provides an example to compare these achievements. Mysteries, ritual and magic were rejected during this period and replaced with concrete norms of ethical conduct which guided people in their daily choices, maintaining the moral standard of the faith (Mann 1986, 305). As Mann continues, if a person chose not to abide by these rules, then the Christian community would be their judge and act to reinstate these values in that person. Ideology, in a religious sense, therefore, reinforces the idea of a community and the behaviours expected of that community. The missionaries and the early readers in Buganda became the ‘weight of the community’ to judge the ‘faith and morality’ of the local population in these matters (Mann 1986, 305).

However, it was not just formal institutions which were changed, informal activities such as the telling of stories based upon Kiganda tradition amongst a group were transposed with bible readings and the reciting of parables and the singing of hymns (Tiberondwa 1977), these changes are what Mann refers to as ‘rational forms of faith’, again reinforced by the community (1986, 305). Even the traditional practice of medicine was renounced by the missionaries who took on roles as doctors themselves (Tiberondwa 1977). Furthermore, charms, which were often worn on the arm, were abandoned by those attending the missionary houses (Taylor 1958, 45; Harrison 1890, 112). According to his sister (Harrison 1890), Mackay worked tirelessly in the court and on a one-to- one basis with Kabaka Mutesa and others to discredit the beliefs and practices which were a part of the Kiganda faith and instead change Buganda personal and social identity into a Christian one, transcending the borders of the Kingdom and demonstrating the extensiveness of Christianity at the time.

These achievements of ideological power led to the laying of tracks for colonial take-over, helping the British Empire extend its reach further west and north into what is now known as Uganda once it had acquired Buganda. Indeed, the

32 Traditionally, the jaw was removed of the deceased Kabaka and given to his successor. The body would then be placed in a peasant house eight hours away from the capital (Ashe 1971). 119

Baganda who adopted these norms and practices were favoured as part of the colonial project. Not only did they become missionary teachers, but perhaps more significantly, they became imposed chiefs in these regions, re-creating what the British termed as the Kiganda political model (Lwanga-Lunyiigo 1987).33 The Baganda were seen by the early British administrators as displaying impressive characteristics, they were well-mannered and able to accept the ‘materialism of Western civilization’ due to their adoption of Christian values (Fuller 1976, 315). As the British advanced in the region, those Baganda who were good Christians were promoted to roles outside of their Kingdom (Tiberondwa 1977). One report at the time noted that their presence would civilise the people in other areas such as Busoga or Bunyoro who were deemed to be undisciplined and ‘harder to approach Christianity’ (Boyle report 1905 CO536/1 quoted in Fuller 1976, 315–16). This can explain the increase in numbers adopting Protestantism as colonialism took root. In 1911 there were just over 140,000 Protestants, by 1916, this figure was just over 200,000 (Willis, 1920, 266). This was also reflected in the Buganda Agreement of 1900 which allowed Muslim Baganda only one chieftainship, whilst the rest were distributed between the Catholics and Protestants (Twaddle 1974).

It has been argued that the values which the Protestant converts gained were ‘indissolubly linked to success in the new era’ of British colonialism (Roberts 1962, 437–38). Their assimilation of a culture which only twenty years prior had been alien and unknown meant that at the declaration of the Protectorate the British had an invaluable asset which they could rely upon to help open-up and administer a hitherto unexplored territory (Roberts 1962). Adopting the values of a new ideology and changing the daily lives of individuals demonstrates how ideological power was organised to become diffused within society. However, Mann also states that another achievement is the ability of ideological power to become extensive, cutting across social divides such as class and gender (Mann 1986, 328).

33 The Kiganda or Ganda model, a term used by the British, refers to their perception of how society was structured in Buganda. A hierarchical system of clans and chiefs reporting to a leader (in Buganda, the Kabaka, in colonial Uganda, the District Officer) was seen as the perfect system for implementing indirect rule. The following chapter explores this model in greater detail. 120

The early spread of Christianity in Buganda does not reflect this same achievement of ideological power, but an analysis of the demographic status of the new converts still tells us something about the process of state formation in Uganda and demonstrates how underlying colonial motivations were at play in the organisation of ideological power. As mentioned above, the first converts came from the Kabaka’s court and included female members of Mutesa and Mwanga’s family and royal concubines (Taylor 1958). However, the converts were largely young, male and elite members of Buganda, i.e. those working in and around the court, living in close proximity to the missionary houses (Wright 1971). In addition, some converts were young, male slaves whom the missionaries had bought and taken in to their homes as employed workers (Taylor 1958). Low (1971, 26–27) comments that the first converts were young men because they were either bachelors or only had one wife, they therefore found it easier to ‘resolve their difficulties by becoming Christians than most of the older men who were faced by the enormous difficulties entailed in the missionaries’ insistence on monogamy’. Baptised women were usually wives of converted batongole or wives to be of converted catechists (Taylor 1958). The older chiefs were those who engaged with the sporadic and then later concentrated persecution of the new Christian converts during the mid-to late 1880s (J. V. Taylor 1958); the new, young Christians, some of whom had their own chieftaincies, were seen as a credible threat to the structure of power which had existed before. In terms of the bakopi , from accounts presented by both the CMS missionaries Mackay and O’Flaherty, it appears that conversions were only pursued for those who worked in the missionary households, farming their land for example (J. V. Taylor 1958). There does not appear to be a determined effort by the missionaries themselves to attract peasant converts; this was left to the Baganda catechists when they moved away from the capital (Prevost 2010).

Mann’s theory of the third and fourth achievements of ideological power tells us a great deal about how ideological power was organised in pre-colonial Uganda. First, Christian values and practices were considered by the missionaries as civilising and essential for adoption by any Baganda wishing to be baptised. Hymns and stories replaced traditional storytelling and songs and helped to dispense with the former Kiganda faith of the lubaale . More 121 importantly, converts could only be baptised if they abandoned the Baganda tradition of polygamy. Second, there appears to be a clear focus by the missionaries to convert a particular section of the population: young, male elites and those with attachments to the Kabaka’s court. The results of this are twofold. First, the missionaries knew that in order for Christianity to gain a strong foothold in a centralised, powerful Kingdom such as Buganda, they had to penetrate the heart of the Kingdom. Neither sect was able to fully convert Kabakas Mutesa or Mwanga but they were able to change the practices of significant members of their courts – notably, young batongole who would prove to be extremely useful once the colonial administration arrived. They would also present as a challenge to the older chiefs of Buganda who did not wish to convert, thus slowly fragmenting the previously strong hierarchical power structure. Secondly, by converting important members of the court, they gained catechists for further conversions outside of the capital. The baptised constituted a section of the population who not only exhibited values familiar to the future British colonisers but also became members of a universal and extensive ideological power which transcended the political powers of the Buganda state.

The infrastructure of literacy – the “tracklayer” to political power According to Mann, the fifth achievement of ideological power is the ability of those organising it to achieve a ‘near-monopoly’ of the infrastructure of literacy (1986, 368). When considering world religions, Mann points out that it was a common strategy used by all religions to employ and control literacy, which in some instances included all written literature, sometimes even laws. It is through literacy that communication travelled within territorial boundaries through networks of media and communication, extending far beyond the ‘old regime networks’ in which it had existed previously (Mann 1993, 35–37). Literacy has a two-fold impact according to Mann. First, literacy creates ideological elite who were entwined with the state and society and becomes separate from the original media of ideological power, the church. Second, classes, nations, states and the churches become entwined with each other, forging new struggles over social power as all try to cage ideological power within their own institutions (Mann 1993, 37, 41). Media infrastructure such as educational institutions, literature and newspapers are established – 122 infrastructure which other power-holders, whether the state or commerce for example, could grasp control of and use to their advantage. Mann claims this helped forge the nation-state, along with greater political (infrastructural) power and economic power. This is how the “tracklayer” of literacy became a tool to transform ideological power into political and economic power in the case of colonial Uganda. The Christian missions were the principle media through which literacy infrastructures were communicated.

The British and French missionaries were resourceful in their organisation of literacy in Buganda. They started with languages which were already accessible to elite Baganda, namely Arabic and Kiswahili. Literacy as a means of written communication had first been established by Muslim traders through the dissemination of Islamic texts (Openjuru and Lyster 2007). By practising Islam himself, Kabaka Mutesa was a key instigator for the spread of Arabic. According to Oded (1974, 93), Mutesa may have adopted Islam because of its literary form of communication, which he saw as being an ‘efficient and advanced’ method for conducting state affairs (see also Kasozi 1986). He encouraged his chiefs and pages to learn Arabic, making communication throughout his Kingdom much easier (Oded 1974). This willingness to employ the two languages made less effort for the missionaries to start their bible teaching and thus expand Baganda literacy.

Mutesa was keen for his subjects to learn the skills of reading and writing, something which the missionaries offered (Oded 1974; J. V. Taylor 1958). Islam, therefore, provided the first “tracklayer” for an infrastructure which would eventually be exploited to form a colonial state. As early as Stanley’s first visit to Buganda in 1875, sections of the Bible were translated by his servants for Mutesa into both Kiswahili and Arabic (J. V. Taylor 1958, 29). Later, once the CMS and White Fathers missionaries had arrived, the ten Christian commandments and the Scripture were translated into Kiswahili and even Arabic so that Mutesa and his court could understand them (Oded 1974, 95). This was seen as an essential vehicle to convert the Baganda Muslims and those who had knowledge of these languages to Christianity. 34 The Sunday

34 As Oded (1974, 267) points out it was CMS and White Fathers’ policy at the time to uproot Islam in Africa 123 services held at the Kabaka’s palace were read by Rev. C.T. Wilson in English, translated into Kiswahili and then translated again, by the Kabaka into Luganda, the language of Buganda (Taylor 1958, 37). Another CMS missionary, O’Flaherty was able to converse in Arabic, which he used to his advantage to try and outwit the Arab traders on texts in the Qur’ ān in front of the Kabaka (Oded 1974, 268). An Arabic version of the Basel Missionary Karl Pfander’s Miz ān al-Haqq (The Balance of Truth) was also distributed to the court; this book provided a powerful critique of Islam (Oded 1974, 268). Translating biblical texts into local languages is a key method for ideological power to be diffused more widely, especially amongst dominant social groups and thus opening up spaces for populations to see alternatives to the current status quo as Mann emphasises (1986, 443).

Although Kiswahili was the main medium of instruction at the missions until 1893 (J. V. Taylor 1958, 41), it soon became the policy of both the White Fathers and the CMS to conduct worship and scholarship in the local language of Luganda. By adopting the local vernacular, the missionaries were able to increase the number of people they connected with and hopefully convert (Kwesiga 1994). Openjuru and Lyster comment that the use of local languages gave ‘status and acceptability within church practices’ (2007, 100), whilst for the White Fathers, there was the belief that ‘civil customs [...] could and should be retained by those who became Christians’ in order to maintain the civil sphere of the church – the use of the local vernacular helping to achieve this (Shorter 2006, 155). Increasingly, Kiswahili was seen as being ‘too near Islam’ (Kwesiga, 1994, 57; Mazrui & Mazrui, 1995), which could therefore confuse converts at a time when three new ideologies were causing plenty of confusion. From 1893 the missionaries saw the potential in adopting Luganda to help embed themselves and, more importantly, their religion, into Buganda society. Making this language literate was important as the missionaries believed that even ‘simple literacy’ was a significant aspect of the process of conversion to Christianity (Butler Herrick et al. 1969, 115).

As it was the missionaries’ aim to proselytise, the main tool to do this was through the Gospel, which was seen as at the ‘heart of the learning process’ (Mackenzie 1993, 54). The arrival of the printing press can be seen as the 124 significant event which underpins the development of not just literacy in general, but also the development of Luganda into a literate language. The printing press in Uganda arrived soon after the first missionaries. One of the first CMS missionaries, Mackay, was a practical engineer. He assembled the first small, hand-operated printing press shortly after his arrival in 1876; it was then in daily use thereafter (Stock 1892, 73). The Catholic White Fathers received their first press with the arrival of the first regional Bishop, Julien Gorju in 1886 (Shorter, n.d.). Just as the replacement of parchment with paper had done in middle ages Europe, the printing press in Uganda enables ‘extensive, diffuse, decentralized power’ throughout an area as messages are spread with more ease (Mann 1986, 442).

The printing press provided both missions with the opportunity to develop a literate Luganda rather than just using copies of religious materials which they had in English. Some missionaries, with the help of their early readers, translated key texts into Luganda. For example, Mackay had managed to translate the whole of St Matthew’s Gospel, ‘[e]very page had been criticised and revised by his most advanced pupil, so as to make it as faithful a rendering of the Word of God in the tongue of Uganda as was possible’ (Stock 1892, 143).35 Both denominations also translated Sunday service materials into Luganda. These were then handed over to the printing presses, so that copies could be issued to their converts, aided with a printed alphabet and syllable sheets which were issued free of charge (Stock 1892; Shorter 2006). As the number of literate readers increased, so did the demand for printed reading material, including dictionaries and small books (Shorter 2006).

There are two issues to be raised here with regards to tracks being laid for a colonial state. First, the impacts of a printing press, and second, the establishment of Luganda as a literate language. The printing press enabled the two missions to not only print much needed religious learning materials, but it also enabled a new form of media to become established in the country. The printing of newspapers started as early as 1897, with the CMS being the first to do so. They launched Mengo Notes , an English language paper in 1900 and

35 Stock, writing in the late nineteenth century, uses the word Uganda to mean, Buganda. Many of the first explorers and missionaries used Uganda, omitting the ‘B’, hence the name for the larger colonial state. 125 then Ebifa mu Buganda (Events in Buganda) a Luganda paper in 1907 (Rowe, 1989; Ssali, 1987). The White Fathers started out with the Luganda language Munno (Your friend) in 1911 (Rowe, 1989). All three papers were centred upon the dissemination of Church news and activities and in some cases, the discussion of how government policies would impact the Church. They also proved to be useful tools for the missionaries, realising very quickly ‘the importance of this medium and its potential for propagating [the missionaries’] work in Uganda’ (Ssali 1987, 167).

Printing presses were then no longer restricted to just the missions, but the basis and demand had been created for a more varied press within the Protectorate once other presses arrived. The Uganda Herald was established in 1904 and served the British, Asians and African elites (Ssali 1987). By 1900, Sir Harry Johnston estimated that two hundred thousand people had been taught how to read by the CMS alone (Scotton 1973, 212). In sum, the printing press was a significant addition to the organisation of ideological power in Uganda. It served the missionaries by providing them with more teaching materials, but through newspapers, literacy increased, later serving the colonial administration.

The second issue concerns the development of Luganda into a literate language. By translating Luganda into a Latin scripted language, the wheel was set in motion for the spread of Luganda, and then English, paving the way for an English-speaking Ugandan elite (Mazrui & Mazrui, 1996, p.271). It became an essential infrastructure for the establishment of colonial power from 1894 onwards. Luganda, along with other local dialects, was developed into dictionaries; the Catholic White Fathers developed Latin and local vernacular language dictionaries (Shorter 2006, 163).36 An individual had to display some ability to read the Bible before they were allowed to convert (Butler Herrick et al. 1969). As the missionary presence in pre-colonial Buganda increased, the ‘Protestant missionaries had a language policy [...] namely to teach the gospel in the language of their converts and to use English at higher levels of their teaching institutions’ (Kasozi 2000, 26). It is not clear whether this was a

36 Depending upon the area and the mission, varying orthographies were developed of common languages (Openjuru and Lyster 2007; Ssekamwa 1997). 126 deliberate policy of the CMS, however, it became evident that the learning of English would remain the reserve of a select few. This was later endorsed by Lord Lugard who declared that the ‘premature teaching of English... inevitably leads to utter disrespect for British and native ideal alike’ (cited in Mazrui & Mazrui, 1992, 95). As Kwesiga says, the few who did attend the higher levels of learning ‘constituted a special elite class’ who ‘had the additional honour of working in offices and being interpreters’ for the colonial officers (1994, 58).

As with other British colonial states, a ‘trifocal’ language system developed, whereby there existed English, which was the language of the elite; a regional lingua franca ; and then thirdly, the local vernacular languages (Schmied, 2008, 153). In Uganda, the colonial policy as early as 1912 was to establish Luganda as the lingua franca . Due to the spread of Baganda around the Protectorate working on behalf of the colonial state, 37 the language was seen by the colonial officers to be spoken by large numbers of people within and outside of Buganda. Indeed, as Roberts (1962, 443) points out, migrating Baganda catechists opened up missions and schools, teaching in Luganda rather than the native language, creating the idea that Luganda brought success for young locals who wanted to progress to chiefdoms in the new Uganda. As a result, most school text books and religious texts were issued in this language and by 1925, it was the language of instruction in areas outside of the Kingdom, including Tororo, Busoga and Bugisu (Ssekamwa 1997, 131–32). Through language, the track was laid for the Baganda to dominate in the colonial political establishment. Not only were they the ones who could converse in English, but their mother tongue was regarded as the main language throughout the Protectorate, despite the proliferation of other local languages. 38

Education is thus the other significant “tracklayer” for developing the infrastructure of literacy and ultimately, creating an institution which became an essential tool for the political power of the colonial state. An education system is a useful infrastructure through which ideological messages can be transmitted. In Mann’s work for example, Christianity spread because the education system

37 This aspect of colonial policy is discussed in greater depth in the next chapter. 38 Today there are four language groups in Uganda – Bantu, Luo, Nilo-Hamitic and Sudanic – each contain more than two languages. In total, there are roughly thirteen different indigenous languages spoken in Uganda (Nsibambi 2000, 16). 127 reinforced literacy throughout the empire (Mann 1986, 317). The Western-style education system in Uganda was formed to help the missionaries transmit Christian values and learning; later, it became an institutionalised and essential part of the colonial state system.

Due to increasing numbers of readers attending the missionary houses, it was deemed appropriate to separate the levels of learners. The first formal schools were not established until 1895 (Tiberondwa 1977, 44), however, schooling existed in the homes of missionaries and Baganda Christians before this date. The intention of pre-colonial and early colonial schooling was to teach the bible, reading, writing, numeracy, and alternative agricultural and technical skills (Ssekamwa 1997). First and foremost, the schools’ priority was to teach Christianity. Indeed, even in 1925, the Annual Report of the Uganda Department of Education asserted that the ‘spiritual interests of the child are paramount to every other matter’ (Ssekamwa 1997, 39)’.

Initially the schools were established wherever a Christian mission was based, this was then extended to areas where Baganda readers set up churches (Tiberondwa 1977). The White Fathers were the last to establish their first school. The British based Mill Hill Catholics had already established one in 1901 and the CMS opened three large schools in 1906 (Shorter 2006, 209). The White Fathers, though, had to embrace the English language instead of their native French or local languages. This involved visiting British Catholic Schools and employing fluent English-speaking missionaries in the hope that their school students would have a chance of gaining positions within the colonial administration (Shorter 2006, 209). As the development of schools progressed, the missions preferred to establish boarding schools. ‘It was felt by the missionaries that by putting these children in boarding schools, the missionaries would give them new attitudes and feelings along the lines of Christian and European values’, which they could then transpose to their own society after finishing school, in the hope that others would copy their behaviour (Ssekamwa 1997, 45).

Schools do not, according to Mann, enable discursive literacy, but as the detail above demonstrates, they help to contribute to imagined communities (Mann 128

1993). In Mann’s example, eighteenth century nationhood was not one community, but two, defined by this ideological achievement (1993, 36–37). In the same sense, despite being an arm of the Christian churches, schools became an essential part of the colonial administration. Those entering the schooling system became a part of the Ugandan elite through their instruction in clerical skills and the presumption that they would go on to jobs within the bureaucracy or become chiefs within their areas (Doornbos 1976). The curriculum, especially in the Protestant schools, reflected the needs of the colonial administration. This can be seen through an assessment of the religious affiliations of chiefs in each region. In 1924, three regions – Busoga, Toro and Bugisu had chiefs who were 100% Protestant. In Ankole and Bunyoro just over 80% of chiefs were this denomination and it was only in Buganda where chiefs were only 50% Protestant (Tiberondwa 1977, 58). This reflects the agreements made by Lord Lugard and the Imperial British East Africa Company on the distribution of chieftaincies in the years leading up to the formation of the colonial state. 39 Despite this 50% split, the Protestants still received more prominent positions in the top echelons of Buganda chiefly hierarchy, the first Katikkiro of the colonial period was a Protestant (Twaddle 1969). It was stipulated that Kings and Prime Ministers would always be Anglican and the Minister of Justice in the Buganda council Catholic (Kettani 1982). The bias towards Protestant education was also demonstrated with the amount of funding which schools received from the colonial government up until 1925, with the CMS schools receiving 200% more than the White Fathers’ schools (Tiberondwa 1977, 41).40 Furthermore, although the government could afford to provide some financial support to the Christian schools, the funding of a secular, government school system was out of the question, the Colonial Office did not have the money to support this prior to 1925 (Hansen 1984, 227). Therefore, the missionary schools were the only way through which the colonial administration could provide education. The schools and missionary teachers were ‘agents of colonialism’ as Tiberondwa claims (1977). Table 6 provides an

39 Agreements were made between the warring Catholic and Protestant Baganda, details of which are in the final section of this chapter. 40 Between 1911-1918 the CMS received an annual grant of £850 whereas the White Fathers received £300 (Tiberondwa 1977, 41). 129 outline of the number of pupils and teachers and religious affiliation in 1925 when the Department of Education was officially established. 41

Table 7. Number of schools, teachers, pupils and religious affiliation by 1925 in the Protectorate of Uganda Type of No. of No. of No. of No. of No. of Total school schools European Ugandan boys girls pupil teachers teachers number Protestant 15 18 67 820 498 1,318 boarding Catholic 7 9 26 325 10 335 boarding Protestant 13 5 125 4153 272 4,425 day schools Catholic 21 9 137 736 267 1,003 day schools Village 1,607 7 1,882 63,854 41,536 105,390 (vernacular and sub- grade) Protestant schools Village 1,587 9 2,162 40,700 25,871 66,571 (vernacular and sub- grade) Catholic schools Adapted from (Tiberondwa 1977, 112).

41 It is worth noting as an aside that any attempt at founding Muslim institutions of education were restricted by the colonial government, refusing them funding. This was in stark contrast to their support for Christian schools (Kasozi 1986, 74).

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By the late nineteenth century, literacy, and its off-shoot infrastructures of ideological power, were important “tracklayers” for social change, ultimately being appropriated by those tasked with forming a colonial state. In Mann’s analysis, literacy creates not only ideological elite, but also intertwines different actors within a society, such as the state and its people. In Uganda, literacy created a number of infrastructures which ultimately forged an ideological elite, namely Christian (and predominantly Protestant) Baganda. The infrastructures were essential for colonial advancement. Literacy opened doors for those who were taught. Arabic and Kiswahili provided the means through which the early missionaries could communicate to the Kabaka of Buganda and his court. Through the introduction of the Latin script, the missionaries then made Luganda, the local vernacular, into a literate language, which enabled them to transfer their Christian messages to other Baganda who could then spread Christianity further. Finally, the introduction of English teaching proved to be essential for the British colonialists to advance through the Protectorate using literate, English-speaking Baganda agents.

Ideology and elites – The erosion of the old order This section uses Mann’s sixth achievement of ideological power to assess the decline of the Kabaka’s authority over his Kingdom. For Mann, ideologies can be used to forge a link between elites and their people. Without a strong ideology in society, elites can exercise power without having to take into consideration the beliefs and values of the population they rule. Ideologies unite people; indeed, they can even be used as a reason to mobilise people. Therefore, once an ideology has taken root within a society, elites have to take notice. In some instances, leaders may become more engaged with their society, taking the people’s beliefs into account when devising policies, as may happen in a democracy, for example. However, as we will see in the case of Buganda, elites may attempt to co-opt ideological power, resorting to violent methods to achieve this.

There were a number of ways the authority of Kabaka Mwanga was challenged as he attempted to forestall the erosion of his old order. First, his personal power within the court was undermined by the missionaries and their readers. Mwanga felt that his pages’ ‘stubborn adherence to Christian practices’ was a 131 demonstration of disrespect to him (Rowe 1964, 63). For example, Mwanga enjoyed having sex with his younger, male pages. They were meant to be available for the Kabaka whenever he requested their presence (Faupel 1965; Low 1971). However, by the mid-1880s many were attending lessons with the missionaries and began to refuse his requests. One member of the court, the Catholic Chief Joseph Mukasa 42 was a catechist who conducted reading classes within the palace. According to Faupel (1965), he preached the sin of homosexuality to his younger colleagues and when possible, did his best to hide those young men whom the Kabaka requested. The young pages, who were supposed to acquiesce to Mwanga’s every demand, ‘succumbed [instead] to the influence of Joseph’s personality and charm. They became just as devoted to him as those who had served with him under Kabaka Mutesa’ (Faupel 1965, 83). The close relationship which the pages had with the missions made them question the power and authority of the Kabaka, thus the missionaries relied upon them to pass court information on.

To add to the power which the missionaries were now exhibiting in court, the missionaries’ methods of instruction also challenged the hierarchical structure in Buganda society, something which the Kabaka found hard to understand. In Reverend Ashe’s autobiography, he notes that the Kabaka did not approve of missionary teaching for both the younger members of the court but also those deemed to be at the bottom of Kiganda society, the slaves (Ashe 1889, 112– 13). Furthermore, some chiefs chose to give their best men to the missionaries rather than have them attend court to serve the Kabaka. According to Ashe, this created a great deal of resentment and it was some of these men who were first to be arrested and killed by Mwanga (Ashe 1889, 143).43

The Kabaka was heavily influenced by his Prime Minister, the Katikkiro . This man was part of the older system of chiefs and still adhered to the traditional Kiganda faith of the Lubaale (Faupel 1965; Rowe 1964). The Katikkiro and his similarly aged compatriots felt the missionary discourse about heathens was directed at them (Rowe 1964). Indeed the Katikkiro ’s own son was a Christian

42 Sometimes referred to as Joseph Balikiddembe or Joseph Balikuddembe Mukasa in the literature; not to be confused with Katikkiro Mukasa the prime minister of the Buganda parliament. 43 These deaths happened in January 1885. 132 reader, as were many of his political rivals and, to make matters worse, his most trusted sub-chief was baptised (Ashe 1889). In order to maintain his position at court and perhaps to threaten the missionaries, he encouraged the Kabaka to turn against the Christians and their converts (Rowe 1964; Kassimir 1991). It is at this point that leaders make an important decision regarding the achievement of ideological power; in this case, Mwanga made the wrong one for the future of the Kingdom.

The actions of the missionaries and their readers played upon Mwanga’s insecurities. Just as his father had done so ten years earlier against some of the first Muslims, 44 Mwanga organised a purge of Christians (Twaddle 1988; Abimanyi 2013); the largest of which involved thirty-two dying on a pyre in one day (Thomas 1951).45 In total, it is estimated that up to two hundred Christians were executed during this period (Ward 1991).46 Ideological power was becoming such a strong feature of Kiganda life that the Kabaka could no longer remain a by-stander as it challenged his own ideological and political power. In such situations as described by Mann, leaders either join the ideology or react to supress it. The violent actions had a direct impact on the missionaries; the White Fathers temporarily abandoned Buganda, and all but one of the CMS missionaries left (Mockler-Ferryman 1903). Significantly, though, the numbers of Christian Baganda did not decrease. In contrast, Christianity surged forward. Some did flee the Kingdom, thus spreading the Christian messages outside of Buganda (Rowe, 1964), however the numbers of converts within Buganda increased, demonstrating an achievement of those controlling the ideological power of the church over the Kabaka’s dominance. During the three year absence of the White Fathers, their converts ‘developed a very high degree of independence of both mind and action’, thus preserving the Catholic presence in the country (Twaddle 1988). Indeed, the Catholic catechists managed to gain 800 new followers whilst the White Fathers were absent (Brierley and Spear 1988, 617). Christianity grew, despite the persecutions,

44 Around 1876, Mutesa ordered the massacre of Muslim converts. Reasons cited included the influence of the explorer, Stanley, and his older traditional chiefs; also the increasing demands from Muslim converts that the Kabaka should be circumcised, and if he refused, they would no longer allow him to lead Muslim prayers at the Mosque. Mutesa saw this as a direct challenge to his leadership (Kasozi 1986, 35–36). 45 3rd June 1886. 46 As Faupel (1965) has pointed out the numbers recorded range from between 100 to 200 in different records, it is therefore hard to gauge an exact amount of how many died. 133

[a]s so often in the history of Christianity before and since the Donation of Constantine, this persecution had the effect of increasing rather than decreasing the number of converts [...]. Hitherto the missionaries had been content to work within the Buganda’s establishment without seeking to change it. After the massacre, the missionaries were determined to have a political base within that establishment to ensure the future success of their endeavours (Karugire 1980, 66).

Ideological power was organised and used to affect the relationship between the centre of power, the Kabaka, and his people. For Mann, it is an achievement of ideological power that links are created between the elites and their subjects. In the case of Buganda, ideological power was resisted by the leader, resulting, as happened in early Christianity, in purges of Christians. By refusing to conform to the new Christian denominations, Mwanga lost his ability to control his state. Despite the possibility of death, his people (those who were Christian) had new allegiances to the Christian Church and to its missionaries. Ideological power was stronger than the despotic power of the ruler. Once weakened, it was only a matter of time before other sources of power filled the political void; in this case, British imperialism.

Eradicating the enemy – religious wars and colonial military intervention This last section of the chapter employs Mann’s seventh achievement of ideological power as a framework to analyse the final years leading up to the proclamation of Uganda as a British Protectorate. For Mann, ideologies can be used as justification for acts of exclusion and mistreatment of others (Mann 1986, 368). People can use solidarity, faith and beliefs to pursue those who do not share their ideology; this may involve eliminating ideological enemies. For example, once a compromise was reached between Christianity and the Imperial State in the Roman Empire, 47 those in charge of the Roman Church turned against those who were not willing to accept its definition and restrictions on humanity. This involved displaying ‘considerable fury’ against other Christian

47 For a full account of this, see Mann’s section titled, ‘The spiritual and the secular ecumene: toward a compromise?’ (Mann, 1986, p. 326). 134 sects, such as Gnostics, Marcionites and Donatists, which were classed as heretical by those in the Romanised Christian Church (Mann 1986, 330–31).

This section brings together the key actors who were pursuing the organisation of ideological power: the IBEAC led by Captain Lugard and the missionaries – in particular Bishop Tucker. From the late 1880s until the proclamation of a Protectorate, the Muslims, Catholics and Protestant Baganda fought each other in a succession of battles. They did this to ensure their beliefs were the central ones within the political organisation of Buganda. The fighting and negotiations demonstrate a close intertwining of ideological, military and political power relations, laying the tracks for the formation of the colonial state of Uganda.

After Kabaka Mwanga had been ousted by the combined forces of Catholic, Protestant and Muslim Baganda, 48 a peaceful alliance lasted for just a month (Hansen 1984). In the period that followed, three different Kabakas were installed as the heads of state, including Mwanga again, but of most significance, the Muslim Baganda broke away from the Christian parties and gained control of the state. It was at this point that a letter signed by both Catholic and Protestant chiefs was sent out to the IBEAC requesting military help in 1889 (Wright 1971). This was in addition to earlier requests from the Protestant missionaries themselves who had also petitioned the Company (Low 1960, 8). Eventually, the Company and its leader, Lord Lugard, gained its royal charter to enter Uganda in 1887.

Lugard’s army helped the Christian parties to oust the Muslims and Muslim Kabaka from the centre of Buganda political power. Further, he proceeded in 1891 to draw up an agreement for the distribution of political offices amongst the Catholic and Protestant elites. Dealing with increasingly fractious relations between the two sects, ‘Lugard had very little scope for any sort of neutrality’ (Hansen 1984, 32). He was reliant upon the Protestants and also aware of how the situation would be perceived back in Britain if he did not try to subdue the Catholics. Directly or indirectly, his actions were seen to favour the Protestants.

48 In what Lwanga-Lunyiigo (2011, 94–95) refers to as the ‘Triple Alliance’, the Muslim, Catholic and Protestant Baganda combined in 1888 to oust Mwanga and replaced him with his first born son, Kiweewa, against normal constitutional rules demonstrating ‘a new elite in Buganda, an elite of the Koran and Bible which was not bound by the old constitution’. 135

Nonetheless, neither party fared as badly as the Muslims who were eliminated from all political engagement (Kiggundu and Lukwago 1982).

It was not until February 1892 that Lugard and the IBEAC’s true loyalties were made apparent, cementing the ideologically strong Baganda Protestants with the Company and British imperialism within the state of Buganda. In Mann’s work, this is explained by the usurpation of ideological power by other sources of power; there is no doubt that the imperative was Protestant in its nature, but the Company and the British government had ‘different notions of social organization and identity’ (Mann 1986, 332). This became evident during the Battle of Mengo, which involved fighting between the Protestant and Catholic Baganda, 49 but Lugard positioned himself, his strong armed force of Sudanese soldiers numbering eight thousand 50 and two Maxim guns on the side of the Protestants (Wright 1971; Mamdani 1984; Kiwanuka 1972). Lugard issued five hundred Schneider rifles to the Protestant Baganda and the CMS missionaries were evacuated to safety (Kiwanuka 1972).51 A dispute, split along religious lines, was won by those with the strongest control over military power; Mwanga and the Catholics had no choice but to accept Lugard’s position within the Buganda political structure and the Company’s authority over the Kingdom. Political and military power was winning through the achievement of ideological power to eradicate enemies. Lugard drew up a division of chiefdoms between the Protestants and Catholics before leaving the Kingdom for Britain. 52 According to Low (1971, 37), offices were distributed between the two Christian groups in order to maintain peace in Buganda which would ‘secure [the company’s] imperial authority’. However, the victory of the Protestants turned them from a ‘minority into a ruling class’ (Kiwanuka 1972, 232). Ideology,

49 Reasons for the initial outbreak of fighting are varied, with some citing Lugard’s earlier political agreement as the cause (Hansen 1984), or the intense rivalry between Catholic and Protestant Baganda reaching boiling point (Low 1971). Others claim Lugard intervened in what was solely a Buganda juridical matter (Karugire 1980). 50 This number of Sudanese soldiers included their wives and children. 51 Reverend Ashe (1971, 226) claims that both Christian sects were offered refuge, but the White Fathers refused to leave their compound. 52 Lugard spent the following years in Britain defending his position against claimed atrocities committed against Catholics in Buganda (Perham 1965) . According to Hansen (1984, 47) the French White Fathers sent news home of the atrocities committed by the British (Lugard and the IBEAC) on the Catholics. To add to this, the British sent Captain Mcdonald to Uganda to conduct a report on Lugard and the Company’s behaviour – his findings were not supportive of either, however, the report was, according to Kiwanuka, covered up by the British with compensation payments issued to the French (M. S. M. Kiwanuka 1972). 136 through the use of warfare, dampened the political ambitions of enemies, even if they had not been destroyed.

The path towards a colonial state was now being laid. In Britain, the fortunes of the IBEAC were turning for the worse. At the same time as war was being raged between the three ideological groups in Buganda, the company was facing bankruptcy. In December 1891, the IBEAC ordered Lugard’s withdrawal from the region, an order which he disobeyed (Karugire 1980). At this point, the links between British imperialism and Protestantism in Buganda became entwined on an exogenous level. The Catholics and the Muslims, even if they had wanted to, did not have the exclusive opportunity that the Protestants had to ensure their dominance within the state. This opportunity came in the appearance of Protestant Bishop Tucker, the Bishop of Eastern Equatorial Africa (Uganda was within his remit). Having spent less than a year in Buganda, the Bishop took it upon himself to maintain the IBEAC’s presence in the country (Griffiths 2001). CMS rules did not allow for money to be given to trading companies, however, in just ten days, Tucker had managed to raise over £16,000 from CMS friends in the UK which, with agreement from Mackinnon, went towards maintaining the company in Uganda for another year (Low 1954). His arguments to support the company staying in Buganda rested upon the protection that it gave not only to the CMS missionaries but also to the Protestant Baganda. Tucker warned the IBEAC and the British government that without this protection, the Protestant missionaries and Baganda would be at risk of death from the other religious groups in the country (Griffiths 2001).

Additional finance for the company was a short term solution, and any long-term answer was hampered by the political situation in Britain. The Conservative Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary, Lord Salisbury, refused to commit to any stance on Uganda until after the election, which he then lost to Gladstone’s Liberal government (Darwin 2009; Low 1954). As Low points out, the new government was not interested at that time in extending direct imperial responsibility in Uganda. The press in England was also deeply divided, with Conservative papers deploring the “abandonment of Uganda”, and the Liberal papers opposing an imperial takeover (The Times, 30 September 1892 quoted in Low 1954, 84). Public opinion, however, was easily swayed in a short space 137 of time. Lugard, back in Britain, conducted many talks and meetings throughout the country on saving Uganda; Tucker, back in Buganda, petitioned the CMS to engage the Church of England in support; even former explorer Stanley stepped in to help. In total, 147 sets of Resolutions, 11 memorials and 16 petitions were established by the British public, all demanding that the Foreign Office protect the lives of the Christians in Buganda (Low 1954).53 As Low continues, ‘the churches, the chambers of commerce and the empire builders for once worked together for the same object and at the same time’ (1954, 98). The campaign worked, with the British government sending out Gerald Portal to Buganda to assess the best means for an administrative takeover, followed with Protectorate papers signed in April 1894.

The religious wars in Buganda were used strategically by religious and imperial elites to secure Britain’s foothold in the country.54 The distribution of political offices in Buganda reflected the close relationship which Protestantism had developed with British imperialism. The Protestants were given the most superior positions within the Buganda Lukiiko , in addition, they were given the majority of the Saza chieftainships in the Kingdom (Hansen 1984). The Catholics, despite their more numerous amounts of converts, were only given chieftainships in the Buddo area to the south and another connecting them with the capital. Furthermore, the British encouraged a Catholic mission from Britain, the Mill Hill mission, to start work in the Kingdom, to counterweight the French Catholics but also to create the impression that the British colonialists did not favour one particular religion, despite the heavily Protestant-weighted positions in parliament (Shorter 2006).

Ideological power was used as justification to oust ideological rivals. In Buganda, this was organised by elites in such a way as to ensure that British imperialism (religious, political and military) maintained its position within the region. Attacks on Christians by Muslims were used to justify the presence of the IBEAC to protect British (and to a certain extent, the French) missionaries. The company sought to capitalise on tensions between the Protestants and

53 Low (1954) provides a detailed account of the organisations which demonstrated public action on both sides of the political spectrum for the protection of Uganda covering the breadth of the UK. 54 See appendix 2 for a list of dates of the colonial acquisition of areas in Uganda. 138

Catholics to prevent the region from succumbing to German commercial interests. By this time, the missionaries believed it was essential to have the company in the Kingdom to protect not only themselves but also the new Christian converts. Bishop Tucker and Lugard both rallied the British public to ensure that the British government gained another colonial state. The extensiveness of Christianity – only seventeen years after the arrival of the first missionary – was so great that it could be used as justification for protecting its converts. The religious wars demonstrate Mann’s theorisation of the ideological achievement to eradicate or at least subdue religious enemies. This analysis also highlights another facet of ideological power identified by Mann, his comments on long-term European development of Christianity explain this, Thus the fundamental “tracklaying” role of Christianity has been rendered obsolete through its own success. Its ecumene established, other forces have taken over, both in more intensive penetration of the ecumene and in extensive penetration of much of the rest of the globe (Mann 1986, 471, emphasis in original). In the attempts by each of the ideological groups to gain dominance in society, gaps were opened for other networks of power to be used to form the colonial state.

Conclusion – Laying the tracks for colonialism: the achievements of ideological power in Uganda The first section of this chapter looked at how ideologies were used, first by the missionaries, and then by the colonial officers, to create useful converts for colonialism. Two achievements of ideological power can be seen; firstly, how extensive and universal form of membership can transcend borders, and, secondly, how those wielding ideological power deploy existing infrastructures and institutions or indeed make new ones in order to spread the ideology to a greater audience. The two Christian dominions in Uganda carved a space within what had previously been a hierarchical Kingdom. Those who were accepted in the CMS and White Fathers Churches were also admitted into a community which extended far beyond the borders of Lake Victoria. For the missionaries to gain access to the Kingdom, they used a variety of infrastructures. First they capitalised upon Mutesa’s military insecurities, especially regarding Egyptian imperialism. For Kabaka Mutesa, the first missionaries brought with them closer 139 ties with Europeans, who had far superior weapons. Secondly, the routes used by the Muslim, Arab traders and the early explorers were important to enable the first missionaries to actually enter Buganda. Thirdly, the missionaries benefitted from not only the eagerness of Baganda to learn about new cultures, but also from the lack of a strong ideology in the Kingdom. Christianity filled a gap which Islam had not yet had the chance to fill. The missionaries made themselves useful to the court, displaying a wide variety of skills which they were willing to teach Baganda whilst concurrently providing their learners with bible classes. The learners became readers. In turn, the readers became missionaries themselves. Low numbers of Europeans resulted in the use of Baganda as catechists in other areas which was essential for the spread of the two Christian ideologies. Along with the help of the IBEAC and colonial armies, Christianity was able to spread outside of Buganda into areas which were previously too dangerous for missionaries to enter. For Catholicism and Protestantism, an extensive and universal community was taking root, using old and new infrastructures and institutions. This became the basis for ideological power to become the “tracklayer” for the establishment of the colonial state.

The second section of the chapter considered how ideology regulated the social sphere and identities of converts, making them into ideal members of the colonial state. Christians were connected to belief systems which were not part of Baganda culture. Instead, cultures, norms and practices which were in some respects alien to the Baganda way of life were instilled into the new converts; in turn the new Christians believed they were elevating themselves above traditional culture. This is the third and fourth achievement of ideological power. For Mann, ideologies control and standardise the core social sphere of individuals, regulating how people perceive life and death and how family relations are regulated. In Buganda, the readers changed their daily practices in accordance with Christian practices. Those who were converted then passed on the new Christian ideologies to others within their social realm. The missionaries encouraged Baganda to reject Kiganda mysteries, rituals and magic. These were replaced with values and practices which conformed to a colonial idea of civilisation. Baganda converts were given Christian names, marriage rituals were changed, polygamy was denounced as unchristian and Kiganda songs were replaced with Biblical hymns. Those who were later 140 selected to take part in the colonial administration were those who had assimilated themselves to the previously alien culture. As both colonialism and Christianity spread outside of Buganda, the ideologies cut across territorial, Kingdom and clan divides.

The third section of the chapter analysed the infrastructure of literacy as a key “tracklayer” for the establishment of the colonial state. For Mann, a great achievement of the early world religions was their ability to gain control over the infrastructure of literacy. This is the fifth “tracklaying” achievement. The Churches used Arabic and Kiswahili (which had predominantly been introduced by the Muslim traders in the years before the arrival of missionaries) as a basis for creating a literate class of Baganda. The missionaries and readers became the teachers. With the aid of the printing presses in the CMS and White Fathers’ bases, alphabets and the gospels were printed for dissemination. This also led to selected Baganda learning English. The consequences were threefold. First, Luganda became a literate language which then became the lingua franca of the early colonial period. This fact established the dominance of Baganda throughout the territory and particularly the favouritism displayed to them by the colonial officers. Second, the teaching of literacy meant that schools had to be established. The CMS, the White Fathers and the Mill Hill mission were the sole suppliers of Western education until 1925. Christianity established itself as the central component for the education of future Ugandans. Third, those who were fluent in English and later those educated in the missionary schools became essential for the colonial project, the majority of whom in the early years were Baganda. They were given positions as chiefs throughout the territory, and also received positions within the colonial bureaucracy. The Catholic missions had to adapt their education to conform to the Protestant teaching to enable Catholics to have some important positions within the administration, although it was mainly the Protestants who received the most important of these.

The fourth and fifth sections of this chapter dealt with the final few years before Uganda was declared a Protectorate. For Mann, religions make others (people in society) relevant to those in control of power; this is the sixth achievement. Without an ideology to link people, leaders have the ability to wield power as they see fit without recourse to their people. Ideologies, however, connect 141 people, and in turn, give people a reason to mobilise, sometimes against a political leader. Once ideologies are established, leaders have to ensure that the beliefs of the masses are taken into account when devising policies. The two Christian churches established an elite that became powerful not only within Baganda society but also within the colonial infrastructure after 1894. The Kabakas, Mutesa and Mwanga struggled to embrace the new ideologies. Mwanga eventually could not compete with the power which the missionaries and their Christian elite were wielding within Buganda. The result was the violent deaths of converts based within his court. He did not kill all, perhaps showing the frailty of his despotic power (many Christians were hidden or warned by other Baganda), but he attempted to demonstrate the depths he would go to, to keep hold of state power. His actions had the opposite effect. The hitherto unquestionable authority of the Kabaka was being eroded, paving the way for new Baganda elite who were tied to their religion, the missionaries and later to British rule.

The final achievement, as outlined by Mann, is the abilities of those within ideologies to treat non-believers as infidels, and as a result, engage in destructive activities to eliminate them. As the Muslims, Catholics and Protestants turned upon each other to fill the void left by Mwanga’s fall from political power, the missionaries tied themselves to an external military force. The fighting allowed for the entry of Captain Lugard and the Imperial British East Africa Company, at the request of both the Catholics and Protestants. However, it was to the Protestant Baganda that Lugard aligned himself, ensuring they won the battles and then elevating them to important positions of power. He reorganised the political structure of Buganda, rewarding the young, Christian chiefs. The fighting also provided the perfect opportunity for Buganda to enter the radar of both the British public and the British government. Lugard and Bishop Tucker campaigned heavily in Britain for the area to become a Protectorate, on the fundamental basis that the new Christians needed to be protected.

Those wielding ideological power had forged drastic social and political change in pre-colonial Buganda. According to CMS records, by the end of 1896, 300 churches had been established, there were 5000 baptised adults, 15,000 in 142 preparation, 23,000 readers and 100,000 on their way to professing Christianity (Blaikie 1897, 330). However, more importantly, the missionaries had created a new class in Uganda, as Roberts sums up, The bakungu who signed the Agreement 55 were no isolated elite , but the leaders of a rapidly growing community of Christian Baganda, some of whom were themselves teachers and many of whom were literate. Their ardent assimilation of alien culture […] and their familiarity with hierarchical government: all pointed to the Baganda being a considerable asset in the ‘opening up’ of unadministered country, especially when their own form of government was to be introduced (Roberts 1962, 438–9, emphasis in original). Ideological power had laid the tracks for the formation of the Ugandan state.

55 The 1900 Buganda Agreement signed between the British and Baganda, Christian elites, issuing them with land and positions of authority. 143

Chapter Six - The political power of the colonial state

Introduction This chapter focuses on an analysis of political power relations in Uganda. It answers the research question: in what ways has political power contributed to the formation of the Ugandan state? Mann’s framework of social power is used to understand how the colonial state employed political power to maintain control and to analyse the type of state which emerged as a consequence. For Mann, political power is exerted by states at local, regional and national level. He argues that ‘states and not NGOs and others have the centralized-territorial form which makes its rules authoritative for anyone within its territories’ (Mann 2006, 352).

The literature on colonialism in Africa has a dominant narrative which is common in the historiography of this period. Namely, the quest for economic extraction. After the American Civil War, Britain had to look elsewhere for its means to feed the cotton mills in Northern England. Cotton, therefore, became a dominant reason for the maintenance and forms through which colonialism existed in Uganda (Mamdani 1996a). This, along with other raw materials, such as salt, rubber and later coffee, became the raison d'être for British colonialism in Uganda and surplus extraction becomes part of the dominant narrative for this period (Golooba-Mutebi and Hickey 2013). Forms of state formation also feed from the narratives on the disease environments in Africa in general; preventing the establishment of a large cohort of colonial officers and populations (Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson 2001; Lange 2004). Indirect rule through African agents was a necessity of an inhospitable environment. These discourses, however, do not allow for an understanding of the various formations of state power with and through the colony and the actors, apart from the colonial officials, who played a role in this delineations. An application of Mann’s model of political power brings the focus back to the ‘national’ or Ugandan level and its subnational forms to provide a more nuanced understanding of the colonial state.

The analysis depends upon three features of the organisation of political power taken from Mann’s work. First, political power relies upon a bureaucracy which

144 forms the administration of a state. Mann’s characteristics of bureaucracy outlined in chapter three are employed to consider the way the colonial bureaucracy was formed and the features which it exhibited (Mann, 1993, 444). The second assumption claims that states need revenue in order to survive. As a consequence a change in revenue brings about a set of state-forming processes and social change and also affects the types of relationships which the state has with its society (Mann 1984; 1993). It is these aspects which provide the framework for the analysis of Ugandan colonial revenue. Third, Mann’s model of political power is used to analyse the relationship between state, parties and societies (Mann 1993, 57). Through a consideration of assemblies and parties, it is possible to investigate the projection of political power and in particular the extent of infrastructural power. The conclusion finishes with an examination of the type of state which existed in 1962 as Uganda gained independence and considers its infrastructural and despotic forms.

This chapter conceptualises state formation according to a number of the definitions outlined in Chapter Two. First, territoriality features as a means for understanding the reach of the state as this is important to help our thinking on how the colonial state was able to project its power and authority across a region which had never existed as a state before. Second, this territoriality was organised through a social base, in the early period, of colonial agents. Third, formal institutional architecture and fourth, a degree of representation emerge during this period. Finally, with the examination of the funding of the state, we must also see state formation through its modes of intervention. This chapter clearly highlights how state formation cannot be conceptualised as a one- dimensional idea.

Bureaucracy Mann’s model illustrates how the development of bureaucracies is conditioned by multiple levels of power. When considering state power, the organisation of the bureaucracy can tell us a great deal about the power of the state and the type of state which exists. To penetrate into society, the state requires an administrative structure of bureaucrats to carry out its work, enabling it to coordinate more of the social life of its citizens. 145

In empires which extend across large geographical spaces, Mann comments that it was impossible for intensive political rule to be comprehensively projected (Mann, 1986, 133, 142). Therefore, the strategy of ruling through clients was employed to forge extensive political power. 56 This could involve indigenous elites of conquered territories submitting to the empire through formal acceptance and bargaining, with some form of tribute. Then, they are allowed to continue ruling over their own people (ibid., 43). In instances where elites refused to acquiesce to the empire, ‘punitive raids’ were launched and the elite would be replaced by someone more amenable (ibid., 143). The strategy of ruling through clients is also evident in the development of the bureaucracy in colonial Uganda as Kirk-Green (1980) demonstrates. He makes the following assessment of the British colonial administration in Africa, That the ‘Thin White Line’ was exiguous to the point of disbelief may be held now to have been unequivocally proved. Yet that line, however slender, was rarely in danger of being imperceptible or ineffective. Thus the question arises: if not in manpower, where did the strength of the steel frame lie? How did the exemplars of Pax Colonica carry it out? (Kirk-Greene 1980, 38). Bureaucracy in Uganda relied almost exclusively on African agents. In the early years of the colonial administration, these bureaucrats came from the Buganda Kingdom. There are a number of reasons for this. First, the Baganda were admired for their hierarchical structure. This was seen by the first governors as a system which could be transplanted to other areas of Uganda (Kabwegyere 1972). The system was referred to as the Ganda model (Tosh 1978). Second, the colonisers were aware of the resistance to the British from the neighbouring Bunyoro Kitara Kingdom, a long-term rival of the Baganda. The Baganda could be employed as soldiers to defeat this resistance (Kabwegyere 1972). Third, as mentioned in the previous chapter, ideological power, values, norms and identities of some Baganda reflected those of the British.

On a practical level, the use of native elites was essential as the numbers of colonial administrators in Uganda were ‘thin’. Between 1920 and 1960, Uganda had on average four Provincial Commissioners. District commissioners ranged

56 For a discussion of intensive and extensive power, please see chapter three. 146 in numbers from 77 in 1935 to 103 in 1960 (Kirk-Greene 1980, 35). At the time of independence, there were an estimated 120 expatriate District Officers permanently employed in either the districts or in the ministries in Kampala or Entebbe (Brown and Brown 1996, vii).57 Below the district commissioners, the bureaucratic positions were filled by Africans, organised in four levels - the county, sub-county, parish and village level thus enabling the line of political power to extend to the smallest of social units.

As with all empires of conquest, the course of extending the colonial administration was a slow and gradual process. Despite the signing of the Uganda Agreement in 1900, it was not until 1907 that the British started the administrative process in areas such as the Lango in the North (Tosh 1973) and 1912 in Teso District in the East. The sudden spread of cotton growing throughout the Protectorate and the growing international situation with Germany made it necessary to extend the colonial administration subnationally (Ingham 1958). In the interim of establishing a presence and creating a bureaucratic structure, Baganda were used as colonial administrators in most regions (Kibanja, Kajumba, and Johnson 2012). There are some discrepancies in the literature as to the length of time Baganda served as colonial administrators in non-Buganda areas. For Tosh (1973) and Ingham (1958), this was a short and temporary solution before local agents were chosen. Tosh notes that the levels of local administration were ‘locally recruited’ and they were ‘appointed from above’ (Tosh 1973, 478). For Vincent (1977), the Baganda stayed longer, at least a decade in the Teso district for example, to provide administration and then to train the locally appointed chiefs. The Uganda Report of 1913 states, with reference to the Eastern Province, ‘many of the chiefs in the wilder parts have now acquired such control over their people that the Baganda sub-chiefs, who were put in to assist them during the early stages of our administration, have been withdrawn’ (The British Colonial Office 1913, 24).

The hierarchical Buganda system of administration which was transposed to non-kingdom societies in Northern and Eastern Uganda was alien and had no

57 Districts were usually delineated along British perceived tribal lines or in some cases included a number of related tribes (Tosh 1973). 147 resemblance to the structure of society in these regions (Vincent 1977). Despite the discrepancies regarding the length of time Baganda were used, ‘[t]hrough their use of the Baganda to conquer Uganda the British had established a lasting hatred between the Baganda and a sizeable chunk of the rest of Uganda, weak premises on which to build a nation’ (Lwanga-Lunyiigo 1987; Otunnu 2002). In addition, the quote above from the Annual Report emphasises the nature of the local chiefs’ appointment, for they were not the usual leaders in the area nor were they chosen by the people they were tasked to lead. As with Mann’s interpretation of empires, bureaucratic elites were appointed depending upon their ability to agree to the political rule of the Protectorate, if they did not agree, then their positions as local leaders would be filled by someone selected by the British or a Baganda agent would fulfil the role. The bureaucrats were not employed, promoted or dismissed based upon their skills; instead, their allegiances to the colonial state were what mattered.

The process of selecting indigenous elites as clients of political power had to be maintained through generations in order to ensure the colonial state’s power was preserved. As Mann comments with regards to the empires, ‘[i]t was possible [...] to acquire more power by adding diffused power to such authoritative processes. This was to take hostages of the children of the native elite and to “educate” them [...] into the culture of the conquerors’ (Mann 1986, 143). Through their close relationship with ideological sources of power, the colonial state was able to achieve this.

The two main missions, the Catholic White Fathers and the Protestant Church Missionary Society (CMS), ‘acted as the educational agencies of the state’ as demonstrated in the previous chapter (Hansen 1986, 67). The Protestant mission supplied the colonial administration with the educated personnel which the colonials could not provide (Hansen 1986). This was especially prevalent between 1900 and 1912, after these dates, missionary education was rolled out to more sections of society (Ssekamwa 1997). The extension of missionary education in Uganda was closely linked to the cementing of colonial rule (Tiberondwa 1977), and the implementation of diffused political power. Through the use of boarding schools and an emphasis on literary education for the children of Ugandan elites, it was ensured these children were prepared, if not 148 for careers as future leaders, at least to be future administrators, interpreters and teachers for the colonial regime (Ssekamwa 1997).

At the same time increases in ideological power and thus political consciousness for indigenous populations had unintended consequences for the colonial administration. Towards the end of the second full decade of the Protectorate, newly educated Baganda founded the Young Baganda Association in 1919 demanding more from the education system. These demands included an increase in government funding, the establishment of specialised and tertiary educational institutions, better teaching standards, and more co-ordination between the different religious denominations to reduce spending leakages, plus education for Muslims and women (Hansen 1986). For the first time, the colonial administration was forced to establish an educational policy. Therefore, diffused political power can have unintended results for the leading source of political power, extending the political consciousness of those who are willing to challenge the regime, although these were predominantly Baganda.

Mann has found that ruling through others leaves regimes open to rebellion. Local elites who are turned or forced to support the regime are still autonomous, which means they are able to gather together resources to rebel or align themselves to a more attractive rival empire (Mann 1986, 143). That the borders of Uganda had been established by the European empires meant that turning to an alternative coloniser was not an option for Ugandan chiefs or bureaucrats. However, Mann’s analysis does tell us that without large numbers of personnel from the imposing empire, it became possible for local elites to carve out their own structures of self-control in what some call Native Authority (Kabwegyere 1972). Thus establishing small enclaves of political power, linked only to the central state through minimal lines of communication. For example, Mann comments that during the British Empire’s reign over India, it was the elites rather than the masses who benefitted from colonialism (2012, 46). A quarter of the population was ruled indirectly rather than by the British and it was Indian princes who were allocated as the rulers of these areas. They controlled their own budgets, including implementing higher taxes than the British ruled areas (ibid., 46). It was also the African, colonially appointed elites who benefitted 149 from indirect rule in Uganda. The case of taxations depicts this well. First, elite members of Buganda, such as the saza chiefs and landowners, were exempt from the gun tax of three rupees, ensuring that those who were working with the colonial government had the weapons should they need to be deployed.

Second, it was the saza chiefs who were appointed as the collectors of other sources of revenue, such as the hut and poll taxes (Low 1960). Initially, these positions were unsalaried, with land provided in return (Tuck 2006), however, salaries were later introduced for tax collectors, ensuring a link between the colonial government and their appointed chiefs. At the expense of traditional leaders, the political power of these chiefs was secured. As Tuck states, these salaries signified ‘the final step in the first stage of the professionalization of the bureaucracy with a salaried administration of African office holders’ (Tuck 2006, 244). Taxes collected in this way drastically changed the relationships between saza chiefs and the bakopi . ‘From [a relationship] of mutual or reciprocal obligation marked by fluidity to more rigid, hierarchical relations that verged on exploitation’ (Tuck 2006, 245). As Tuck continues, ‘[Governor] Johnston recognized the importance of taxation as a manifestation of political power, and so wanted to make sure that although the taxes were imposed by the British, the bakopi paid them to their chiefs in order to reinforce the chiefs’ direct rule’ (2006, 228–29).

The justice system provides another example of how small enclaves of power were forming within the colonial political administration. Political power according to Mann is exhibited through institutionalised law and coordination of order within a state (Mann 2006; Mann 1984). Behind the law, there can be physical force, however, as Mann comments, ‘in most states it lies well back and is not usually mobilized into lethal action. Political force is usually evoked first as a ritualized, machine-like, rule-governed and non-violent constraint’ (Mann 2006, 353). In Mann’s work, he has investigated this aspect of political power through an analysis of judicial and police institutions, which include law courts and law enforcement agencies (Mann 1993). The legal administration in Uganda was not delineated on the basis of individual regions, instead, it was decentralised through race. Civil justice and “customary” law were created, whereby customary law applied to indigenous people (Mamdani 1996c; 150

Killingray 1986; Mamdani 1996b; Mamdani 2001a) and civil justice to non- Africans.

Customary law was seen as the most acceptable method for projecting order over the indigenous populations. Philip Mitchell, the governor of Uganda between 1935-1940 58 declared that each group of people within the protectorate must ‘possess a general body of social and administrative practices and customs, in fact a common law’ in order for the group to be defined as a group, clan, tribe or unit (Mitchell 1936, 102). The only person with the authority to preside over justice within groups was the colonially appointed chief; the field officials in local areas made the decisions about who these would be (Kabwegyere 1972; Tosh 1978). As Hopkins states, ‘the effective operation of the courts within such a political context becomes itself an administrative imperative, for their disuse diminishes political control and by extension, respect for the political claims of the encroaching power’ (1973, 731). So long as the chiefs maintained the customary court, it did not matter the degree to which they enacted magisterial efficiency (ibid.). As a consequence, a decentralised system of legal administration was institutionalised. As Fallers (1962, 608) argued in the 1950s, this pluralist legal system was maintained throughout the colonial period, while [the] sub-county court is the lowest “court of record” – the lowest court recognized by the statuses of the Uganda Protectorate – there are also three lower levels of “courts” presided over, in ascending order, by the headman of the sub- village, the headman of the village, and the chief of the parish [...]. Although no statute says it must do so, each case must, in customary practice, pass through this hierarchy of unofficial courts before reaching the sub-county court. The civil courts were in place to ensure the legal needs of the central administration and colonial officers, however, the customary courts were formalised, and yet did not answer to any form of central legislation, thus creating different understandings of law in local areas.

58 The role of the governor was to exercise orders & commands from the metropolis and pass them on to the relevant authorities in country (Kabwegyere 1972). 151

In order to summarise the administration and bureaucracy of the colonial state, I now turn to Mann’s five characteristics of a bureaucratic, infrastructural state as presented in his second volume (1993). First, bureaucrats are paid officials, identified by their employed, salaried status and their distinct separation from ownership of office. Although initially Ugandan bureaucrats gained land instead of salaries, throughout the colonial period they were compensated for their duties. Holding weapons and keeping a percentage of taxes or receiving salaries ensured they gained remuneration for acting out the demands of the administration. However, they were also separate from the central administration, not only on a subnational basis, but also through the ways they were allowed to complete their bureaucratic duties. The severe lack of British personnel meant the management of bureaucrats was a difficult task for district commissioners.

Second, bureaucrats are judged upon their work skills that determine promotion or dismissal (Mann 1993). For Uganda, the bureaucrats were promoted or dismissed based upon their allegiances to the colonial regime. Those who resisted, even if they were the traditional leaders, were replaced either with Baganda or other elites who could prove they supported the British. The use of the Christian missionaries for educational purposes also ensured that future generations of compliant Africans were waiting in the wings. The ability to perform their jobs was secondary to this. So long as it did not contradict the needs of the colonial state, the chiefs were left to govern, legislate or collect taxes on their own terms. This analysis demonstrates a weakness in the infrastructural power of the colonial state and hints at an alternative form of political power, namely on a patriarchal basis.

Third, the offices of bureaucrats are situated within departments and have an organised division of work and fourth each department has a clearly defined set of duties but is centrally organised (Mann 1993). This was true in Uganda of bureaucrats working for the central state in Entebbe (Sathyamurthy 1986). A system of ministries was not established until 1955 (Butler Herrick et al. 1969, 185), however, prior to this, government departments had existed, exhibiting an organised division of work. In contrast to Sierra Leone (6.8 per 10,000) and Kenya (7.8 per 10,000), Uganda had a considerably low number of public 152 workers, with only 1.4 per 10,000 for all departments in 1929 (Frankema 2011, 144). Away from the central state though, the picture for colonial administrators was different. As outlined above, colonially appointed chiefs in outlying areas were responsible for a multitude of tasks, including law enforcement, the judiciary and tax collection. With regards to Mann’s fourth characteristic, the duties of bureaucrats were not clearly defined by the central state, leading to diverse administration throughout the colony. Furthermore, the chiefs were responsible for the organisation of labour for building public infrastructure and for enforcing policies from the colonial administrators (Tosh 1973; Low 1962). The allocation of these tasks was organised from the centre, however, the methods through which they interpreted and implemented these tasks were left to the chiefs to decide.

The final characteristic concerned the values of a bureaucracy, which should be independent from those of the administration and society within which it works (Mann 1993, 444). The colonial state in Uganda developed the bureaucrats they wanted through a crystallisation of ideological and political power as family lines went through the missionary education system. The bureaucrats in Uganda were non-independent agents of colonialism. Indeed, to be a member of the bureaucracy, one had to full-heartedly believe in those values of the colonial government (Mann 1993, 444). If they were deemed to no longer support the values of the administration, then they were swiftly replaced. Further, through the use of missionary education as a diffused form of political power, the colonial state could ensure that future leaders and administrators were indoctrinated in the ideals of the Protectorate.

In describing the onset of civilisation in Mesopotamia, Phoenicia and Greece, Mann asserts that multi-power-actor civilisations formed (1986, 76, 190). These civilisations consisted of two levels of power, ‘a number of small political units […] and a broader civilizational “cultural/religious” complex’ (Mann 1986, 75). Granted, the colonial state of Uganda was not a civilisation, but it does exhibit these two levels of power, small political units and a broader political/economic complex through the central administration. The picture of the bureaucracy and administration of colonial Uganda shows the development of decentralised multi-power actors. The colonial state had to project political power throughout 153 the territory, creating a bureaucratic structure based upon hierarchical levels of administration. As Mann points out with this definition, these regimes have to rely upon local or imposed agents through which to rule. Due to the sheer lack of British personnel, it became impossible to govern the administration away from the centre, thus multiple enclaves of political power where chiefs had to tax and maintain control were created. As Mann comments, ‘states were largely coordinating the activities of powerful groups in “civil society”. [...] these groups had considerable powers in their own provincial localities (as had always been the case in extensive historical societies) and sometimes they also possessed a national estate-like organization’ (1986, 511–12). Ugandan elites used political powers bestowed upon them by the colonial elites to gain a degree of influence over the people in their regions whilst at the same time ideological, economic and military powers retained their influence throughout the territory. The establishment of political power through these multiple actors was seen as a necessity to protect the borders of the territory and to ensure that, externally, the British were seen to be maintaining their dominance over the River Nile. This is not to say that the creation of a Ugandan state was solely for this purpose. As Mann points out, there are instances when the distinction between power relations is blurred, overlapping and interacting depending upon what those wielding the power wish to achieve (Mann 2012). As shall be shown, the reasons for maintaining the Protectorate in Uganda changed over time.

Financing the state An infrastructurally powerful state can ‘assess and tax our income and wealth at source, without our consent or that of our neighbours or kin (which states before about 1850 were never able to do)’ (Mann 1984, 189). Taxing society forges the ‘two-way street’ which Mann outlines is key to the development of infrastructural power. Mann continues, ‘revenue indicates [the state’s] relationship to the various power groupings who compose its “civil society”’ (1986, 417). However, more coercive forms of taxation, without the populace gaining something in return, result in a political power which is despotic in nature and open to abuse, sometimes stagnating state-building. As discussed in chapter two, taxation, whether bargained for or coercive, brings with it a host of state forming processes which enable the central administration to reach out beyond its base. A change or increase in revenue demands usually brings about some form of 154 social change, as Mann points out with regards to Europe where ‘[a]ttempts to increase or rationalize revenues caused revolution in France and America, national revolts in Austria, and reform in Britain [...]. At the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth, politics was fiscal struggles, as it had been for centuries’ (1993, 381).

Furthermore, a growth in state infrastructural powers can be assumed when taxation becomes a ‘potent form of social redistribution’, when its collection is legitimate and bureaucratically organised (Mann 1993, 386). In his analysis of powerful states, it was an increased level of warfare which meant that states had to discover new ways of gaining taxation and borrowing, thus forcing them to create links with civil society (ibid, p.66). ‘Revenue clues us in to the state’s relation with power actors in civil society, revealing the extent to which it was insulated from or embedded in civil society power networks’, this projects an indicator of the size of the state when combined with an analysis of the expenditure of the state (Mann 1993, 362).

The Uganda Agreement of 1900 was the first attempt by the British colonisers to establish this kind of infrastructure throughout the Ugandan protectorate. Taxation was not a new instrument of power in Uganda. The Buganda and Bunyoro Kingdoms already had forms of revenue collection (Low 1960; Uzoigwe 1972), which demonstrates why these Kingdoms, particularly the Buganda, were seen by the British as more superior to other groups within the protectorate. The Buganda system had been progressive, with leaders paying more than the bakopi (subsistence farmers) classes, and payment being accepted in kind or in the form of cowrie shells (Tuck 2006). In return, tax payers could expect the Kingdom to provide military and legal protection, and access to land (Tuck 2006). In contrast, the Uganda Agreement implemented a non-progressive form of taxation based upon the monetisation of Buganda society. Two types of taxation were introduced for Africans.59 First a gun tax of three Rupees was levied on all those who wished to own a gun. Second, a hut tax for

59 Taxation was racially segregated. Non-African residents only started to pay taxes in 1919, though different rates and types of taxation were introduced for them (Therkildsen 2006). 155 all married males amounting to three Rupees was installed. 60 For the first couple of years after its introduction, the hut tax was paid in various formats due to the lack of Rupees in circulation at the time. Examples of payment include livestock, produce, bark cloth or even the former currency of cowrie shells. However, after this initial time period, the colonial government insisted upon taxes being paid in cash (Tuck 2006).

By 1902, taxes were also being levied by land owners on tenants, amounting to two Rupees or a month’s labour. Many young men decided to remain unmarried to avoid the hut tax, which resulted in the introduction of a poll tax of two Rupees in 1904/5 which ensured that young, unmarried men who lived away from the family home were caught within the tax net. To the disappointment of the Christian missionaries, this did not help to encourage men to marry. Eventually, towards the end of the decade, the hut tax was replaced with a universal poll tax which applied equally to all men.

In return, the tax payer received little benefit. The annual colonial report for Uganda, presented to both Houses of Parliament in January 1913 can provide an insight into revenue and expenditure at one point in the colonial period, thus providing an insight into the extent of state infrastructural reach. It mentions the increases in Poll Tax in the Buganda Kingdom, Bunyoro District and the Eastern Province, stating that the increase is ‘due in part to the greater prosperity of the native population owing to the development of the cotton industry, and in part to increased administrative control’ (The British Colonial Office 1913, 4). In the same year, expenditures included the construction of the Busoga Railway and the purchase of steamers and lighters for the Lake Kioga waterway; however, these were funded by a loan from the Imperial funds and by surplus balances respectively. The revenue which had been collected from taxes was used for the ‘general development’ of the Protectorate (ibid., 5), but not returned in welfare to Ugandans.

It is perhaps due to the lack of benefits for the taxpaying population that Governor Johnston insisted that it would be the chiefs who would collect the

60 Traditional currency of Cowries was replaced in 1900 with Rupees which was converted to the East African Shilling in 1921. The Ugandan Shilling came into existence in 1966. 156 taxes without the use of police officers or soldiers, emphasising that the collection of taxes should be treated as a sensitive issue: the need for gentle and prudent measures… for several years to come until the Natives of the Protectorate have come to realise the advantages of a civilised administration and the fairness in principle of native contribution towards the expenses of the Administration (Johnston 1900, quoted in Low 1960, 99). Furthermore, as it has been emphasised in the previous section, using chiefs helped create a distance between the people and the colonial state, ensuring any demands for infrastructure in return for taxes were placed upon the chiefs rather than the central colonial administration.

Returning to Mann’s theorisation of taxation and its relationship to state political power, the collection of taxes from the African population contributed numerous ways for the colonial government to extend its political power in the region. First, taxation involved the monetisation of society. With the introduction of the Rupee and the gradual discouragement of the use of cowries, the new currency seeped into the Baganda and then Ugandan economy. The obvious problems of such a change ensued, including uneven exchange rates, the lack of small domination Rupees to pay for goods and the realisation by Bakopi that in order to buy goods they would have to sell something to raise Rupees (Mamdani 1976; Tuck 2006). As is discussed below, a cash crop economy was introduced, particularly in cotton (Tuck 2006; Jamal 1978). The administration believed that the higher the taxes on Ugandans, the more incentive they would have to cultivate cash crops to pay their taxes. Second, taxation encouraged the formalisation of the colonial bureaucracy which was described in the previous section. Third, the formalisation of the administration meant that the male population could be counted (Doyle 2000);61 thus enabling the state to become aware of its own civil society.

According to Mann, taxing civil society increases infrastructural power; in return for taxes, people place demands on the state for public services. Mann mentions the case of the welfare state after World War II in Britain which

61 These numbers were never quite accurate, as Doyle (2000) has pointed out false ages for males were often given to avoid paying tax. 157 included the introduction of the National Health Service, 800,000 public houses and nationalised industries in return for the sacrifices made during the war, including increases in taxation (Mann 2013, 57, 133). In contrast, the Ugandan population received little in return for their taxes exhibiting low infrastructural power. Doyle mentions how only in the 1930s did the colonial government eventually decided to build hospitals in the Bunyoro Kingdom, despite Nyoro paying considerably high amounts of taxation throughout the colonial period (Doyle 2000). Even then, the hospitals were seen as a necessity due to the decline in the Nyoro population to illnesses and diseases, rather than as a consequence of people paying taxes (Doyle 2000, 446).

The collection of taxation from the indigenous populations demonstrates a coercive form of taxation, this can be exemplified with the Bukedi riots in 1960 (Therkildsen 2006). The riots resulted in the destruction of property in the area, including that belonging to chiefs and councillors and the deaths of fifteen people, including two chiefs (Roper 1996). The disturbances were a result of the use of violence and high increases in taxation without justification by chiefly tax collectors. As Roper (1996, 13) states, ‘It was becoming increasingly evident that the number of police and administrative officers from Mbale and Tororo, augmented as they were by reinforcements from other Districts of the Eastern Province, were inadequate to cope with the spread of disorder and violence’, and it was only with the deployment of the King’s African Rifles that the disturbances could be quelled.

For those who refused or could not pay their taxes, there were a number of responses. First, in the early years after the Uganda Agreement non-tax paying males were forced to provide free labour for government projects such as the building of roads or installing telegraph poles (Tuck 2006). In more extreme cases, the police were used to coerce or threaten people, this included kidnapping wives or beating those who had not paid. The use of violence was common (Therkildsen 2006). In other instances, livestock and other goods were taken as compensation for non-payment. Mann comments that ‘[a]s long as they delivered the asked-for total, [these] methods were their own affair’ (1986, 281). Not only does a system like this mean there is not a ‘single locus of legitimacy’ within a state, but it also means there are relationships between the 158 state, elites and the people which are not fully institutionalised, creating what Mann has termed a ‘power standoff’.

Revenue of the state does not have to just include direct taxation of its populace; it may also include collecting revenue from other sources, principally gaining a hold over economic power relations and ensuring the state benefits from this. ‘The development of fiscal machinery’ contributes to the enhancement of the central state’s power (Mann 1986, 432–33). As with direct taxation, a number of consequences result from indirect taxes on other sources. In fourteenth century England, the best source of revenue for the state was the wool export tax (ibid., 432). In return for the tax, the state (in this case the King) developed relations with merchants, ensuring that the English wool trade route was protected either through military or geopolitical means. Furthermore, through this coordination of economic activities, the state began to guarantee ‘rights and privileges’ (Mann 1986, 416). However, in this particular instance, state power was starting to emerge from a feudal form into what Mann terms as a centralised, territorial state. I return to this taxonomy and its applicability to the Uganda Protectorate at the end of this section.

The Ugandan colonial state had to fund itself; as a consequence, protectorate self-sufficiency relied upon economic performance (Youé 1978). The main means through which this was achieved was by cultivating cash crops, cotton in particular (Fjeldstad and Therkildsen 2008; Therkildsen 2006; Youé 1978; Nayenga 1981), but also with coffee (Mamdani 1987; Carswell 2003). The first Director of Agriculture for Uganda, Samuel Simpson, commented in 1917 that ‘cotton [was] the real maker of the Protectorate’ (quoted in Youé, 1978: 165). Although, it was only after a railway had been established from the African east coast to Uganda that the full potential of cotton could be realised (Thompson 2003). Not only did the cultivation of cotton by peasant farmers mean they could pay the personal taxes outlined above (Mamdani 1987), but export taxes could be gained from this resource, thus financing the state. Further, cotton production in Uganda had an impact externally by creating a market in Uganda for foreign manufactured goods and also reduced Britain’s reliance on the United States to supply Lancashire’s cotton mills (Nayenga 1981). By 1915, through the export of cotton to Britain and India, the Uganda Protectorate was 159 financially supporting itself. The cotton tax and consequently, the import tax on consumer goods enabled the colonial office to justify the existence of the Uganda protectorate. In this year for example, the Protectorate received just £10,000 as Grant-in-Aid, compared to £96,000 five years earlier; in contrast, revenue (excluding Grant-in-Aid) rose from £191,094 to £282,831 over the same timeframe (Youé, 1978, p. 178).

For Mann, the direction of economic power can impact the type of state which is formed. In Uganda, the new mode of production, i.e. a cash crop economy, was initiated from the centre, with the colonial government handing out the cotton seeds, establishing the terms of mailo land and delegating chiefs to control areas of land and the production of cotton within this (Youé 1978). State regulation and laws thus followed in order to ‘transform its noncapitalist African subjects into landowners and wageowners’ (Vincent, 1989, p. 159). The initial Masters and Servants Ordinance (No. 19) of 1913, guarenteed that chiefs were provided with labour to work the land. External pressure from the International Labour Orgainsation and questions raised in the House of Commons meant that this law was repealed in the early 1920s (ibid.). However, other laws such as the Registration of Titles Ordinance, a Post Office Ordinance and the Uganda Credit and Savings Bank Ordinance established the legal framework for the state to regulate economic power (ibid.). In turn, Baganda customary law of kasanvu and luwalo were also integrated throughout the country to ensure a supply of labour (Vincent 1989, 161).62 The Cotton Rules of the same period were introduced to maintain the quality of the cotton being sent to England. Ginning in particular became regulated, pushing out the small entrepreneurs and favouring those who had the capacity and large capital to ensure such quality (Mamdani 1976, 77–78). As a result, political power regulated economic power and set the rules of the game with little negotiation from the people it governed.

The introduction of cash crop production meant that relations between the chiefs and peasants ebbed and flowed, having effects on the means and methods of production. For example as in Europe, famines and plagues

62 Kasanvu involves able-bodied men working on public projects unpaid for one month in each year. Luwalo meant that men had to give another month’s unpaid work to their local chief. 160 reversed the scarcity of land and the abundance of labour, meaning that peasants could acquire greater access to land and increase their own surplus of products, diminishing the stealthy control which landlords had possessed prior (Mann 1986, 410). With the introduction of a cash-crop economy in Uganda, Africans, in particular the Bakopi in Buganda, were forced to grow cotton by the chiefs (Wrigley 1970). However, according to Wrigley, the economic rewards of growing cotton soon created a momentum leading to individuals growing their own, without chiefly direction (ibid.). Further, the demand to pay taxes ensured individuals had no other option but to grow a cash-crop (Baffes 2009; Bowles 1975). That all male Africans had to pay taxes resulted in a substantial amount of population movement. People from areas outside of Buganda, Bunyoro or Busoga, where cotton struggled to grow, unconciously created the commodification of labour as they moved to these regions for farming work (Powesland 1957).

The growth of a cotton based economy relied upon the colonial state building better transport infrastructures (roads and railways) and the construction of cotton ginneries in Uganda (Nayenga 1981). Alliances had to be formed with certain sections of Ugandan society, in particular middle men such as cotton ginners, of which Asian (Indian) migrants made up a significant proportion (Jamal 1976). As Mamdani points out, ‘the Asian commercial bourgeoisie became the principle intermediary in the imperialist exploitation of the colony’ (1976, 65–66). Moreover, as the state encouraged Asians and Europeans to establish ginneries (Nayenga 1981), a large divide grew between them and African farmers (Jamal, 1976, p. 607-8). Furthermore, European coffee and rubber plantations had emerged in the Buganda, Busoga and Bunyoro regions (Youé 1978). By 1915, a total of 17,063 acres were devoted to crops in these areas (Wrigley 1970, 30). As a consequence, Sir Robert Coryndon, who became governor in 1918, made it his policy not only to maintain the cash crop production of cotton by Africans but also to ensure that a plantation economy was established to avoid a reliance upon a single export crop (Youé 1978).

Despite the introduction of European planters, cotton remained King within Uganda (Thompson 2003). As Youé’s (1978) detailed account of Governor’s Coryndon’s economic policies in the late teens and early twenties tells us, the 161 planters were placated but when they were in crisis, especially in the years following World War I, they were never bailed out. Instead, Coryndon coverted with Lancashire’s business owners and ensured that cotton production remained Uganda’s priority. Although, this did not mean that the Africans who were working in this field were given any preferential treatment. The changing nature of peasant labour provides an example of not only the preferential treatment given to cotton but also the dynamism of the bakopi ’s relationships with those deemed higher than them in social ranking. By 1913, Buganda was facing a labour shortage, and the increase in planters in the area was blamed as the source of the problem, increasing wage rates and creating longer term contracts for workers (Powesland 1957, 20). This was also impacting the government’s ability to gain workers for kasanvu. Further, when prices of cotton reduced, peasant farmers formed growers associations or opted to grow coffee instead where they could command better prices. The pressure placed on the colonial government by peasant growers meant that the Protectorate introduced not only a minimun price for cotton in the early 1940s, but negotiated bulk- buying in England and took upon itself to market Ugandan cotton (Bowles 1975, 53).

This section has shown how the colonial state attempted to gain political power through the control and regulation of economic power relations. Political power, as Mann has pointed out, is synonymous with state power, however, in order for the state to function, it needs to be fed. Mann makes the following comment about the state in the late middle ages and renaissance eras ‘[t]he surviving fiscal records enable us to perceive clearly the role of the English state during this period, and the states’ role in the rise of European capitalism and European civilization more generally’ (1986, 511). For the Ugandan colonial state, its functions were economic and domestic, in that it had to be self-sufficient. The introduction of domestic taxation on its populace and the establishment of a cash-crop economy based primarily on peasant cotton growers had a number of impacts on the development of the Ugandan state. The monetisation of society, the establishment of a fiscal administrative system, the creation of a semi-class structure (i.e. those exempt from taxes and those who were not, better described as a distinct racial-fiscal structure), the construction of a communication and transport network and state regulations of the economy 162 helped to extend the infrastructure of the colonial state. After only twenty years, Uganda was a self-sufficient colony. As the table below shows, by the late fifties, the Protectorate was gaining 15% of its revenue from cotton, 9% from coffee export taxes and a further 9% from the poll tax.

Table 8. Colonial government sources of revenue in Uganda, in £1000s 1927 1937 1947 1956/7 1965/66 Customs and excise 348 667 1827 6404 19136 Non-African income 13 30 399 3346 4554 tax African poll tax 513 580 662 2542 5103 Export tax on cotton 51 133 901 4338 1612 Export tax on coffee - - 90 2732 3304 Total all taxes 996 1498 4098 20359 36730 Total all revenue 1292 1960 5331 27398 57172 Adapted from Jamal (1978, 423, 430).

Self-sufficiency fulfilled the Protectorate’s purpose; cotton lined the pockets of the capitalists in the country and in the metropolis. As with the change from a feudal to a capitalist mode of production, the Protectorate government carved out an economy based on capital, originating from the centre but organised on a decentralised basis. Local leaders, i.e. colonially appointed chiefs and landlords, were responsible for organising the distribution of cotton seeds and land in their areas and for the collection of taxes. They were also responsible for the punishments for non-compliance. In England, the change from feudalism to capitalism coincided with the emergence of centralised and territorial states. In Uganda, the policies may have been domestic, but they were orientated from the outside, ensuring long-term export of quality cotton and the creation of a domestic market for imported goods (Mamdani 1976, 65). The state existed territorially in economic terms, but it was certainly not centralised. Mamdani (1976, 107–8) comments that, ‘[t]he history of capitalism in Uganda was very different from that of early capitalist Europe. It was not national capitalism but colonial capitalism.’ A Mannian analysis shows that the relationships between different economic power holders, such as landlords and peasants; the alliances made between the state and middle men; and the attempts by the 163 state to regulate economic power show that the dynamics of a state attempting to secure its own finances demonstrate a state directing from the centre with a heavy reliance on decentralised organisation.

Representation Mann comments that modern states are not just about the state penetrating civil society through ‘law and administration’, but also about civil society in the form of citizens, pressure groups and parties penetrating the state (1993, 57). The notion of legitimising a state therefore ‘principally concerns relations among rulers, parties, and the nation’ (Mann 1993, 57). Within his concept of infrastructural power, representation provides a two-way street for the construction of collective political power through assemblies and political parties.

Mann’s theorisation of the eighteenth-century European state sheds more light on the relations between the state, assemblies and parties (1993, 108). During this period, there were two states within a territory, first, the monarchical elite, working autonomously in the centre; second, networks which radiated out of the centre through to civil society, which Mann calls parties. He continues, ‘these parties rendered the state polymorphous, crystallizing in plural forms as party networks, lying both outside and inside state institutions, mobilized to influence them’ (1993, 108). For example, in Prussia these state institutions included the administrative system, in England, the parliament. Therefore, these countries had ‘stabilized institutions that directly “represented” dominant classes and churches. Thus if civil society began to generate new, broader pressures, these could potentially feed through parties directly into central state institutions’ (Mann 1993, 109–10). In contrast, due to the autonomy of Austrian and French elites, the states were not as adept at embedding dominant classes in state institutions, making them less able to cope with unexpected pressures from civil society (Mann 1993, 109). The following section provides an analysis of this relationship between the central state and society in colonial Uganda. It considers the strength of state institutions, in particular, representative assemblies, and their ability to enable parties to penetrate the state.

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The first parliament of Uganda was established in 1921 and named the Legislative Council (LegCo) (Mutibwa 1992; Low 1962). It was not established through demands from the African population, instead the colonial administration responded to demands from the European community residing in the country, notably the Uganda Chamber of Commerce and the Uganda Planters’ Association (Ingham 1958). These groups wanted a say in what they saw as unjust ordinances being introduced by the government. Despite a very small number of Asians being allowed to sit on the Legislative Council in the 1930s, real representation for Ugandans did not come until a decade later. Ingham notes that it was ‘a matter of regret’ that the government did not take this opportunity to forge a link with Ugandan Africans, however, he continues by stating, ‘[o]n the other hand, it might have proved difficult to find men in each part of the Protectorate with the qualifications necessary for a Council member’ (1958, 173). In 1946, three Ugandans were allowed to sit on the council with numbers slowly increasing thereafter (Pratt 1960; Ibingira 1973).63

Ibingira asserts that the introduction of Africans to the Legislative Council was initiated by the colonial government as recent riots had forced the issue and it was ‘persuaded by its conscience’ (1973, 33). The British still believed that the Ugandan population were ignorant of the good which the Protectorate was trying to do for the country, allowing Africans onto the LegCo could help alleviate this. The literature has been clear to point out that the riots were caused by political and economic reasons, although it is much more ambiguous about who was involved, with some calling it solely a Baganda affair (Mutibwa 2008; Mutibwa 1992; Low 1962), whilst others claim that although the disturbances started in Buganda, they spread throughout the country (Thompson 2003).

According to numerous scholars (Pratt 1960; Ingham 1958; Ibingira 1973), despite the introduction of Africans to the LegCo, it was still seen as a British ‘affair’ by Ugandans. This was augmented by their initial exclusion from the council and the fact that those who were installed in LegCo positions already had close ties with the colonial administrators and by 1951, only five Africans had senior posts in Protectorate departments. Pratt continues, ‘[t]here were,

63 The districts from the Northern region did not have any representation until 1948. 165 therefore, in these crucial years no serious efforts made to build the institutions and to train the men for the self-government that would come far sooner than Entebbe dared to admit’ (1960, 284). Further, as a consequence of this, the political energies of Africans were channelled into the local institutions and once established, the local governance system. Once again, as with Mann’s assessment of the political structure of parliaments in nineteenth-century Europe, political power was not inclusive, with only the colonial governing elite in the central circle of power.

It was not until 1958 that direct general elections to the Legislative Council took place, although at this stage, Buganda, Ankole and Busiga did not take any part in the elections, opting for various reasons to continue with non-elected members (Mutibwa 2008; Low 1962).64 In total 626,000 voters took part in the election, a significant number compared to elections in Kenya a year earlier which had only 127,000 voters. After this election the 1959 Constitutional Committee recommended a significant increase in the number of elected representatives to the LegCo, numbering about one representative for 70- 90,000 people, making 80 representative members (Ibingira 1973, 94–95). Further elections followed in 1961 and then 1962 after independence.

Mann explains that once political power is centralised, power to resolve political conflicts and rule-making from the churches and landlords to the parliament is removed. The creation of a system of local governance in Uganda helped to ensure that this type of centralisation did not happen despite Africans sitting on the LegCo and the introduction of elections in the later colonial period. As early as 1935, a local council was trialled in Teso; further the Baganda had had their Lukiiko for many years before. 65 In 1947, the Governor of Uganda, Sir John Hall, stated in correspondence to the Colonial Secretary that, the development of indigenous political institutions in the Protectorate has been uneven, with the state of Buganda taking

64 The Baganda Lukiiko could not agree terms with the Protectorate on the details of holding direct elections; in Ankole, the Protestant representatives chose not to have elections for fear of Catholics being elected; and Bugisu wanted to increase the number of Ugandan representatives who sat on LegCo, this was refused so they chose not to have elections in protest (Low 1962: 27). 65 Although it could be argued that the Baganda Lukiiko was a national council for the Buganda Kingdom, a state itself before the creation of the British Protectorate. 166

the lead. It is therefore a matter of prime importance to devise some unifying process which, over a period of years, will tend to produce a sense of common interest and of common purpose – and later, it is hoped, of common nationality – and at the same time to encourage, and not impede, the growth and development of indigenous political institutions... The Uganda Government hopes to find this unifying process [...] at the levels of province, district, county, parish and village (Sir John Hall quoted in Apter 1961: 237). As a consequence, a system of decentralisation was deemed by the Protectorate government the most effective method of unifying the country. At the same time, demands were being made on the colonial government to provide some means through which Ugandans could air their grievances. Along with the riots of 1945, the sacrifices made by Ugandans for two World Wars were forcing the issue.

The African Local Governance Ordinance of 1949 realised the aims of Sir John Hall. Councils were created in every district and a small number of directly elected Africans admitted onto these district councils (Apter 1961; Mamdani 1976). Further, a few years later, The Wallis Report (Report of an Inquiry into African Local Government in the Protectorate of Uganda 1953) instigated the District Administrations Ordinance of 1955 which resulted in local district councils having elected members (Kabwegyere 1995; Mamdani 1976). For the colonial government, decentralisation was seen as a method for directing the anti-colonial sentiment and anxieties of an increasingly educated youth to local councils and containing this at a local level (Apter 1961). Further, it was hoped that greater representation would bring about the idea that Africans had to be responsible for their own local affairs (ibid.). However, at the local level, the election of ‘primarily petty bourgeois intellectuals (teachers) [and] traders’ to these councils was seen as undermining the authority of colonially appointed chiefs (Mamdani 1976, 194). For this new section of society, the councils were seen as an opportunity to discuss issues which affected the local, rural population (Golooba-Mutebi 1999). By the mid-1950s, an overwhelming number of seats in these councils were occupied by non-officials, i.e. people who were

167 not employees of the civil administration, creating an outlet for Ugandans to partake in political life (Low 1962), albeit only on a local level.

The colonial leaders’ sentiment seemed far removed from the British Labour government’s policy towards local governance, which they saw as a ‘training ground’ for democracy in the colonies (Apter 1961, 234; Gertzel 1974). However, it is important to note here that this type of democracy was introduced from the top-down. As Golooba-Mutebi argues, ‘[t]here was neither public demand for it, nor a public able to make it work for them in the same way it worked for people elsewhere’ (1999, 65). In essence, decentralisation in the colonial period and the structures that remained in the twenty or so years after independence created political power through bureaucracy rather than through political representation. The form of decentralisation established by the Protectorate was abolished in 1966, as all executive powers were transferred to the President and the constitution was made redundant (Kiwanuka 2012).

As Mann has outlined, the link between the central state and its citizens is political parties. Political parties have the ability to work within and outside of the state, thus forging a connection with the people they represent, whilst placing checks on the government. For example, in Britain and Australia at the end of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the working class, through their membership to unions were starting to elect people to parliament who were also union members representing their interests throughout the urban populations (Mann 2012, 293). Bolstered by the First World War, the Labour party profited where other parties were lagging behind in workers’ rights.

In the aftermath of the 1940s riots in Uganda, a ‘bewildering number’ of political organisations started to form (Mamdani 1976, 205). In Buganda, the Bataka Union emerged in the months during the riots. Formed mainly as a rural farmers’ association, it advocated for Baganda nationalism and looked to traditional ideals and values. Ironically, though, the union stood firmly against the Kabaka due to his support of the Protectorate and colonial elites (Apter 1961; Pratt 1960). The Union has been described as a movement rather than a political party, although this term is sometimes applied to the Bataka (Pratt 1960; Apter 1961; Ingham 1958). Mutibwa (1992) claims that the first official 168 political party in Uganda was established in 1952, named the Uganda National Congress (UNC). Other parties soon followed in Buganda, such as the Democratic Party (DP) in 1954; and the Progressive Party in 1955. Each had a religious bias and were all based in Buganda with Baganda leadership. 66 The UNC did extend across to other regions of Uganda, although in many instances goals varied widely and it failed to gather pace as a national party and a split occurred in 1957 (Sathyamurthy 1986). The main non-Baganda party formed in 1958 and was called the Uganda People’s Union (UPU). It was extremely anti- Baganda in its ideology and make-up (Mutibwa 1992). This party aimed to extend its reach across the districts of all of Uganda (apart from Buganda) and was a ‘direct reaction to the establishment in a strong position within Buganda of the Baganda neo-traditionalists’ (Low 1962, 29). The party was led by Milton Obote, the future President of Uganda.

The evidence above shows that up until 1960, a national party which represented all Ugandans was never firmly established, unlike other African nations such as Ghana and Nigeria. The Report of the Uganda Constitutional Committee (1959) outlined a number of reasons why this was so, including a lack of elections; highly educated people were employed by the civil service which prevented party politics activities; decentralisation reinforced tribal units; and the fact that a common language did not exist (Low 1962). For Low, there are a number of other reasons why a national party did not exist until a couple of years preceding independence. Writing in 1962, he implies that the relationship between Ugandans and Europeans was harmonious. In his opinion, discrimination against Ugandans did not exist, the economy functioned well for Ugandans and there were plenty of opportunities for educated Ugandans to participate in the higher echelons of society (1962, 14). For Low, it would have been a lack of these provisions which would have forged Ugandan discontent. As he continues, if these issues did arise, they were on a regional basis, such as in Buganda in the 1940s. This justification fails to account for the fact that parties did exist as the table below shows, they were simply not unified, but

66 The UNC and Progressive Party were Protestant-dominated parties, the DP predominantly Catholic. The Progressive Party is described as a Royalist party; attempting to preserve traditional Baganda life, the DP was more open in its remit appealing to Catholics outside of Baganda (Sathyamurthy 1986). 169 based on regional alliances instead, reflecting the colonial administrative structure.

Political parties did emerge, but with a sub-national character. The first national party was formed through an amalgamation of the UNC and UPU in 1960 to create the Uganda People’s Congress (UPC) with Obote as President-General (Sathyamurthy 1986). Although it was not popular in Buganda, its presence extended throughout the Ugandan territory. Further, it joined forces with another Buganda based party which was created in 1961, the Kabaka Yekka (KY). The Kabaka Yekka party was Royalist and Protestant in character, but was firmly positioned within Buganda. It was these two parties which formed the coalition in the national elections in April 1962, six months prior to independence (ibid., 399). The table below provides an outline of the political parties which were established in the years leading to independence, their region of origin, religious affiliation and main political aims.

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Table 9. Overview of political parties in Uganda during the Protectorate Party Date Region Religious Ideology established affiliation Bataka Union 1945 Buganda No specific Against Kabaka and affiliation Colonial appointment of chiefs, promote Baganda nationalism Uganda 1952 Mainly Protestant “Self-Government National Buganda, Now” (Ibingira 1973). Congress militant members elsewhere Democratic 1954 Buganda Catholic Self-government Party Progressive 1955 Buganda Protestant Buganda self- Party government Uganda 1958 Uganda Not Anti-Baganda People’s Union (not identified Buganda) Uganda 1960 Uganda Not National unity. People’s wide identified Congress Kabaka Yekka 1961 Buganda Protestant Anti-Democratic Party, support for Kabaka

It took the First World War for political power to fully reach the hands of Europe’s citizens. Mann comments, ‘the war did have a silver lining: it weakened rule by the elders and betters’, he continues, ‘[w]hether the masses experienced victory or defeat, their participation and sufferings were now to change the world and their own aspirations for the future’ (2012, 166). However, for the masses in Uganda, such opportunities of forming a united front against the colonial power or at least being able to participate on an equal footing in the politics of the central state were thwarted. Indirect rule and the conscious effort 171 by the colonial state to keep the masses at bay meant that political power remained decentralised. Even when parties started to exist, this political organisation meant that it became difficult for political ideologies or economic grievances to be shared throughout the country.

Conclusion This chapter has used Mann’s framework of political power to cast light on the type of state which formed during almost seventy years of colonialism. Through an analysis of three components of political power – the bureaucracy, state revenue and political representation – and comparison with Mann’s own analysis of political power in different eras and contexts, it has been possible to draw a picture of the complex nature of the Ugandan state.

This framework provides us with a number of ways for describing this type of state. First and foremost, colonial Uganda exhibits characteristics of decentralised multi-power-actors (Mann 1986). By independence in 1962, the territorially bounded state of Uganda existed in geographical terms; it was a state, albeit a colonial state. There were a number of common characteristics which this state shared throughout the territory by the time of independence. First, there existed a weak, but present demonstration of infrastructural power in the Ugandan colonial state. Through the establishment of a bureaucratic structure, an administration of sorts existed. This structure ensured that the colonial state's goals of gaining revenue and a judicial structure could be achieved. Second, the state was supported by networks of ideological power. Particularly, it worked in conjunction with the Protestant church to ensure the development and maintenance of a colonially biased civil service. Third, the state was funded through its implementation of a cash-crop economy and its control of this economic power. Even if cotton was not grown in certain regions, such as the North, it was the people from these areas which supplied labour for the central areas.

Within this infrastructure of a territorial state, there existed smaller territories of power. The most notable example is that of the Buganda Kingdom. The dominance of this region and the power which it could autonomously wield within and outside of the state (through Baganda agents) demonstrate clearly 172

Mann’s classification of a multi-power actor civilisation. The decentralised nature of colonial indirect rule meant that in other regions, where hierarchical structures of power had not existed in pre-colonial times, small enclaves of political power formed. Chiefs, who were appointed by colonial administrators, were given a free reign to collect taxes, rule, hand out justice and punish as they wished. Through the decentralised nature of local governance and as representatives of the colonial authority they were also the people Ugandans turned to when they felt they were being disadvantaged. Further, the lack of unity between areas, the creation of a distinct hierarchical structure on a regional level and the division of labour meant that political parties also formed in a decentralised fashion. By the time of independence, a national front did not exist, certainly not on the scale of other colonies such as Kenya.

Second, Mann’s framework tells us that the Ugandan colony was domestic in nature, it had no power on a geopolitical scale, and yet, it had clear domestic objectives to meet which were set by an external and distant metropolis. These objectives were two-fold. First, the Protectorate had to become self-sufficient. Apart from its strategic importance for the River Nile, there was no other reason for the colony to be of great value to Britain. The second objective came as a result of the first, to ensure Britain’s reliance upon American cotton was overcome. As a consequence, a cash-crop economy was established. Not only did this meet the needs of the Lancashire cotton mills, but the export of cotton provided much needed revenue for the running of the state. Further, by creating a cash-crop economy, the state could accrue more revenue as peasants were able to pay their taxes through cotton sales and consequently, have money to buy imported goods. The infrastructures of the state grew through further communication and transport networks, the monetisation of society, and the extension of the bureaucratic structure. Though, these infrastructures were weak. The domestic policies and regulations were implemented only to serve the needs of the coloniser. The two-way street of infrastructural power, i.e., the people receiving something in return, was never properly realised apart from token elections towards the end of the era and the odd small concession.

Third, Mann’s work tells us that the colonial state of Uganda was small. It was infrastructurally and despotically weak - it did not consistently use military 173 means to achieve its objectives. Distributive power existed, but this was usually undertaken through the colonial agents in the smaller enclaves of the colony. Therefore, considering Mann’s analysis of European states, it is possible to say that the political power of the colonial state was on a par with a feudal system of state power. Thompson comments about Uganda, using Mann’s model, We search in vain for ‘despotic power’ in the Uganda Protectorate. And how could the British, through the agency of this particular colonial state, ‘penetrate and organise’ such a society as they found in Uganda. [...] Was this despotism? Hardly. The price of unpopular intervention, of ‘penetration and organization’ beyond consent and tolerance of society, was to be a popular rejection of African chiefly authorities employed as agents of the British, which threatened the collapse of the fragile concept of legitimacy and the fragile structure of political collaboration (Thompson 2003, 16–17). The analysis of political power in the colonial state has shown that through the British attempts to create a state which met its economic considerations, the Protectorate formed into a small, weak state, which is perhaps all the British really needed to achieve – minimal effort with maximum profit. In turn, they also created a decentralised multi-power-actor state. Fundamentally, this was due to the small number of colonial, British employees, with the state handing out political power to African agents. As a consequence, many enclaves of power functioned under the remit of the colonial state, yet these enclaves acted almost entirely independently, with chiefs creating the rules by which their people should live. Ugandans hardly had the opportunity to interact on a local level with these enclaves, let alone on a national level with the colonial government. For those who were now tied into the identity of being “Ugandan”, there was not a nation, nor any kind of structure through which to build one. By 1962 the state was fragmented and bifurcated and driving along a path towards state destruction.

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Chapter Seven - The militarism of the Ugandan state

Introduction Mann defines military power as ‘the social organization of concentrated and lethal violence’ (2012, 11); it kills. Since a ‘lethal threat is terrifying, military power evokes distinctive psychological emotions and physiological symptoms of fear, as we confront the possibility of pain, dismemberment, or death’ (ibid, 11). As was outlined in the conceptual framework chapter, for Mann, military power is threefold: control, organisation and functions (1993, 402–3). The table in chapter three outlined the full list of questions under each of these headings. 67 Through these tools of analysis, he theorised domestic repression, describing four levels of military power used by states to control civil society which will be used to examine military power in this period in Uganda (1993; 2005; 2011). In the first, public order is controlled without repression through acts of ‘conciliation, arbitration, and persuasion ’ (1993, 403, emphasis in original). At this level, the threat of death is non-existent. At the second level, state discipline requires only simple weapons, without military involvement with public order controlled through a police force. At the third level, policing fails to keep control over disorder and the army or other paramilitary formations are deployed to disperse rioters. Here, violence is used as a form of repression and people may be displaced (Mann 2005, 12). Finally, the fourth level is full-scale military repression. Disorder in this case is met by fighting and lethal weapons; both sides possess great military power meaning that the outcome is never certain to be in the state’s favour (Mann 1993, 403–4). The results are mass deaths through war, civil war, lethal repression or systematic reprisals (Mann 2005, 12). In addition, military power may be used by non-state actors to challenge or resist the power of the state, forging alternative sources of military power, which may eventually be repressed by the state or alternatively, may supersede the state (Mann 2008).

Independent Uganda is characterised and often dominated by the exploits of one man, Idi Amin Dada and the consequential violence which ensued since the country gained freedom from colonialism (Mutibwa 1992). Aside from the violence, the literature focuses on the economic decay of Amin’s regime and his

67 See page 84. 175 expulsion of the Asian population, resulting in further degradation of the economy (Jamal 1976). Indeed, when the development literature examines the state of the country when Museveni came to power in 1986, reference is often made to its ‘decay’ and ‘third world disaster’, spouting not just violence and financial mismanagement as problems, but also the collapse of government services (implying that a functioning one existed during the colonial period), severe public health issues and the rise of corruption and the black-market (Hansen and Twaddle 1988). This chapter does not refute the violence and destruction which existed during this period, indeed, the focus is Mann’s understanding of military power. However, the chapter uses Mann’s theorisation of the control, organisation and functions of military power to explain the penetration and social bases of the state for elites to achieve their goals, impacting the form of the state. The analysis is also unique in its attention to the Obote I and II periods and the state-making actions in the Luwero Triangle during the period forcing us to re-assess the prominence of Amin during the period.

The following quote in Kibanja et al. (2012) sums up clearly the way in which military activities became the source through which people sought to achieve social power in Uganda throughout the majority of the second half of the twentieth century: Uganda has experienced decades of political unrest, including the 1964 Lost Counties dispute, the Obote-Kabaka 1966 crisis, the 1979 War that ousted Idi Amin, the war in Toro/Kasese, the war in Teso district under the Uganda Peoples’ Army, the Allied Defense Forces (ADF) war on both sides of the Uganda-Congo border, the National Resistance Movement (NRM) – Luwero Triangle war, and the 23-year Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) war, which has devastated northern Uganda and spilled into the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Sudan, and the Central African Republic (Kibanja, Kajumba, and Johnson 2012, 404). The levels of repression in post-independence Uganda are discussed through an analysis of the control, organisation and functions of military power; demonstrating how coercion, violence and death became the predominating methods through which state power was managed. Domestic repression may 176 appear to represent a destructive force when focusing on civilian deaths, however, Mann, and others (Tilly 1992; Centeno 2002), draw out the effects military power can have on processes of state formation. As discussed in the literature review, geopolitical wars in Europe established many state functions. According to Mann, domestic repression can also bring with it domestic state functions, ‘[v]ery few regimes or military commanders had ever liked charging or firing at crowds’ (Mann 1993, 408). Riots and protests may lead to the creation of domestic police forces, conciliation resulting in greater political representation or labour rights, routinised judicial procedures and diffused punishment (Mann 1993, 404–8). These points on military power and their impact on state formation in relation to Uganda are tackled in the conclusion of this chapter. As Chapter Four outlined, the twenty-four years between independence in 1962 and the first National Resistance Movement (NRM) government of 1986 included long periods of state violence and repression, with six different men as Presidents as detailed in the table below.

Table 10. Presidents of Uganda 1962-1986 Dates Name Place of origin 1962-1966 Sir Edward Mutesa II Buganda (Kabaka, Obote was Prime Minister) 1966-1971 Apollo Milton Obote I Lango in North 1971-1979 Idi Amin Dada West Nile in North April-June 1979 Yusuf Lule Mpigi, central Uganda 1979-1980 Godfrey Binaisa Kampala, central Uganda 1980-1985 Apollo Milton Obote II Lango in North 1985-1986 Tito Okello Acholiland in North 1986- Yoweri Museveni Ankole, Western Uganda Adapted from The State House of Uganda (2016).

This chapter seeks to understand both the militarism of the Ugandan state during this period – the control, organisation and functions of military power as a means of domestic repression, and, the resistance to that domestic repression,

177 specifically after the 1980 general elections. 68 This is important as the resistance had an impact on the type of state which was created after this period. It also provides a case for the examination of autonomous military power within a state, which Mann is very clear to explain is the reason for his distinct separation of military power from political power in contrast to other sociological theories on the state (2006).

This chapter conceptualises state formation as two of the elements defined in Chapter Two. First, the modes of intervention feature as we understand how the militarised state is able to penetrate through and into society and organise the people within it. Second, the social bases of the state feature as the state is created and destroyed by relying upon the relationship which state actors have with military elites, such as the police and army, and its corresponding configurations. These alliances are significant for understanding the extent to which the militarised state or autonomous military elites are able to achieve their goals and maintain control. To a certain extent, state formation is also conceptualised in this chapter through the lack of representation with regards to the central state and the initial linkages which the autonomous military group are able to forge.

The chapter is split theoretically, examining the two facades of military power in independent Uganda: repression and resistance. The first section uses Mann’s tools of control and organisation to analyse military power from 1962 to 1986 and is followed by a discussion of the functions of the armed forces during the Obote I and Amin periods. 69 The second section uses these tools to focus on the internal resistance to state military power. The third section returns to the functions of state military power as the Obote II regime responded to autonomous military power. The conclusion draws together all three sections to

68 The Tanzanian invasion in 1979 is also seen by opposition to Idi Amin as another form of resistance to the Ugandan state, however, Tanzania is an external state power, falling outside of the remit of this study to analyse state formation in Uganda. Before 1980, the resistance was mainly organised externally from Tanzania and it was this state which had a say in the two presidents which followed Amin, Lule and Binaisa. However, during these presidencies, it became apparent to those wanting political change that this would not come from Tanzanian intervention, thus the resistance transferred to a home grown organisation based inside Uganda. It is this form of resistance which affected the control, organisation and functions of military power. 69 For the purposes of analytical flow, control and organisation are examined together as issues pertaining to both are often interlinked. The Obote I period was from 1962-1971; the Amin period from 1971-1979. 178 provide a holistic view of how military power has been deployed as a means of domestic repression and resistance and what this has meant for Uganda’s state formation.

State military power Mann’s analysis of domestic repression identifies a transformation in the appearance of the inward facing military power during the nineteenth century in major European states (1993, 410). The transformation created a distinction between geopolitical external war and the functions of the military at home through a change in tactics, weapons, barracking, discipline and appearance of domestic repression. This resulted in the creation of paramilitary groups or police forces to act as a middle ground between the public and the army. As citizenship increased and greater appeasement of labour relations developed, the army became less involved in domestic repression, and states deployed police forces to supplement the discipline of society. These changes in the control, organisation and functions of military power were as a direct result of changes in economic and political power relations during this period. Therefore, the relationship between military, economic and political power relations change the very nature of how each power relation is deployed by state elites. This section looks at how certain domestic changes had an impact upon the state’s control and organisation of military power, which political leaders utilised for their own control over state power.

Militarisation (control and organisation) of state power, 1962-1986 Perhaps Mann’s most detailed theorisation of a militarised state is his analysis of the interwar period and Second World War. He uses his model of social power to examine the emergence of changes in some European states as they turned towards right-wing groups (2004). For Mann, fascist states are ‘militaristic’ (2012, 315), ‘no fascist movement was simply a political party – it was always uniformed, marching, armed, and violent’ (ibid., 319). Military power was the method used by these elites to achieve their goals; conforming to Mann’s definition of fascism as ‘the pursuit of a transcendent and cleansing nation-statism through militarism’ (Mann 2012, 318).70 This was reflected in the

70 In his work on the Amin regime, Mamdani brings in the examples of Germany and Italy to explain his reasons for classifying the state as fascist (Mamdani 1983). He emphasises the 179 amount spent on the military. Italy, for example, under Mussolini, trebled its military expenditure, amounting to ten per cent of the GNP in 1937, more than any other country and double that of Britain and France; Germany spent almost the same amount (Mann 2012, 338).

From Mann’s analysis of a militarised state, four key elements provide the basis for an examination of the control and organisation of the state’s armed forces in Uganda between 1962 and 1986. First, who controlled the armed forces, and how they were linked to the state and their appearance. 71 Second, the funding of the armed forces, and third, the training, are analysed. Finally, the fourth aspect looks into the social dynamics of the armed forces: who were the soldiers and what were the relationships between officers and their men? Rather than focusing on the roles of the two main leaders during this period, Obote and Amin, it is more important as Mamdani has identified, ‘to focus on the changing organisation and recruitment of the official machinery of repression, and on the political milieu in which it functioned’ (1988, 1157).

The armed forces which the state inherited at independence consisted of a small battalion of less than a thousand soldiers and a police force. The mutiny of 1964 72 had impacted many aspects of the armed forces in Uganda, which up until that point was still controlled by British officers and colonels (Dinwiddy 1983). The Minister for Internal Affairs, Felix Onama, installed two Ugandans as Commanding Officers as a direct result of the mutiny. Idi Amin was given the first battalion and Shaban Okuni Opolot the newly formed second battalion

parallels between interwar European fascist regimes and 1970s Uganda, based upon their methods of ‘brutal repression and sweet rhetoric’ (ibid, p. 36). Kiwanuka also draws a comparison between Hilter and Amin (Kiwanuka 1979). 71 By this I mean whether they are an army, paramilitary or police force. 72 According to Omara-Otunnu (1987, 52–53), despite a bid for Africanisation in Ugandan politics and civil service, there was no mention of replicating this in the army at the beginning of Obote’s period as Prime Minister. With independence, the first President, Kabaka Mutesa, became the Commander-in-Chief of the Uganda Army. As Omara-Otunnu continues, Mutesa had trained with the British army and had divided loyalties, not wishing to offend the British officers by pursuing an Africanisation policy. Moreover, Mutesa was the Kabaka of Buganda, a region which was not highly represented in the army. A move to promote Ugandans would inevitably lead to the promotion of northerners to higher positions, something which would not serve the best interests of the Buganda kingdom. The mutiny in 1964 followed on from other military mutinies in the East African region in Zanzibar, Tanganyika and Kenya. The soldiers at the Jinja barracks aimed their grievances at the British officers and families. Their patience regarding training, administration, low wages and dissatisfaction with the slow process of Africanisation was exhausted (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 54, 59). 180

(Omara-Otunnu 1987, 59).73 Within five months, the command of the whole army was handed to Opolot (Mudoola 1987) and by the end of 1965, two more battalions were added along with a commitment by top military personnel for greater co-ordination between and within battalions (Omara-Otunnu 1987). A brief military incursion from the Congo and increased tensions between the Prime Minister, Obote, and the Baganda resulted in a new Ministry of Defence, directly controlled by Obote. This led to tensions between regions in Uganda. Opolot came from Teso in Eastern Uganda and Obote came from Lango, in the North. As a result, Amin, a northerner, was promoted to Army and Air Force Chief of Staff, whilst greater distance between Opolot and defence command was created. Obote believed that this new army command structure contained loyal men (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 75), demonstrating steps towards a crystallisation of political and military power through an emerging military elite. However, this crystallisation was an illusion. Amin gradually gained more independence from the state with his armed forces and established a new military police, mainly staffed with people from his own district, the West Nile (Omara-Otunnu 1987).

Amin’s presidency does, however, demonstrate a crystallised, militarised state and the Obote II period shows better intentions. Both leaders had learnt from Obote’s loss of control in his first presidency, and both tried to maintain a strong grip over the armed forces. Amin was much more successful at this, demonstrating a usurpation of state power by military power, resulting effectively with greater despotism (Mann 1993). Militarism was bolstered during Amin’s period with the Defence Council becoming the main arena where state decisions were made. Furthermore, it was military men who became leaders of political administrative areas, such as the provinces (Decker 2010). In Obote’s second term, military officers were co-opted into the government (Omara- Otunnu 1987). One of the most important was Oyite Ojok, a Langi who had been by Obote’s side throughout his first presidency and became commander of the UNLA in his second term, holding together what turned out to be an increasingly divided UNLA (Kasozi 1994). Obote relied heavily upon the armed force to secure his own political position (Brett 1995). He made decisions based upon this fact, bringing into question who was actually in control of military

73 Established in November 1963. 181 power. For example, a year before being ousted, Obote chose someone specifically from his own region, Lango, to replace the deceased Army Chief of Staff, Ojok; 74 a choice deemed as unacceptable by army officials from other Northern areas who believed there was a precedence in the armed forces to promote Langis over Acholis (Omara-Otunnu 1987; Kasozi 1994). Once again, regional divisions in the armed forces, this time between the Langis and Acholis, were exacerbated. The majority Acholi section of the army, led by Tito Okello and Barjilio Olara Okello mutinied and marched on Kampala resulting in the coup in July 1985 (Kasozi 1994, 173). Military elites are crucial to understanding the control and organisation of military power; they must be part of the state to secure true despotism. Obote was not as successful as Amin at achieving this.

In addition to the army and police force, this period was characterised by paramilitary armed organisations. After the mutiny in the Obote I government, the creation of the General Service Unit (GSU) cemented the militarisation of the political sphere. Headed by Obote’s cousin and consisting of members almost solely from Obote’s own ethnic group, the GSU was a secret paramilitary unit formed to protect Obote’s security. It relied upon a network of informers and an unknown budget (Lofchie 1972; Mutibwa 1992; Okuku 2002). Functioning out of uniform, the GSU received preferential treatment from the state for equipment and budgets for operations (Lofchie 1972). This body was separate to the police force which was more heterogenic in its make-up, consisting of between 5,500 to 6,000 men from many different areas of Uganda; in contrast, the GSU consisted of only 800 specially armed men (Africa Report 1966, 38). Similarly, Amin’s regime had its own security units, the Public Safety Unit and the State Research Bureau, both of which reported directly to Amin and as Karugire (2003, 79) argues, their remits ‘bore no relation to their titles’. The two groups have been described as intelligence-gathering units on a par with the Gestapo, ‘[p]enetrating every aspect of the country’s life, these agents and informers were the eyes and ears of the fascist regime’, in addition, they had the power to punish anyone who was against the state as they saw fit (Mamdani 1983, 43). In the Obote II regime, another counter-intelligence force was established, the National Security Agency (NASA). Its job was to uncover

74 Ojok was killed in a helicopter crash in December 1983 (Ngoga 1998, 103). 182 elements of hostility, with a focus on the army rather than on the civilian population, although this remit was not exclusive (Omara-Otunnu 1987). The majority of people from this force stemmed from the Lango region. This organisation reflects Obote’s unease as he tried to cling on to military and state power. The paramilitary groups, in particular those of Amin’s regime, relied upon state infrastructures to function; as the function section below demonstrates, paramilitaries are essential when theorising domestic repression of the kind seen in Uganda.

Funding and training are the second and third points for analysis under Mann’s concept of control and organisation of military power. They explain the extent to which the state exhibits full, partial or little control over the armed forces (Mann 1993). Uganda’s relationship with its external funders and suppliers of training changed after the mutiny during Obote I. Originally, this had been provided by Britain after independence, however, as the mutiny was directed against the employment of British officers in the army, Obote developed his links with Israel to diminish the country’s reliance on the former colonial power in a ‘very deep commitment in Uganda’ from Israel (Jacob 1971, 173). Not only did Israel provide full responsibility for the training of Uganda’s new Air Force, but it provided training programmes for soldiers in Israel and became the main supplier of military goods (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 67; Africa Report 1966, 38). Indeed, after Ethiopia, Uganda was the biggest receiver of military aid from Israel in Africa, amounting to $1 million annually (Jacob 1971; Levey 2004, 80). As early as November 1962, Israel provided Uganda with 150 scholarships for military training in Israel (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 66), this was soon followed by four Fouga Magister jet-trainer aircraft (Levey 2004).

At the beginning of his Presidency, Amin continued to maintain ties with the Israelis and even with the British, however, it soon became clear that they would not provide him with the funds or supplies which he desired. 75 In the first

75 During the 1960s, Israel had used the territory of Uganda to support south Sudanese groups against northern Sudan, however, an agreement was made between the two sides which Israel no longer had any interest in supporting the rebels. In addition, Amin made clear to both the British and Israelis that he desired offensive weapons to ease Uganda’s issue of being landlocked by seizing the Tanzanian port of Tanga. Both the British and Israelis became cautious of providing further aid for such ambitions, especially as Amin had still not paid back 183 year of his presidency, military spending tripled from 51 million shillings to 160 million shillings, however, the following year, spending reduced by almost half (Zuk and Thompson 1982, 70; Smith 1980, 91). The Soviet Union, which was trying to establish links in Africa, stepped in to fill the financial void and agreed to supply Uganda with weapons, trucks, tanks and MiG-17 and MiG-21 fighter jets (Mamdani 1983, 70, 72). In addition, this funding was supported with Soviet and Czech experts who helped train Ugandan soldiers on the new machinery in both Uganda and abroad. Furthermore, the regime received significant funding and additional training from Arab governments after Amin broke his ties with Israel; over $2 million in 1972 from Libya and $6.1 million from Saudi Arabia and other Arab states (Kasozi 1994, 108–9; Listowel 1973; Smith 1980). It is also worth noting, according to research by Avirgan and Honey (1982, 18–21), that the PSU and the SRB had numerous contracts with Western firms which supplied them with intelligence equipment, weapons and training (see also Mamdani 1983). Whilst the Soviet Union’s support of the army was transparent to the outside world, the backing given by the USA and its allies in the guise of Western business transactions to Uganda’s paramilitary units was less than transparent (Mamdani 1983).

For Obote’s second regime, an IMF structural adjustment loan had been negotiated in 1981; rather than igniting the economy, this money funded the military as it tried to repress insurgents (Sjögren 2013a, 96; Brett 1995, 143). In addition, the government received £7 million in the form of an annual assistance programme from Great Britain (Ofcansky 1996, 56). The poorly disciplined and underfunded government forces of the UNLA received some training from the departing Tanzanian forces, 76 along with specialised training from the Soviet Union and North Korea (Ofcansky 1996, 54). The UNLA was known for having little discipline, ‘soldiers were apparently constantly drunk, unpaid, and out of control’, demonstrating the lack of authority over this force (Brett 1995, 143). They resorted to mass looting in civilian areas in order to survive. According to Kasozi (1994), soldiers would report to their superiors that guerrillas were in the area (whether they were or not) in order to justify raiding civilian homes. In some instances, civilians collaborated with the soldiers to receive the rewards of debts for earlier infrastructure and training schemes, of which he owed Israel £9 million (Smith 1980; Listowel 1973, 129). 76 See chapter four for details of the Tanzanian invasion. 184 looting. It is evident that Amin’s regime exhibited much greater control over the armed forces than Obote I and II, displaying greater military despotism.

The final point for consideration under the control and organisation of state militarism is the social dynamics present within the armed forces. Mann asks: where did the soldiers and officers come from, what were their relationships and how was a distinct military caste created? This is important because it provides details of the cohesiveness of the armed forces, affecting the extent to which members shared ‘similar material hardships’ with their fellow soldiers and officers (Mann 1993, 426). The army which Obote inherited at independence ethnically reflected that of the previous colonial army. The Northern regions of Uganda had provided the main recruiting ground for the King’s African Rifles. Omara-Otunnu estimates that 60 per cent of the army in 1962 were from the Acholi region (1987, 53). By independence, the Ugandan battalion numbered between 700-1000 soldiers in total (Brett 1995, 135; Kabwegyere 1995, 225). Despite a flurry of quick promotions of Ugandans within the army prior to independence, a large part of the officer corps still consisted of British officers (Lofchie 1972; Ravenhill 1974). There was a general aim to slowly replace the remaining British officers with a new Ugandan officer corps over the first four or five years of independence and gradually increase the size of the military to cope with law and order, cattle rustling and spill overs from disturbances in surrounding countries (Mudoola 1987).77 By the end of the first year after independence, the army had increased to just 1500 men (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 51). There was not any urgency to make significant changes to the structure of this inherited colonial force until the mutiny, which lead to a sudden increase in numbers. By the end of 1965, the armed forces totalled 4500 (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 71).

The mutiny in Uganda had a different impact compared to similar mutinies in Kenya and Tanganyika. These two governments refused to acquiesce to soldiers’ demands. In contrast, Uganda’s punishment of the mutineers was negligible, with only a few imprisoned and the initial 300 who were dismissed were later reinstated to the army (Glentworth and Hancock 1973; Omara-

77 For example, there were secession attempts in the Toro Kingdom, cattle rustling in the Karamoja region and fighting in the bordering Congo, Sudan and Rwanda (Mudoola 1987) 185

Otunnu 1987; Africa Report 1966). In addition, and more significantly for the structure of the armed forces, Obote and his Minister of Internal Affairs, Felix Onama, capitulated to the soldiers’ demands, leading to drastic changes in the structure of the armed forces.

First, all members of the armed forces, police force and prison services received ‘phenomenal’ pay rises (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 59). For example, the lowest level private received a 152 per cent increase in their monthly pay; the lowest level lance corporal received up to a 204 per cent increase; and the top end sergeant had their wages increased by 136 per cent (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 61). By 1968, a Ugandan private earned twice as much as his Kenyan or Malawian counterpart (Lofchie 1972, 22). The army became a caste unto itself, earning significantly higher wages in comparison to the average Ugandan; they now received some of the highest wages in the country, for officers this was on a par with civil servants and permanent secretaries (Lofchie 1972). From being the lowest section of society in the colonial and immediate postcolonial period, the military became a privileged group receiving 10.2 per cent of budgetary allocation in 1966, almost as much as Kenya and Tanzania’s defence budgets combined (Africa Report 1966, 39).

Second, after demonstrating reluctance for a policy of Africanisation in the first two years of independence, the mutiny initiated the regime’s rapid promotion of Ugandans in the army. This meant that many new officers did not receive the standard Sandhurst training as was the norm prior to the mutiny (Glentworth and Hancock 1973). Despite the fact that a British battalion was drawn in from Kenya to quell the mutiny, British officers were replaced by Ugandans. The command of all the companies in the two Ugandan battalions was taken over by Ugandans. The case of Idi Amin clearly demonstrates this, despite his lack of education and illiteracy. 78

Finally, the government continued the recruitment process which had gradually started prior to the mutiny. However, recruitment was biased towards the region where the army stemmed from in the colonial period, the North. According to

78 Amin had joined the Kings African Rifles ages 18 with hardly any formal education (Jackson and Rosberg 1982). 186

Brett (1995), by 1965 Obote’s political position within the government was insecure, encountering a great deal of opposition, so he built his support base through the army. Obote recruited from his areas of origin, Lango and neighbouring Acholiland, whilst Amin, now a general, actively recruited northerners from his own region, the West Nile (Kiwanuka 1979; Ravenhill 1974). By 1969, the numbers in the army had reached 7,000 (Brett 1995, 135; Kabwegyere 1995, 225). It is interesting to note, though, that Amin had a closer relationship with his non-commissioned officers and men than with the promoted officers, who were usually better educated, younger and had been promoted by Obote rather than Amin (Chick 1972). As Chick continues, after the coup in 1971, many foot soldiers were promoted to replace these officers who were either detained or killed during the coup . Any senior officers from non- northern areas who remained in the army were no longer given responsibility for troops, instead they were turned into ‘clerks in officers’ uniforms’ (Karugire 2003, 71).

In contrast to Obote, whose control and organisation relied on monetary favours, Amin’s was based on a process of allegiances, enhancing his ability to maintain military power. As well as maintaining this regional split inherited from Obote, Amin also developed other sources of military support. Recruitment after this date focused on the urban poor as the ‘easiest and quickest available source of manpower for recruitment into the army’ (Mamdani 1988, 1158). In one instance, 7000 unemployed men were asked to congregate in the main square in Kampala where they were promptly enrolled within the armed forces (Mamdani 1988, 1158). In just one year, 1971, the army recruited 19,742 new soldiers (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 107), although exact figures are an estimate at best. 79 In addition, there was a drive to expand the number of Muslim officers and rank and file soldiers, reflecting Amin’s desire to increase the status of Muslims in Uganda (Enloe 1973). Through his elimination of Obote’s officer corps by moving them to civilian positions or simply disposing of them, Amin could now promote privates from his own region so that by 1977, over three-

79 Despite this huge increase, 15,764 men in the army were also unaccounted for (Omara- Otunnu 1987, 107). A report in the journal, Munger Africana also corroborates this, stating that Amin had 6,500 soldiers in his army at the time of his coup, by 1973, numbers were as low as 2000 (Anonymous 1973, 14). As outlined below, Amin deposed of many Langi and Acholi soldiers who were Obote supporters within his first year as President. 187 quarters of the officer corps owed their positions to Amin (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 133). Despite these changes, according to Karugire (2003), Amin trusted Congolese and Sudanese mercenary forces the most, and it was these soldiers who received the significant positions within his security forces. ‘The value of the mercenary core to Amin was clear: their survival and good living in Uganda depended on the survival of Amin so that their interests and those of Amin became complementary and reciprocal’ (Karugire 2003, 79). In the first two years of Amin’s regime the Ugandan Army increased from 9,000 to 12,000 men (Enloe 1973, 47).

A militarised state, according to Mann’s theorisation of Europe, involves changes in the control of the armed forces, with greater links between the state and military power and new forms of militaries to support the state. In Uganda, the state actively promoted those within the army who were deemed to be aligned with the state, i.e. from the same region as state leaders. New paramilitary units were created to protect the state and greater authority over the military stemmed from state leaders. Secondly, according to Mann, there are increases in military funding. During this period, the military became the main recipient of state money and the state had to develop links with new external contacts in order to fund this militarisation. Thirdly, the training of the armed forces forms a significant part of the changes in state control and organisation of military power. In this case, training was diverted from Britain and supplied instead by new funders, Israel, then later the Soviet Union and Arab states. Finally, the social dynamics of the armed forces is important for an understanding of how the state becomes militarised. Not only did the armed forces grow from 700 in 1962 to 12,000 by 1973, the soldiers received pay rises in the early periods. Most significantly, however, the state recruited from the regions it could trust the most, creating vast divisions within the armed forces, which as will be examined contributed to the regional forms of violent domestic repression.

Military functions of the state, 1962-1979 In Mann’s discussion of the development of European states, domestic militarism became a part of central states as they encroached upon the powers of nobles from 1600 (1993, 404). The army started to exhibit levels three and 188 four of domestic repression as states grew in this way. Mann’s analysis of the Habsburg Empire provides an example of military power deployed as a domestic function. Composed of many different groups of people, the state relied upon a centralised military to maintain control over its vast empire. The military, consisting of Austro-German officers, exhibited the centrality of Austria to the rest of the empire, causing discontent amongst other civil society actors of different linguistic backgrounds (Mann 1993, 338). Not only did this military composition undermine the ‘confederalism and the neutrality of the [Habsburg] dynasty’, but it made clear to all observers where power lay (Mann 1993, 338– 39). This example displays some unique characteristics of domestic militarism which, as already observed during the Obote I and Amin periods, were important for the functions of their military power. First, their armies represented regional bias, which could therefore be relied upon for loyalty, and secondly, the army became a centralised infrastructure for state power. However, as discussed in the paragraphs below, these aspects were deployed by both leaders in different ways, leading to different outcomes for the Ugandan state.

Throughout the Obote I and Amin periods, the state deployed military power to almost full capacity as a means for domestic repression, although Obote’s was directed against one section of society, the Baganda, whereas it is argued, Amin deployed its might against the whole of Uganda. Indeed, elites controlling all four of Mann’s networks of power were targeted during Amin’s era, if it was perceived that they formed a threat to state power. For Obote, during the Buganda crisis in 1966, ‘the Uganda Army suddenly became a pivotal factor in any projection on the capability of President Milton Obote to maintain a unitary state. Without it, Obote has few instruments with which to sustain presidential power’ (Africa Report 1966, 37). This section deals with the domestic repression exerted by the state during the Obote I and Amin eras. The repression of Obote’s second state responded directly to the resistance against the state and is dealt with later in the chapter.

The first major expression of domestic resistance happened against the Baganda in May 1966 shortly after Obote had dealt with a plot to oust him from

189 the National Assembly and from within his own party, the UPC. 80 The Buganda Lukiiko declared its intention to secede from Uganda, requesting the government remove itself from the Kingdom and installing road blocks on the way to Kampala, as Mutibwa comments, ‘Buganda could not tolerate what it saw as the arrogance of power of Obote’s government in Entebbe’ (1992, 38). The army was deployed to attack the Kabaka’s palace at Mengo, resulting in the king fleeing and the deaths of his supporters (Young 1966). The army was led by Amin, who unleashed a ‘savage and unprecedented slaughter’ on the Baganda, with one estimate putting the death toll at 2000 (Mutibwa 1992, 39). The independence constitution was suspended and Obote assumed the role of President, dissolving all the kingdoms and their federal status (Glentworth and Hancock 1973; Young 1966). This incident not only instigated the repression of Baganda, relative to level four on Mann’s analysis of ‘full-scale military repression: actual fighting and shooting, normally by regular troops’ (1993, 403, emphasis in original); but it also functions as the start of the encroachment of military power on the state. By crushing the Baganda, many of whom were family members of key Baganda civil servants, the state, and in particular, Obote now became reliant upon military force as the only ally loyal to the government (Africa Report 1966, 37, 39).

The state was aware that there was opposition to the UPC ruling government in Buganda and it was here that ‘far more people were subject to arbitrary arrest, detention, imprisonment and torture than anywhere else in Uganda’ and after the attack in 1966, it was mainly the GSU which carried out these acts (Kiwanuka 1979, 33). At the county and sub-county levels the security forces constantly patrolled, suppressing any resistance to the regime with harassment and the loss of Baganda lives (Mutibwa 1992, 40). It is evident that these paramilitary arms of the state became the infrastructures of state power, displaying level three of domestic repression against people from this region.

Despite a brief flirtation with the Baganda at the beginning of Amin’s dictatorship, level three of domestic repression continued throughout the Amin

80 In February 1966, a motion of censure was passed in the National Assembly against Obote, in a subsequent meeting, the army arrested five members who were against Obote, and Obote demoted the Army Commander, Opolot who he feared had links with these figures, promoting Idi Amin in his place (Mutibwa 1992, 37). 190 period. 81 Here, repression is beyond the work of the police; instead a ‘show of force’ is demonstrated by the army and paramilitary formations (Mann 1993, 403). During the Amin period, for example, it is estimated that some sixty Baganda army recruits, who had incidentally formed the Guard of Honour for the late Kabaka (see footnote 79), were killed at Mubenda barracks in April 1971 (Kasozi 1994, 250; Martin 1974, 139). During the Amin period, they were on the receiving end of only a portion of the state’s military power. Amin thus used his strong military power basis to initiate a long campaign against all enemies (‘real or imaginary’) of the state (Karugire 2003, 77).

It was necessary for Amin to eliminate Obote’s power base to secure his own. In his first few months at the helm he swiftly deposed of over four hundred Acholi and Langi soldiers along with supporters from Obote’s previous government (Kasozi, 1994, 249–51). 82 A similar episode was repeated in January 1972, when, according to escapees, another four hundred Acholi and Langi soldiers were massacred on the border with Tanzania (Listowel, 1973). The Amin government refused to acknowledge the deaths, claiming that all Obote supporting soldiers had been released back into civil society.

His purges against the armed forces and Baganda were only the beginning. As Karugire (2003, 78–79) has pointed out, Amin had a much smaller political base than that of Obote, and little ability to actually run a state, therefore, after the initial coup euphoria had died down, violence or the threat of violence became the means to maintain control over the state. The key for this was to develop a military infrastructure of power. If we return to Mann’s understanding of state power, despotic power can be exercised in conjunction with infrastructural power, creating an authoritarian state (1984, 191). In this sense, Amin was able to extend the power of the state on a subnational basis through military infrastructures (as opposed to bureaucratic and political infrastructures as

81 According to Kiwanuka (1979) Amin’s coup d’état was met with jubilation by most Baganda and he further continued his popularity by returning the former Kabaka’s body from London for burial. Many thus believed he would reinstate the kingdoms; however, this was not to be. They even formed part of Amin’s PR campaign to demonstrate his strength as President in the first few weeks after the coup as images of celebrating Baganda were projected throughout Uganda and the rest of the world (Mutibwa 2008, 144). 82 Kosozi (1994) provides a detailed list of names and numbers of the many people who were killed throughout the Obote I & II and Amin regimes. 191 exhibited by Mann’s example of a state with low despotic powers but high infrastructural power).

There were four main ways in which the state was able to achieve level four of domestic repression. First, as already mentioned, those in command of the armed forces and the special paramilitary divisions were changed constantly ensuring that no one person could challenge Amin’s authority, as he had done with Obote (Omara-Otunnu 1987). He was known for changing his Chief of Staff every few months (Omara-Otunnu 1987). All the armed forces and special units reported directly to him (Karugire 2003). Second, instead of having a network of bureaucrats extending the arm of the state, there existed a network of military personnel who held these bureaucratic positions. For example, Uganda was split into ten provinces, each “administered” by governors, who, generally, were military personnel. They were then supported by a network of chiefs who managed the 38 districts. During this period, the previously elected or appointed chiefs were replaced by soldiers or people within soldiers’ circle of contacts (Karugire 2003, 80; Kiwanuka 1979, 114–5). In addition, after the expulsion of the Ugandan Asian population in 1972, Amin distributed all businesses throughout Uganda to military personnel (Smith 1980). Not only were the governors and other high-ranking military figures given responsibility to control all trade in their provinces, ensuring that civilians became dependent upon the military for consumer goods, but the new chiefs were also allowed to create their own networks of informers, keeping the population in a state of ‘perpetual terror’ (Kiwanuka 1979, 115; Smith 1980, 98).

Third, the army made great use of the radio as a means for communication, this was supplemented by two earth satellite stations which were supplied by Japanese and US companies (Mamdani 1983, 90). A decree was created to control the distribution of information, stating that all provincial news on the radio and on television had to go through the Ministry of Information (Kiwanuka 1979, 115). In order for these fundamental infrastructures to connect effectively, the PSU and SRB received state of the art communication and surveillance technology from US and UK based corporations (Mamdani 1983, 80–81; Kiwanuka 1979). Equipment included vehicle and transportable VHF radios, disguised antennae, night-time cameras, telephone tapping devices and tape 192 recorders for surveillance to name a few (Mamdani 1983, 80–81). These devices gave the secret paramilitary units the tools to infiltrate almost every sector of society (Omara-Otunnu 1987), enabling Amin’s regime to have eyes and ears throughout, ensuring that any dissidents were quickly dealt with, suppressing any form of public opposition.

The final element for an infrastructure of military power was to penetrate Uganda’s legal system. The judiciary was infiltrated by PSU & SRB agents, many of whom attended court to ensure that their interests and that of the state were met by judicial outcomes (Karugire 2003, 81; Amnesty International 1983). Many judges and magistrates disappeared during this period, either fleeing the country or making the “wrong” decision in court leading to death at the hands of the paramilitaries. 83 The legal system was then usurped by the law of the gun as a number of decrees were put in place to give the army and paramilitaries legal protection to circumvent the justice system. For example, in Decree no. 8 of May 1971, the government and those working on behalf of the government, i.e. soldiers, were given immunity against criminal prosecution (Kiwanuka 1979; Amnesty International 1983). In another case, a decree was issued in February 1973 which gave the military the power to try any enemies of the state, specifically those plotting against the President in a military tribunal (Omara- Otunnu 1987). Such laws not only paralysed the legal system but they also placed the army above any kind of legal system.

The failed invasion from Tanzania in 1972 by an army organised by Obote instigated a co-ordinated exhibition of level four of Mann’s domestic repression: as the military takes over many aspects of society and deaths ensue (Mann 1993). A full scale purge of perceived enemies of the state resulted in the arrest of fifty-two British citizens and a variety of European journalists (Listowel, 1973). In addition to members of the judiciary, other notable Ugandans disappeared never to be seen again, including the Vice-Chancellor of Makerere University, the former president of the Bank of Uganda, important regional chiefs, government ministers and religious leaders (Decker, 2010; Listowel, 1973). The army was also deployed to harass, loot, rape and even kill the Asian population

83 They went into hiding, resigned or were murdered. 193 in the three months leading up to their expulsion deadline (Kiwanuka, 1979). 84 The precedent was now set, as military power became the de facto source of political power for Amin. Throughout his eight years in power, there were numerous uprisings and expressions of dissidence against his regime; Amin responded with brute force, using every means of military repression that he had (Avirgan & Honey, 1982). In the process, anyone discovered to have links with resistance were deposed of, this included an Archbishop and even one of Amin’s own wives (ibid.). The literature is vague in the exact numbers but estimates range from 100,000 to 500,000 people who lost their lives during the Amin period, the lack of data collection during the period explains these discrepancies (Kasozi 1994, 104, 249–53; Harff and Gurr 1988, 364; Amnesty International 1983, 44).

Amin’s armed forces were exceptional at instilling terror and fear, and this is one of the reasons why, according to Karugire (2003), Amin remained in power for so long. As one anonymous commentator noted in 1973, ‘Amin’s strength seems to lie in his ability to do away with his enemies by way of physical elimination. Right from the beginning Amin’s high-handed rule faced so much military and civilian opposition that he has had to butcher thousands of dissidents (Anonymous 1973, 13). In other words, his decision to obliterate Obote’s supporters in the army and government in the first year of his presidency ensured that he projected an atmosphere of terror and fear as seen in the table below. The military power of domestic repression by a state, through its emphasis on concentrated, lethal violence, forges the impression of a state which would not be afraid to act if anyone revolted against it. As a consequence, Amin could retain domestic repression (on level three, with less deaths (Mann 1993)) and consequently his hold on state power through a culture of coercion, fear and terror.

84 As part of his economic war, Amin ordered the expulsion of Asians living in Uganda in 1972, with the aim of distributing their homes, businesses and industries to African Ugandans (Jamal 1976). 194

Table 11. Estimated deaths during Amin’s regime Year Number 1971 15000 1972 300 1973 2434 1974 No data 1975 No data 1976 205 1977 877 1978 186 Rough estimates based upon evidence presented by Kasozi (1994, 249–53), Ofcanksy (1996, 44) and Martin (1974, 215–17).85

The table above gives a very rough guide of the changes in levels of violence during Amin’s regime. It is interesting to note that after his initial purge of Obote supporters in 1971, the number of deaths fall dramatically, demonstrating that perceived threat of violence was enough to control his population. The failed invasion from Tanzania did result in many deaths, but these reprisals were aimed at political opposition to Amin rather than the civilian population (Martin 1974). However, once the full effects of Amin’s economic war and expulsion of the Asian population in 1972 started to impact Uganda’s economy, we see a gradual rise in deaths again. In addition, 1976 marked the hijacking of an Air France plane with Israeli hostages in Entebbe, Uganda’s main airport. An Israeli rescue humiliated Amin and, as a result, airport staff, senior army officers and government officials were killed, increasing the death toll once again (Smith 1980).

Mann theorises this characteristic of domestic repression through an understanding that the fear of violent repression can reduce the number of casualties. In his analysis of workers movements in America between 1877- 1903, heavy-handed tactics were used by government paramilitaries and militia,

85 There are no definitive tables of the amount of deaths per year during Amin’s regime. However, Kasozi (1994) provides a list of names indicating the well-known members of society who lost their lives. The rough figures used to compile this table do not even come close to the estimate of 100,000 to 500,000 total killed during Amin’s regime, but they do provide a reflection of the peaks and troughs of his killing spree. Obviously, data of the purges was not something Amin wished to collate. 195 resulting in large numbers of strikers dying (1993, 645–46). This strong repression by the state had the consequence of significantly weakening the labour movement in the US after this date; workers ‘had no ultimate answer to employers determined to drive out unions with massed scabs, Pinkerton men, and state troopers and to keep them out with blacklists and industrial espionage’ (Mann 1993, 647). The initial display of violence was enough to prevent people from resisting; as was indeed the case in Amin’s Uganda.

Amin’s military demonstrated its adeptness at domestic repression; however, when it came to actually acting as a geopolitical armed force - fighting a trained army - Amin’s soldiers were incompetent. This was demonstrated with the invasion of Tanzania in 1968. 86 His men were able to loot, rape, burn and kill in the Tanzanian areas that they invaded. Yet, despite numbering 25,000, they were incapable of resisting the trained might of the Tanzanian army (Kiwanuka 1979; Karugire 2003; Smith 1980). Within seven months, through battle deaths and desertion due to starvation and resentment of Amin’s foreign mercenaries, Amin’s army had depleted to just 2000 soldiers (Kiwanuka 1979, 188; Karugire 2003).

During this period, military power became a tool used by state elites as a form of domestic repression against actual and perceived opposition to the state. During the Obote I regime, his control and organisation of the armed forces ensured the crystallisation of military power with state power in his endeavours to eliminate the Buganda dominance established in the colonial period. This culminated in the Buganda crisis of 1966, where military might destroyed the traditional monarchies throughout Uganda, created a new constitution and installed Obote as President. Amin, who lacked political support, having achieved the presidency through a coup, relied exclusively upon this military machine. State power rested upon the development of infrastructural power, whereby the military and paramilitary groups, the PSU & SRB, surmounted the bureaucratic structures to infiltrate all regions throughout Uganda, ensuring a clear connection between the leader and his men. Additional infrastructures

86 According to Karugire (2003), Amin decided to invade the undefended Kagera salient in Tanzania in October 1978 to divert the Ugandan population from the increasing economic problems which the country was facing. Tanzania responded by sending its armed forces to oust the invaders and along with the UNLA, drove Amin out of Uganda in early 1979. 196 such as high-tech communication, surveillance technologies and legal decrees enabled the hegemony of military power. Amin also relied heavily upon what Mann has termed “concentrated coercion”. The first year of his regime saw unprecedented numbers of deaths, specifically of soldiers, civilians and government officials from Obote’s two regions of core support.

The exact numbers of people who died each year will never be known. It is clear, however, that this initial purge set in place a policy of fear and terror throughout the population which ensured Amin stayed in power for a long time. Along with the killing of key public figures, MPs, academics, archbishops and foreign journalists, Amin prevented people from speaking out against his regime. Yet, military power was also the undoing of both Obote and Amin. Obote increased the power of the military so much that it surpassed him, and the state, resulting in Amin’s coup . For Amin, military power was directed at domestic repression. When it came to fighting an externally trained armed force, the army did not have the tools or skills to win. Amin’s regime and the years that followed saw a growth in resistance to military power, and it is to the control, organisation and functions of this power source that the chapter now turns.

Resistance to state military power Autonomous military power According to Mann, military power is not synonymous with state political power. Uganda provides excellent examples to demonstrate support for this statement. Prior to 1986, Museveni’s own National Resistance Army (NRA) exhibits a clear example of what Mann describes as a non-state organised military force (2006, 355). He writes, ‘military castes and coups are distinctive phenomena. [...] Most tribal military federations were stateless; while most feudal levies, knightly orders, private merchant armies (like the British East India Company) and most insurgent and guerrilla forces were substantially independent of states’ (ibid, 355). The NRA leader, Yoweri Museveni, who was Minister for Defence during the Lule and Binaisa governments, 87 decentralised military power from the state into an autonomous force. That military power can be used as a form of domestic repression does not negate the possibility that it can be used as a

87 For full details of these two governments which lasted from April 1979 to May 1980, see the context chapter. 197 form of domestic resistance. The NRA can be seen in this context, as a form of ‘human social organization’ which overcame the militarism of the state (ibid, 355). As Mann points out, civil wars or intrastate conflict can, in some instances, lead to major social change; in the case of Uganda, a new era of state formation was the result. This section of the chapter considers the control and organisation of the autonomous military force of the NRA.

Mann’s work on pre-1933 Nazi paramilitary, the Sturmabteilung (SA) demonstrates how an autonomous military force rose within a country to challenge the state through its military actions along with its relationship with civilians. The members of this paramilitary were ‘young, mostly working class, often single, living together in barracks’, some recruits had come from earlier paramilitary formations, such as the Freikorps (Mann 2012, 322–23; Mann 2004, 148–49, 153). They were organised in each town through a central group of activists who gave up their time to communicate and organise their troops by telephones, vehicles or through pamphlets. The purpose of this control and organisation was to project an image of orderliness, through their regular marching and controlled meetings. Indeed, through the state infrastructures available to them, they were creating the resemblance of a state which was then represented in the 1933 election results. The control and organisation of the NRA demonstrates similar characteristics of autonomous military power as it attempted to provide an alternative to the 1980-1986 Uganda regimes.

With the arbitrary ascendency of Obote to his second term as President in December 1980 grass roots resistance started to become organised within Uganda. There were at least five guerrilla movements exhibiting autonomous military power, however, the National Resistance Movement and Army (NRM and NRA) are the focus of this analysis as it is only this group that eventually impacted the trajectory of the Ugandan state. As one of its generals comments in his memoire of the “bush war”, 88 the NRA was ’unique in that it was home- grown and home-based: it did not enjoy any external assistance and did not have any real external base like most guerrilla wars’ (Kutesa 2006, xii).

88 The term “bush war” is regularly used to describe the war in the Luwero triangle in the literature. 198

The control and organisation of this autonomous military group was based upon a slow process of working at the grassroots level to provide soldiers, and those citizens it interacted with, with training aligned to political education (Kasozi 1994). The intention was to persuade the Ugandan population that the NRA armed forces were different to those of the state, thus ensuring they gained both respect and material support from the people. Some soldiers deserted the UNLA when Obote came to power and made their way to the area where opposition forces were based. These soldiers may have had training in Tanzania and some officers, who had been members of Museveni’s earlier military group, FRONASA, had received specialised training in Mozambique during the 1970s. Three cohorts of men were trained by the Mozambique rebel force, FRELIMO, two of which numbered thirty soldiers (Kasfir 2005, 277). The training aimed to politicise the soldiers and to teach them how to engage with civilians in order to garner their support for war. The early training later provided the NRA with the men who filled the most senior positions in the NRA High Command (Kasfir 2005).

The original bank of fighters for the NRA stemmed from the merger of two groups which had formed part of the resistance to Amin in the decade before: FRONASA, led by Museveni and by 1981 renamed the PRA, and former President Lule’s Ugandan Freedom Fighters (UFF). 89 The PRA consisted mainly of men from Ankole, where Museveni originally came from. The UFF was originally an externally based Baganda group (Kasfir 2002; Ngoga 1998). As the NRA developed its base in the Luwero triangle, Baganda started to form the ethnic basis for new recruits and promotions (Kasfir 2002; Kasfir 2005). Within the first few months of operations, the NRA increased its numbers from just 35 to 200 by May 1981 (Kasfir 2002, 26; Ngoga 1998, 99). One of the earliest acts of resistance in March 1981 consisted of just over fifty soldiers (Kutesa 2006, 65). After each attack or move to a new area, the NRA would build upon its numbers using local civilians. Many of the very early recruits to the NRA had a university background and had worked with Museveni during the 1980 election campaign (Weinstein 2007, 108; Schubert 2006, 99).90 By 1982, the NRA had enough men to create a mobile force, launching offensive attacks

89 Lule initially became the chairperson of the NRM, however, he died in January 1985. 90 According to Weinstein (2007, 108), 62.5 per cent of the NRA members in the bush war were from Ankole. 199 to defend the Luwero triangle and capture arms (Museveni 1997). When the UNLA launched a massive counter-insurgency in 1983, forcing the NRA to retreat north of the Luwero triangle, they still managed to increase their numbers as youth from the army and youth wing of the UPC deserted (Schubert 2006, 96). By the time Kampala was captured by the NRA in 1986, their armed forces had increased to between 8,000 and 10,000 soldiers, of whom roughly 800 were women and between 25 and 30 per cent were children (ibid, 96, 104, 106). 91 The NRA demonstrated a great ability to increase its numbers within a short amount of time. However, training was a key component of this process.

In the 1970s, FRONASA modelled its resistance on that of Mozambique. As Mann showed with the SA example, the basis stems from other, smaller paramilitary formations. The NRA followed the example set by FRONASA. It was essential that the force was seen as a very different army to that of the government; its code of conduct directed soldiers to respect civilians with severe punishment if they contravened this code (Weinstein 2007; Schubert 2006; Ngoga 1998). The fundamental weapon of the NRA was to gain the support of the people (NRM Secretariat 1990; Schubert 2006). Museveni’s experience with FRELIMO had instigated a mind-set of close interaction with civil society in order to acquire popular support for their campaign (Kasfir 2002). The NRA code of conduct and a policy of promotion based only on merit and performance gave soldiers a formal mechanism for the control and organisation of the NRA’s military power (Weinstein 2007), whilst simultaneously fostering relationships with the local population, in contrast to the atrocities committed by the state armed forces. Extensive training became the norm for new recruits. Not only were they provided with military training at a special centre, the Nkrumah Unit, 92 but they also received lectures on Ugandan history and political education, this was supplemented with texts by Fanon and Mao (Weinstein 2007, 111). Even prisoners of war were given political training; those who understood and subscribed to NRM objectives and ideals were integrated into the NRA, indeed according to an NRM document, ‘some of the most successful

91 According to Furley (1995) child soldiers, called kadogos , were usually orphans of UNLA attacks on the Luwero population (see below) and sought protection through the NRA (see also Ngoga 1998, 98). 92 The Nkrumah training Unit was based in an area away from the reach of UNLA troops. 200

NRA Commanders are former Obote army Commanders’ (NRM Secretariat 1990, 143).

The formative group of NRA soldiers did not originate from the Luwero triangle, a region of the former Buganda Kingdom. This meant they had to persuade its people that they were fighting for the liberation of the whole of Uganda, without tribal affiliations (Kasfir 2002; Weinstein 2007). As Schubert has detailed, the brutality of the government UNLA forces often acted as a trigger for gaining Baganda recruits; ‘sometimes this decision occurred very quickly’, opting to join the NRA after their village had been attacked by the UNLA (Schubert 2006, 100). This is where we start to see beginnings of greater infrastructural power, through military power, as the NRA expanded.

As Mann shows, demonstrating the credibility of autonomous military power to the wider public is significant for its continuation (Mann 2004). The NRA was successful at this. The main method of interaction with civilians was to organise clandestine village committees (later called Resistance Councils) in places of NRA operation (Kasfir 2002). The purpose of these groups was twofold, to provide a forum for the NRA to outline its political purposes (an issue dealt with in the Functions of Resistance section of this chapter below) and, to provide the soldiers with a source of food by collecting from villagers without forcing them to donate (Weinstein 2007). However, some felt that they had no option but to provide food otherwise they would be seen as government supporters (Kasfir 2005, 284–85). The soldiers did not receive any form of payment or remuneration, as a result, the NRA had to rely entirely upon the support of rural villagers and other donations from Kampala to survive (Weinstein 2007, 109). The control and organisation of an autonomous military force, as Mann has pointed out in his analysis of the SA, relies upon presenting an image to society. From the very beginning, the NRA relied heavily upon a region which was ethnically different from its leader. As demonstrated later, the consequences of this were severe for the Baganda population who suffered repercussions from government forces. However, through a strict training scheme, a code of conduct and the development of Resistance Councils, the NRA were able to ensure the continued support of the Baganda. This careful negotiation of local

201 infrastructures proved to be significant for the NRA’s quest to be an alternative source of military power in Uganda.

Functions of resistance The organisation and control of the autonomous military power of the NRA was a response to the domestic repression of the state since the 1960s. The functions of this domestic force served to challenge and overcome the power of the state. In the case of autonomous paramilitary forces Mann asks: what are the aims of the rebel force, what are they trained to do and how is violence seen to be a tool for resolving social problems? The functions of the NRA should be seen within the context of the domestic repression perpetrated by the Ugandan state from 1966 as presented in the analysis above. For the NRA there were broader macro-level aims of the rebel force and then, situated beneath these, micro-military functions which were in place to achieve the larger aims. According to one account, the emergence of the National Resistance Army and its corresponding Movement was as a direct consequence of the fact that ‘independence had not delivered the goods to the people of Uganda thereby necessitating a ‘second liberation’’ (Amaza 1998, 1).

For Museveni, the catalyst for the rebellion in the Ugandan bush was the UPC and Obote’s unjust handling of the 1980 elections (Mutibwa 1992; Ngoga 1998). According to the first issue of the Uganda Resistance News , an NRM publication distributed in August 1981, the UPC were defeated at the polls; however, by usurping the Electoral Commission and gaining control over the national radio, army, police and other state machinery, victory was declared for Obote and his party (NRM Secretariat 1990). The guerrilla forces seized autonomous military power in order to overcome these injustices and prevent further human rights violations as witnessed in Uganda over the previous twenty years, despite the international community believing that Obote was Uganda’s ‘“best hope” for returning peace, stability and economy recovery’ to the country (NRM Secretariat 1990, 7).

The NRA demonstrated ‘an uncharacteristic restraint in the use of violence’, in spite of its strong military power base. One of its main macro-level functions was to create a governing structure of political democracy and civilian political 202 mobilisation previously unseen in Uganda’s history (Weinstein 2007, 55). In addition, the NRA argued that only a guerrilla form of warfare could create peace and stability within the country (Weinstein 2007; Ngoga 1998). Both of these points relate to the historical context within which the NRA formed. An alternative form of state formation had to be established, one which worked from the grass-roots using military power as its main form of social power, and yet creating a small polity through which NRA elites could start to build the infrastructures for a new form of political power.

This corresponds to Mann’s idea of ‘city- or tribal-states’ (Mann 1986, 82; Mann 1984; Mann 2007). For simplification, I use the term mini-state. 93 In his examples, the use of military power by feudal elites created mini-political units within empires; in some cases they were eventually eaten up by the larger entity, in other cases they became the larger entity themselves. Within these states, the peasantry and rulers developed relationships based upon political and economic power relations (Mann 1986). The ruler taxed the peasants in order to fund military protection and expansion of the state and the peasants relied upon the ruler for security. This was the case for the growth of the political entity in the Luwero triangle, taxing the residents for food and shelter for their growing armed force, and in return, creating a ‘safe-zone’, impenetrable by government forces (Kasfir 2005).94 The Resistance Councils provided the political basis for this relationship to exist and grow, thus replacing the colonial system of chiefs (Ngoga 1998). ‘In order to draw on popular support to counter and survive state repression, every movement has historically had to broaden the extent of popular participation’ for it would be this function of the autonomous military power which would achieve the macro-level aim of establishing a non-militarised and democratic Uganda (Mamdani 1988, 1173).

The Resistance Councils were supplemented by The Uganda Resistance News which was published using donated printers during the war (NRM Secretariat

93 The terms ‘city- or tribal-states’ seem rather out-dated to a scholar in 2016, although the defining characteristics are relevant for understanding autonomous military power in sub- Saharan Africa. Instead, I use the term mini-state. 94 From March-July 1983 the NRA lost control of the safe-zone as the UNLA forces changed its tactics and directed 7,000 troops against the rebels (Ngoga 1998, 103). In response, the NRA evacuated residents to areas further north and west of the triangle. ’The NRA’s ability to convince and move several hundred thousand people to safer locations demonstrated its continuing influence over local civilians’ (Kasfir 2005, 280). 203

1990). The paper not only produced its own propaganda material, but it also reproduced other articles from external news sources such as Le Monde or Africa Now. The launch of the paper signified an ability and desire to extend the infrastructural reach of the NRA/M and its conception of a mini-state beyond the realm of the Luwero triangle, to Uganda and beyond. ‘We hoped to spread our message, explain and publicise our cause, and reach more people than we could if we used the Resistance Committees alone’ (NRM Secretariat 1990).

In essence, the NRM’s autonomous source of military power created a state within a state, growing from within to challenge the domestic repression of the Ugandan state. Through this method, the NRM believed they could fight for ‘the democratic rights and human dignity of our people, all of which have been trampled on by Obote and his erstwhile protégé Amin for nearly two decades’ (NRM Secretariat 1990, 13). Therefore, in addition to fighting a guerrilla war, the NRM concentrated, as early as August 1981, on devising political documents for a programme after Obote had been defeated. For example, in the first edition of the Uganda Resistance News , the NRM outlined the five phases of tasks to be implemented by an interim administration once they had defeated the Obote forces before handing over to an elected government (NRM Secretariat 1990, 21).95

In order to achieve these larger functions of military power, mirco-level functions had to exist. For Mann, technical and logistical interventions help the smaller state to develop its infrastructures with society, diffusing the state’s power (Mann 1984). The first of these micro-functions, aimed to establish a protracted people’s war instead of short-term assassination, coup or urban uprising (Weinstein 2007; NRM Secretariat 1990; Ngoga 1998). According to Museveni, many original FRONASA soldiers had been situated, as part of the UNLA, to the North of the country in Karamoja and North-eastern Uganda. He continues, ‘[w]e therefore had to adopt a strategy that would allow us to marshal our forces

95 Phase I involved pacification and stabilisation and the first steps to revitalise the economy. In addition, administration at both local and national levels had to be established. Phase II would build a national security force and initiate the basis of a constitution. Phase III would involve the election of a Constituent Assembly to debate the Constitution and appoint an Electoral Commission. Phase IV lifts the ban on party politics and elections would take place. The final phase would consist of the hand over from interim to elected government (NRM Secretariat 1990, 21). 204 slowly, using people from the old army (UNLA), and the civilian population’ (Museveni 1997, 122). The vision to maintain a long-term conflict would provide those soldiers who wished to join the guerrilla army with the time to make their way down to the Buganda region. This tactic would ensure that when the time came to oust the government, the NRA would have the maximum number of men to support its campaign. The main strategy of the NRA was to turn its weaknesses (low numbers of men, weapons and little organisation) into a strength through the protracted war concept (NRM Secretariat 1990, 9). The presence of Tanzanian forces in Uganda provided another justification for a long-term guerrilla war. The Tanzanians were still in support of the government, therefore, attacking the state in the form of a coup or resurrection was unlikely to bring success (Mutibwa 1992; Ngoga 1998).

Although the function was to create a protracted war, battles were ‘short and sharp’ (NRM Secretariat 1990, 12). This leads on to the second micro-level function – to reinforce the NRA armoury and disrupt the activities of the Tanzanian and UNLA forces. All the early attacks were ambushes on military barracks with the aim of gaining weapons and ammunition and destroying those they could not capture (Museveni 1997, 123). In one of their early assaults, the NRA were rewarded with sub-machine guns, one 82mm mortar, one 60mm mortar, anti-tank grenades, one GPM gun and one box of 7.62mm rounds (NRM Secretariat 1990, 12).96 The lack of weapons has been given as one of the reasons why the NRA had to retreat in 1983. Although troops numbered 4,000, they only had 400 guns (Ngoga 1998, 103). In other instances, tactics involved shooting just one soldier who was fetching water from a borehole. According to interviews conducted by Schubert (2006) such tactics had the effect of demoralising the UNLA troops. The NRA suffered from low arms throughout the majority of the conflict, it was only in the final year that all fighters had their own weapons (Schubert 2006).

Defending the safe zone in the Luwero triangle became the third micro-level function. By situating themselves in the Luwero triangle, the NRA deprived itself

96 According to Ngoga (1998, 95–96), the only weapons the NRA received from outside Uganda were 96 rifles, 100 landmines, five GPMGs, eight RPGs and a small amount of ammunition received from Libya, the rest were sourced entirely from within Uganda through attacks on government bases (see also Museveni 1997, 142). 205 of ‘any meaningful benefits that might have accrued to it as a result of forging an alliance with any of the countries neighbouring Uganda’ (Amaza 1998, 25); however, Obote’s actions against the Baganda during his first term in office ensured that this region was fertile ground for NRA support (Mutibwa 2008). The main county in the Luwero triangle, Bulemezi, was just eighteen miles away from the capital city (Mutibwa 2008). Not only did this mean that the guerrilla forces were within striking distance of their opposition, but the majority of the state’s military bases were nearby, thus providing the NRA with ample opportunity to strike in order to increase their stock of weapons.

As the guerrillas entered each new area in the Luwero, political representatives would engage with older members of the community for support with food as outlined above. They would then be asked to form Resistance Councils (Tidemand 1994). Once an area was made safe, the RCs became open, democratically elected organisations, run by villages, but still serving the NRA, thus establishing the height of ‘voluntary compliance’ (Kasfir 2002, 35; Kasfir 2005). In turn, the mini-state is forming along socio-spatial and authoritative infrastructures, extending the reach of the NRM, through a diversification of military power, into the realms of political power (Mann 1984) The RCs were democratic and were given responsibility for the judiciary, taxation and education in their local areas, along with a greater command over their designated chief (Tidemand 1994). When the main safe zone was attacked by the UNLA in 1983, trust between soldiers and civilians was demonstrated, as the civilians were evacuated to other areas they continued to maintain their RCs even in displacement camps (Kasfir 2005).

These macro-level and micro-level functions provided the NRA with the basis to develop a strong military and political form of resistance against the state. The actions of the rebels instigated what I have termed a mini-state, based upon Mann’s criteria of city- or tribal-states, justifying its existence, its relationship with society and forging an (expanding) territorial boundary (Mann 1984). By 1984, the NRM’s objectives changed to an offensive war, or ‘conventional warfare’, attacking and holding towns such as Masindi and Hoima in Bunyoro (NRM Secretariat 1990). By October 1985, the safe zone had extended to include the whole of Western Uganda and the mini-state had evolved into a 206 functioning interim government in the liberated areas (Kasfir 2005; Reno 2002). The NRA effectively used military power to provide a strong, credible resistance against the military power of the state. Through its tactic of establishing a protracted people’s war, the NRA not only built up its military recruitment and weapons, but it also developed a close political relationship with the civilians in the Luwero triangle, providing it with the essential infrastructures for survival. In doing so, Museveni created a mini-state within the Ugandan state. The leader used his skills and knowledge co-opted from other guerrilla movements to forge a grassroots campaign against the state which, for the first couple of years, suffered minimal losses as they relied upon short, sharp bursts of violence against government barracks and troops to reinforce their supplies. The workings of the NRA provide what I would term as the best example of Mann’s theorisation of autonomous military power in the face of extreme repression by the Obote II government, as analysed below.

State reaction and state formation The launch of the NRA bush war in the Luwero triangle in 1981 provided the Obote II state with justification to resume its levels of domestic repression as its functions responded to the rebel resistance. This repression was aimed against the Baganda, as Obote had done in the 1960s. According to Mutibwa (1992, 159) and the ICRC (Ofcansky 1996, 55), Obote’s UNLA soldiers killed an estimated 300,000 Baganda, whilst another 500,000 were displaced, many of whom suffered in state concentration camps. 97 Domestic repression by the state reached the highest of Mann’s levels during this period, as the government waged what Harff and Gurr (1988, 365) have termed as xenophobic violence against the Baganda. According to Kosozi (1994), who provides a detailed list of the names of civilians believed to be killed by government forces (254-72), so many Baganda were killed that it became impossible to bury all the bodies.

This period is a classic example of Mann’s understanding of level four of domestic repression going too far, whereby ‘[i]ts instruments [are] relatively uncontrollable. […] It could lead to more disorderly outcomes’ (Mann 1993, 403–4). That is, the state eventually loses control over the military as it exerts

97 In marginally more conservative estimates, civilian deaths ranged between 50,000 and 200,000 (Brett 1995, 143; Harff and Gurr 1988, 365). 207 domestic repression, leading ultimately to Obote’s downfall. The motivation behind the continued killing of Baganda between 1981 and 1985 was based upon the pretence that the civilian population were harbouring or helping Museveni’s guerrilla forces. Indeed, young male Baganda were the main targets as it was believed they were the right age group to join the government opposition (Kasozi 1994, 146). However, the numbers indicate that more was at play here than reacting to the guerrilla war. It appears that there was a conscious effort to direct military repression at the Baganda as an ethnic population. As Kasozi continues, Kikoosi Maluum, which formed the nucleus of the UNLA, was indoctrinated that Baganda lives could be taken with impunity, ‘an inscription on a disused Nakaseke hotel [told] soldiers that a good Muganda is a dead Muganda’ (1994, 150). Indeed, an article published by an Acholi UNLA soldier in a NRM newspaper alleges: ‘We are ordered to kill Baganda of all ages so that this province with 4 million people will be depopulated before the next general election’ (NRM Secretariat 1990, 169). According to Human Rights Watch, a ‘wanton disregard for human rights by government troops and massive loss of human lives, especially in the Buganda “Luwero triangle”’ characterised this period of civil war in Uganda’s history (Human Rights Watch 1999, 46).

Kasozi (1994), through his own research, provides us with the greatest detail on the region of origin of people killed between 1981-85, as demonstrated in the table below in a sample of deaths from 1981. 98 Fewer than fourteen per cent stemmed from regions outside of Buganda. Those killed in Buganda included peasants, business people and politicians in both urban and rural areas of the region. To the outside world, Obote was seen as the hero who had ousted the tyrant Idi Amin and had been democratically elected by the Ugandan people (Crisp 1983). Through a media blackout he managed to control the amount that

98 It must be noted, however, that before and during the December 1980 elections, Obote’s Kikoosi Maluum allegedly killed between 3,000-30,000 soldiers and residents of the West Nile, Amin’s area of origin, in an attack which reduced large parts of the region to rubble (Kasozi 1994, 177). These attacks resulted in 240,000 West Nile refugees in Zaire and the Sudan (Anoymous 1984). 208 humanitarian workers and journalists saw of the atrocities being committed by his own forces in Luwero. 99

Table 12. Deaths recorded by Kasozi (1994, 178, 254–57) in Buganda region compared to other areas of Uganda, in 1981. Date Buganda Other regions Jan 1981 10 0 February / March 1981 44 0 April / May 1981 24 16 June / July 1981 37 3 August 1981 19 0 September 1981 42 3 October 1981 55 1 November 1981 10 10 Total 238 33 (According to the World Bank (2016), Uganda’s total population was 12,547,754 in 1980, with 3,582,434 in the Central Region (roughly covering Buganda) (Konoema 2016).)

The UNLA purge of terror functioned well until December 1983, when its commander Oyite Ojok was killed in a helicopter crash, whose ‘loss to Obote was incalculable’ due to his single-handed running of the army (Ingham 1994, 197). Prior to this, the UNLA and Obote had managed to maintain a veil of secrecy over its operations and even launch Operation Bonanza in June 1982. This operation was a sustained military attack against the Luwero population, with continuous slaughter, mainly perpetrated by Acholi members of the UNLA (Doom and Vlassenroot 1999). According to Amnesty International, this period of violence resulted in at least thirty-six mass grave sites in the region (Ofcansky 1996, 55). It was at this point that reports started to emerge in the international media about the UNLA atrocities (Le Monde 1984a; Le Monde 1984b; Pike 1984; Murphy 1984). The UNLA soldiers, who had received little payment in the first place, started to divide on a regional basis, with Acholi

99 For example, Ugandan Red Cross and UNICEF workers were allowed to visit the camps during the day but they were shipped back to the capital at night when soldiers would be responsible for abductions, rape and murder in the camps (Crisp 1983). 209 revolting against the dominance of Obote’s fellow Langi soldiers, especially when Obote chose another Langi to replace Ojok (Ngoga 1998, 103). The Acholi were also aggrieved that they were carrying out the UNLA’s worse atrocities in the Luwero triangle, whilst Obote’s fellow Langi had more senior roles (Mamdani 1988, 1159; Tindigarukayo 1988, 617).

It was at this point that Obote’s National Security Agency (NASA) turned on the UNLA; the repressors were repressed themselves. Previously, these agents had worked in a similar fashion to Amin’s PSU and SRB, using technological infrastructures to search out specific rebels (Musiime 2012; Agaba 2009; Baker 2007).100 The remit developed as it used its infrastructures of surveillance to track dissatisfaction within the army, reporting to Obote in June 1985 that an Acholi-led UNLA coup was imminent (Omara-Otunnu 1987, 162). Although NASA proved to be good at reporting such dissent, it never actually stopped the coup which ousted Obote the following month, demonstrating that this paramilitary organisation never managed to reach the scale which Obote’s predecessor’s secret groups had managed.

The use of military power during the Obote II regime to repress Uganda’s civilians and in particular (but not exclusively) the Baganda, 101 proved to be more lethal than the deployment of this power source by Idi Amin. 102 Yet, it is Amin who is frequently cited as the Butcher of Uganda (CNN 2003). Obote and Ojok, his commander used military might in an attempt to eradicate a whole section of Uganda’s population, reaching level four of Mann’s theorisation of domestic repression. That the main resistance to the state, the NRA, was based in the Buganda region provided the regime with a legitimate excuse to commit atrocities against the civilians living there. Indeed, some commentators during the Obote II period even justified the UNLA actions to oust the rebels with some implying that the rebels were also causing high numbers of civilian deaths and

100 Indeed, they were called “computer men” because they used to carry computer printouts with them with list of subversives’ names (Musiime 2012, 99). 101 Towards the second half of the Obote II period the state increased its assaults on other populations including returning refugees from southern Sudan, and the Banyarwanda and Bahima populations in south western Uganda along with the continuation of violence against West Nilers (Ofcansky 1996; Kasozi 1994). 102 If we consider the top end of the estimated deaths, Amin killed 500,000 people which was roughly 62,500 for every year in power (January 1971 to April 1979). Obote killed up to 300,000 Baganda and possibly up to 30,000 West Niler, roughly equating to 73,333 people per year (December 1980 to July 1985). 210 threatening aid workers (Ingham 1994, 186; see for example Harrison 1981). The repression had the effect of aiding the NRA/M’s cause as more people joined in opposition to government brutality. Despite the coup of 1985, Museveni’s rebel group could not reach an agreement in peace talks with the government led by Tito Okello, but by this time, their military power far outstripped that of the government forces as they marched into Kampala in January 1986 to start a new era of Uganda’s state formation (Museveni 1997).

Levels of domestic repression and resistance - conclusion The period of Uganda’s history between 1962 and 1986 saw a dramatic increase in the strength and deployment of military power; to the point where the state transformed into a crystallised expression of militarism, dominating over all other networks of power. Mann has said that social power is used by people to achieve their goals. In the case of the Ugandan state elite, military power became the de facto source of power. This conclusion highlights how Mann’s tools of analysis which bring into focus the control, organisation and functions of military power demonstrate the effects of this source of power on the formation of the Ugandan state.

The first section of the chapter analysed the control and organisation of state military power during the Obote I, Amin and Obote II regimes. The appearance of the armed forces drastically changed during this period, yet, paradoxically, some key characteristics of the colonial period were maintained. Not only did the armed forces increase in numbers, but they also received more funding from new sources and became entwined with other state structures, ultimately forging a military elite which dominated state power. As Mudoola has pointed out, the Ugandan military became a political actor ‘when competing sociopolitical forces, in a bid to tilt the balance in their favour, sought the support of the military. The result was that the Ugandan military, after independence, was built, expanded and equipped in response to internal political cum military crises which, in turn, ultimately led to its nakedly activist role on its own terms’ (1987, 4–5). In other words, the military became the state, and military power was used to maintain this status quo. However, the military retained its regional ethnic basis, with recruitment focused on the Northern regions of Uganda as the British colonialists had done. These regions were not homogenous though. 211

Throughout the period the military was dominated by Langi, Acholi or West Nile soldiers, dependent upon who was President and commander of the armed forces at the time. In Mann’s work, such changes in the control and organisation of military power affect the ability of the state to project political power; as became evident during the Obote I regime, the strength of the military eventually surpassed that of the state culminating in the military coup d’état .

The second part of this section analysed the functions of state militarism from 1962 to 1979. Mann’s theorisation of domestic repression forms the basis for our understanding of these functions. Although Mann states that domestic repression is used to control ‘rioters’, in the case of Uganda, state military power was deployed to repress those who were deemed to be against the state, even though they did not “riot” per se . During the majority of this period the state can be situated within level three of Mann’s classification, where paramilitaries and armed forces were used to control the population. In some cases, the militarised state resorted to direct lethal violence, killing, raping and looting enemies; in particular, military enemies were vulnerable to such attacks, for example, the Kabaka’s men in the 1966 crisis or the Acholi and Langi soldiers who died at the hands of Amin after the coup . In other cases, domestic repression was centred upon the notion of fear and terror, coercing the civilian population into a state of suppression. The population were aware of what could happen to them if they so much as spoke out against the regime.

This section also saw the development of state infrastructures of military power, as featured in the Amin period when he used previous political infrastructures of power to extend a network of secret surveillance organisations throughout the country. These paramilitary groups provided the backbone for state control, especially over more prominent members of society. The armed resistance to the state which followed was a ‘reaction against the use of the military as an instrument of domestic policy, dating back to 1966’ (Mudoola 1987, 35).

The second section of the chapter brings together an analysis of the control, organisation and functions of the main source of autonomous military resistance in 1980s Uganda, the National Resistance Movement and Army led by Yoweri Museveni. The case provides a strong defence of Mann’s theorisation of 212 autonomous military power, thus justifying his distinct separation of political from military sources of power in his social power model. That it also relates directly to processes of state formation in Uganda’s history makes it a significant addition to this analysis. Museveni, with his small number of supporters in 1980 decentralised power from his position as Defence Minister to the Ugandan bush, namely, the Luwero triangle. The NRA severed all ties with the state as Milton Obote returned to power whilst at the same time did not rely upon support from other countries. Instead, it depended heavily upon building infrastructural state powers within the Luwero triangle for its own survival. ‘[T]he movement grew because of a politico-military symbiotic relationship between the National Resistance Army and the civilian population’ (Mudoola 1987, 35). Museveni built a mini-state, using military power to support its existence and protect the civilians which it needed for its political basis in society. The tactics deployed were focused on developing a protracted people’s war which would not only ensure victory in terms of recruitment and weapons, but would also make it a legitimate force in the eyes of the Ugandan population when it came to power.

The final section of this chapter explored the most lethal period of state military power as domestic repression reached Mann’s fourth level against the Baganda population in response to the NRA rebel movement. Obote and Ojok’s military armed forces were not the well-oiled terror machine of Amin’s era, perhaps explaining why they had to constantly maintain a high number of deaths, reaching an almost uncontrollable level four of domestic repression. The UNLA was disorganised, under paid, malnourished and disjointed as the two main factions, Acholi and Langi, failed to act as a unified unit, and Obote was unable to gain a secure grasp over the military as a whole. The armed forces were used as a civilian killing machine to divert attention away from their inability to defeat the NRA rebels.

Kasozi is wrong when he says that ‘[b]y the time Obote fell in 1985 [...] Uganda was a mere geographical expression, not a political entity’ (Kasozi 1994, 193); indeed, the state of Uganda had been destroyed, economically, politically and ideologically through the usurpation of military power by state elites. Yet the use of military power by a force of resistance crystallised into a new state. 213

Museveni’s NRM had already established an interim government in the West before they reached Kampala and set the precedent through the Resistance councils for a new source of political legitimacy. This challenges the typical view in the literature that militarism in Africa is always a negative force. The militarism of the NRA demonstrates how military power can be used as a force for good in the midst of terror and destruction. How the NRM developed upon this basis to form a new Ugandan state is tackled in the next chapter.

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Chapter Eight - Economic power in Museveni’s Uganda

Introduction The previous chapter demonstrated how militarism came to dominate all other networks of power during twenty years in Uganda’s history. It also showed how military power converged with political power during the NRA struggle in the Luwero triangle to overcome state repression and carve out the space for a new Ugandan state. This was a state based upon a Ten-Point Programme 103 which saw the restoration of a productive economy as one of the most significant elements for Uganda’s reconstruction. This chapter moves on to investigate state formation in Uganda from 1986 onwards, by arguing that economic power was, and still is, the most dominant source of power forming the modern Ugandan state, responding to the question of how has economic power been used to form the state in modern Uganda? 104 Economic power in Mannian terms is a sociology of classes, segments and sections. His understanding is based on an analysis of four stages of economic consciousness as detailed in his IOTA ( identity, opposition, totality and alternative ) model, presented in Chapter Three. The following analysis examines how the state has been able to consolidate its position through economic means, with an examination of these forms of class consciousness.

There is an abundance of scholarly work on modern Uganda. Its relative stability and acceptance of international aid have made it a fertile ground for empirical research, predominantly focusing on poverty and underdevelopment. Debates in the literature have centred upon the nature and forms of Uganda’s ability to reduce poverty and increase growth during the Museveni era, making it a leading actor for the study of aid and development intervention (Golooba- Mutebi and Hickey 2013). These have cut across areas such as HIV/Aids reduction (Allen and Heald 2004), universal education policies (Grogan 2009), decentralisation (Green 2013), the Poverty Eradication Action Plan (Ellis and Bahiigwa 2003), and more broadly the nature of Museveni’s hybrid regime (Tripp 2010). This chapter employs Mann’s model of economic power to provide a nuanced and sophisticated observation of modern Uganda in contrast to these development orientated debates, by considering the durability of the

103 See appendix 1. 104 However, as is apparent throughout this chapter, economic power crystallises with political power throughout the period. 215 modern state through the divisions and diffusion of economic power relations. This in turn aids our understanding of state power relations and the maintenance of the Ugandan state.

The context of modern Uganda is situated against a scene of three major macro-economic changes in the organisation of economic power in Uganda as highlighted in Chapter Four. First, the adoption of structural adjustment policies in 1987, second, the Poverty Eradication Action Plan, introduced in 1997 and third, the recent 2010 National Development Plan, all of which feature as the backdrop to the formation of the Ugandan state through the extraction, transformation, distribution and consumption of economic resources (Mann 1986; 1993). This chapter follows work by Vorhölter (2012), Martiniello (2015) and Birdsall (2015) by considering three economic groups within society and examines the relationship between the state and economic organisation to understand how the state is maintained in modern Uganda. 105

The chapter conceptualises state formation according to three of the definitions outlined in Chapter Two, modes of representation and intervention and its social bases. First, representation becomes an important element of the structural adjustment era as Uganda, along with other developing states have to initiate forms of democratisation, with different types for different groups. Second, the modes of intervention vary depending upon the economic group which are examined. In this regard, the state is examined based upon its ability to penetrate society and the means through which society can access the state. Third, the state becomes reliant upon particular economic actors as its basis to maintain its hegemony and enable the longevity of the current regime.

105 In her analysis of Western discourses in Uganda, Vorhölter identifies ‘ordinary’ Ugandans who are not elites. For her, ‘ordinary’ Ugandans are those who had basic education, could speak some English, but had generally not finished school and had not attended University (2012, 286). Martiniello argues that the study of politics needs to consider everyday peasant politics and the nuances within peasant and farmer groups challenging a unitary class subject (2015, 655). For Birdsall, despite her $10 a day classification of a secure middle class, she also acknowledges those who fall below this amount but are not classified as poor as they contribute to demand for products and services, thus fall somewhere in the gap between lowest income groups and elites (2015, 218). 216

Elites This first section of the chapter examines how economic power has been organised around elites. It considers three waves of elite organisation from 1986 to the present day, although all three have overlaps in terms of periodization and who they represent. The three waves can be described as the group of elites who benefited from economic reorganisation through structural adjustment policies, neoliberalisation and finally, the organisation of land and resources. These three waves of elites have maintained support for the Museveni state and ensured its re-election over the past thirty years through processes of economic patronage.

When Mann considers the roles of dominant and ruling classes on the rise of classes and nation-states (see for example 1993), he agrees with classical theorists Mosca and Pareto that elites are not just political, but also those who control other sources of power, such as economic, ideological or military. These other elites can organise ‘their own power in state institutions’ (1993, 48). Consequently, political elites need to make alliances with other powerful groups in society to achieve their own state goals, as the resources of the central state are not enough to do this. These crystallisations were key to the stability and maintenance of the political elite as in late eighteenth century Europe. Mann claims that in Britain and in Prussia for example, negotiations forged alliances between the political elites and property owners to increase the extraction of taxes (1993, 171). In contrast, France’s political elites decentralised the state by awarding privileges to local-regional power networks, whilst securing the central political elites’ position. Privileges bestowed on local elites included rights over peasants and exemptions from paying taxation on land (Mann 1993, 172).

Throughout Museveni’s period of rule, we see various crystallisations between political and economic elites creating a diverse but solid elite class formation in Uganda who make it their business to maintain the current state, thus ensuring their own position in society. The table below details the three groups of elites in Ugandan society along with indicative representations of who these elites are and their sources of income.

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Table 13. Sociological organisation of elites 106 Class Elites Section Structural Patronage and Natural resource adjustment elites public sector elites based elites Who? Ugandan post- Graduates of Ugandan Asians 1980 Makerere expelled during entrepreneurs; University / Amin regime and NRM donors. Members of returned to Museveni family, Uganda in 1986. former members of NRA war (historicals). Jobs CEOs Public Sector and Sugar/ cotton/ manufacturing, governance coffee/ tea industry and plantation owners commercial and owners of oil enterprises rich land. (banks) Based Throughout Kampala Mainly outside of Uganda Kampala

Structural adjustment elites This section outlines where early economic elites stemmed from in modern Uganda and the ways the state enabled economic elite to be formed. We see a crystallisation of political and economic power relations, as close confidents and family members of Museveni not only appear within the political establishment, but also benefit as the state is forced to reorganise public economic resources as a result of structural adjustment policies.

106 Sources: Anguyo, 2014; Bategeka, 2013; Deininger & Okidi, 2001; EIU Canback, 2015; Mitullah, 2003; Mpuga, 2004; Salami, Kamara, & Brixiova, 2010; Ssewanyana & Kasirye, 2012; Ssewanyana, Okidi, Angemi, & Barungi, 2004; The World Bank, 2015; Uganda Bureau of Statistics, 2013; UNData, 2015; World Bank, 2005

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Mann’s fourth volume on Globalisations provides an example of the crystallisation of political and economic power relations in neoliberal democracies (2013). He argues that despite the neoliberal doctrine of reducing the state and its influence over the market, the reality is an enmeshed situation where economic and political elites work within a system of patronage. In the late 1970s and 1980s, Mann outlines that Anglo countries experienced the emergence of financialisation and with it the creation of a privileged sectional class made up of investors, fund managers, CEOs, executives and management consultants (2013, 143). As he continues, ‘Banks set their executives’ pay as advised by outsiders drawn from insurance and pension funds […]. In return, bankers sit on their compensation committees. So they scratch each other’s backs and ratchet up salaries and stock options’ (Mann 2013, 143). In turn, shareholders are rarely unionised in any form of opposition and the workings of the industry become increasingly distant from ordinary people. In this regard, the governments of these states became complicit in the workings of the industry or acquiesce to the demands of the bankers, including further deregulation and protection against foreign competition (Mann 2013, 144). The state and finance became mutually inclusive.

The neoliberal turn in Uganda has created a network of patronage amongst elites, in some cases they sit on both sides of the political and economic spectrum. For example, after 1992, the government received threats from donors that it would receive limited loans if it did not instigate the process of selling off state owned sectors (Dijkstra and Van Donge 2001). The result was a reduction in this sector. In the late 1980s there existed 156 public enterprises, this was reduced to just 30 by the end of 2006 (Gore 2009, 377, 379). A course of patronage commenced. The state organised the sell-off to benefit a few particular elites. The process was shrouded in secrecy, with one independent newspaper criticising the lack of benefits for Ugandans (The Monitor 1995). It was deemed that those with a close relationship to the political leadership had the most opportunities to purchase state owned sectors (Tangri and Mwenda 2008). Political elites, including MPs, were able to make purchases at prices well below the estimated value of the public enterprise (Tangri and Mwenda 2008; Watt, Flanary, and Theobald 1999; Gore 2009). Once sales had been

219 made, the new owners were then permitted to resell the company at much higher prices.

The President’s half-brother, Major-General Salim Saleh, 107 was allowed to secretly buy Uganda’s largest bank, the Uganda Commercial Bank, from the state (Watt, Flanary, and Theobald 1999). He claimed later that he wanted to ensure the Bank remained in Ugandan hands as opposed to foreigners’ (Hoyos 1999). After the purchase, the Bank started to provide loans to companies owned by General Saleh, transactions which were not reported to the Bank of Uganda as required by banking regulations (Watt, Flanary, and Theobald 1999). Throughout this same period in office, Saleh also held positions in government as Senior Presidential Advisor on Defence and Minister of State for Micro- Finance. Saleh was not the only one; Museveni’s brother-in-law, Minister of State for Investment and Planning, Sam Kutesa, was also implicated along with Saleh in wrongdoings regarding the break-up and sale of elements of the Uganda Airlines Corporation (Tangri and Mwenda 2001). Media reports claim that some of those recently charged with corruption all stem from a close relationship with Museveni during the rebel movement in the Luwero Triangle and outside Uganda, including Saleh, Kutesa and others (BBC News 1998; Basudde 2014).108 More recently, others who fought with Museveni in the Luwero triangle have since retired from politics but became involved with some of the biggest companies in the country. 109 Those close to the President have avoided prosecution and others, such as the Managing Director of the bank were imprisoned instead, or reports of wrongdoing were simply ignored by the government (Nogara 2009). A United Nations report outlines that those accused of corruption in the process of privatisation have either been reshuffled or not reappointed with regards their roles in government, but the likes of Saleh, Kutesa and Rukikaire have never been brought to the courts for trial (Nogara 2009).

107 His original name was Caleb Akandwanaho, General Saleh was a name he created for himself whilst serving with Museveni in Mozambique. 108 Others include Matthew Rukikaire the Minister for Privatisation. 109 See for example Dr Jack Luyombya, a founding member of the NRM, later an MP, then Chairman of Kakira Sugar. 220

The evidence suggests that rather than letting the market govern itself, the NRM managed the organisation of privatisation through careful decisions about whom they were sold to. The examples above demonstrate that these were to close family members but evidence elsewhere shows that this was also to other NRM MPs (Gore 2009; Tangri and Mwenda 2008; Watt, Flanary, and Theobald 1999). The state made decisions about who would benefit from the sell-off of state holdings. These benefactors were select members of Museveni’s own social circle, meaning that the holders of political power had ties with the newly established private enterprises in Uganda, consequently creating strong links with the new economic establishment and the Government of Uganda (Brett 1994). The next section examines the political elite class who constitute the basis for the NRM’s dominant position at the centre of the state, and thus continue to enable a state to be formed along economic lines.

Patronage and public sector elites As we see a crystallisation of economic and political power relations, neoliberal policies forge economically rich political elites, who are, in the main, rewarded financially for their support to the state and rarely divert from the NRM agenda. In Mann’s work on classes and nations during the industrialisation period, those who exhibit titles and specialised skills working in government or the clergy form this kind of elite (1993). As a result, the state constituted a network of elites who radiated out from the centre into society, forming the first iterations of political parties, which are intrinsically vested in the state. For Mann, in a number of his analyses, the political elite benefit economically, i.e. through corruption, however, this will only last as long as those on the lower end of the economic spectrum do not dissent, as is his understanding of early twenty-first century China. ‘If the party-state loses control of its own officials and economic growth is undermined by rent seeking, then the state becomes vulnerable to discontent from below’ (2012, 240). In other words, patronage and corruption of political elites must also go hand-in-hand with some appeasement to those below, something which is examined in the middle section of this chapter with regards to Uganda. When painting a picture of class organisation and its relationship to state formation, it becomes apparent that political elites constitute a section of an economic class, with some estimates that Ugandan top level politicians earn 15 million Ugandan Shillings (USh) per month compared to the national average 221 income of 163,000 USh (Aljazeera 2014; Uganda Bureau of Statistics 2014, 97).

The first Members of Parliament from 1986, known as the ‘historicals’ by Tripp (2010, 63), were those who fought with Museveni in the Luwero triangle. Gradually, the central role which these members have played in the Ugandan NRM and NRA has reduced as their positions allowed them the confidence to raise criticisms against the regime and Museveni’s intention to scrap the limit on Presidential terms. They have either seen their portfolios reduced or have left the party to form their own opposition, usually followed by intimidation and imprisonment, as was the case with Besigye. 110 Instead, Museveni’s political elite has been replaced by a sectional class who even before becoming MPs exhibited greater economic advantage than others in Uganda, stemming from careers in business, law and education and usually possessing a degree from Makerere University (Josefsson 2014; O’Brien 2012). These new politicians do not constitute the wealthiest in Uganda, but they are a significant section of the elite class which demonstrates the stratification of economic power organisation in the country. These changes coincided with the opening up of the political system to a multiparty state in 2005, which gave the ruling party a better chance to stay in power as it fed on the popularity of this decision by politicians and members of the public alike (Tripp 2010). In addition to the new calibre of NRM MPs there were other features of the new political elite.

For example, whilst accepting economically advantaged people into the central NRM fold as a means to overcome the dissenting historicals, a few other policies have been established to ensure the loyalty of those stemming from this background. First, the growth in districts in recent years has increased the number of MPs from 284 to 395 between 1995 and 2006, giving Uganda the largest number of MPs per head in Africa (Robinson 2006, 18). In addition, during the same period the number of minsters has risen from 21 to 60 (ibid, 18). The extent to which these new political leaders are there for their people is

110 Besigye was a former NRA rebel and later NRM minister who left the movement to stand as Party President of the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) political party in the 2001, 2006 and 2011 presidential elections (https://www.facebook.com/KizzaBesigye1/info/?entry_point=page_nav_about_item&tab=page_ info ). 222 questionable as they attend just over a quarter of the required plenary sessions which are opportunities for MPs to present the views of their constituents (Humphreys and Weinstein 2013, 13).

The reserved seat system 111 also functions as a way to solidify the political elite and disperse opposition (Muriaas and Wang 2012). By claiming to represent traditionally unrepresented sections of society, these reserved seats provide the NRM government with the ability to assert that they are listening to all voices whilst ensuring that underrepresented voices do not have any alternative outlet. Indeed, the election results from 2006 demonstrate that 73 per cent of women, 80 per cent of youth and 100 per cent of disabled and workers reserved seats were composed of NRM MPs (Muriaas and Wang 2012, 314).112 The youth section of political elites is significant as Uganda has the second largest youngest population in the world, with 78% below the age of 30 (Andre 2015, 9). This kind of representation ‘can be utilised to traverse vertical loyalties’ thus cutting across segmental and class identities, instead creating a sectional identity co-opted to the government (Muriaas and Wang 2012, 317). Although this group is not economically organised by the state, the increase in MPs and introduction of quotas, demonstrate an organisation of classes, segments and sections. By creating elite positions in the political fold, there is a bolstering of a bulging loyal central group, whilst concurrently the state maintains support from segments of society from all classes which are traditionally underrepresented.

Natural resource based elites The final section on elites examines how elites with connections to natural resources exhibit another crystallisation of economic and political power relations as they contribute to the formation of the state in modern Uganda. Agriculture and oil are the main priorities of the government’s 2010 National Development Plan, however, integration between the state and the landed and resource rich elites was a feature of Ugandan state formation ten years before this plan was launched as demonstrated below. In the latter stages of his first volume and across his second, we see Mann’s theorisation of landed and

111 This gives a quota of seats to women, the disabled, youth, workers and the army. The workers represent the Free Trade Unions and the National Organisation of Trade Unions (Muriaas and Wang 2012). 112 The armed forces representatives are not affiliated to any party. 223 resource based elites develop. In early capitalist Europe, crystallisations were formed between these elites and states through the concept of private property. The extension of the infrastructural reach of states across geographical terrain coincided with increasing extensive power of local economic units through production and trade, thus states became ‘drawn into the regulation of more precise, technical, yet more universal property rights’ (Mann 1986, 512). This was in great contrast to the ‘private property’ of the European feudal period, where private property meant ‘hidden and effective possession’ away from the eyes of any emerging state (Mann 1986, 399). The crystallisation between the state and landed elites demonstrates ‘a matter of how a few preserved [their own private resources] […] and how the mass of the population lost their property rights to appear eventually as landless laborers’ (Mann 1986, 399, emphasis in original).

With regards to land, elite groups have emerged through partnerships with the state in Uganda. The 1998 Land Act (and its subsequent revisions) and the 2010 National Development Plan were ambiguous in the legislation over how land should be governed, resulting in economically rich groups leveraging themselves against local communities to gain access to the most resource rich areas (Sjögren 2013b; Rugadya 2009). For example, whilst the majority of the Acholi population were still living in Internally Displaced People’s camps during the 2000s, Northern elites managed to escape to Kampala and were able to participate in discussions pertaining to the Gulu District Development Plan from 2001 onwards (Acker 2004, 343). As Sjögren (2013b, 62) comments ‘[t]he vast, fertile and oil-rich land in Acholi has attracted the attention of prospective investors’, resulting in a number of ‘controversial purchases, leases and allocations’. In 2008, the Land District Board allocated Salim Saleh’s girlfriend 1000 ha and General Julius Oketta 10,000 ha in the Amuru district (Martiniello 2015, 660).113 Oketta has been the UDPF representative in Parliament, a nominated member of the United Nations Central Emergency Response Fund and the African Union’s head of Ebola Outbreak Support, and still has a large presence in the North despite the end of the conflict almost ten years ago (African Union 2014; Sekanjako 2013). However, it is those organisations

113 Amuru District is situated to the west of Gulu District. 224 independent of the state which have profited most from the government’s decrees on land.

One significant example is the government allocating land to the Madhvani Group to build the Amuru Sugar Works Ltd production and processing plant. Amuru District is known for its fertile land and natural minerals with a low population density less than 100 persons per km² (Ministry of Water and Environment 2010). The investors are the largest private-sector company in Ugandan agriculture and agro-processing (van Leeuwen et al. 2014; Serwajja 2012), which had been disintegrated during the Amin period but has been in existence in Uganda since the 1930s (Ravenhill 1974; Olanya 2014) 114 . Madhvani already own the Kakira Sugar Works and supply electric power to the national grid on a daily basis (Olanya 2014). The Group has a strong history with the NRM. In a recent memorial to the late Director of the Group, Museveni was quoted as thanking Manubhai M. Madhvani for his contribution to the NRM struggle when the soon to be President visited London in 1981. Since 1986, the Group has been a major funder for Museveni’s election campaigns (Martiniello 2015; Madhvani Group 2012), furthermore, the chairman of the Madhvani board, Jack Luyombya, is a NRA historical having fought with Museveni in the civil war and having stepped away from a role in politics in 1995 (Lubega 2013).

The deal to allocate the communal land in Amuru without consent of or compensation to the local population has proven tough competition for those who protested against the allocation, claiming the investors and state failed to recognise the customary rights which Acholi people had over the 40,000 hectares of land (van Leeuwen et al. 2014, 117; Wesonga 2015; Olanya 2014). This is further exacerbated by the close ties which the Group have with the Museveni government which, according to some reports, is acting in this ‘joint venture’ on behalf of the public (Olara 2015; Serwajja 2012; Martiniello 2015); although academic research on affected communities demonstrates the contrary (Serwajja 2012). In the eyes of the state, the dispute, running since 2007, was resolved when the state declared that the protestors had withdrawn their petition against the land takeover in January 2015 (Wesonga 2015). The

114 The Madhvani group repossessed its former factories and industries in 1985 (Olanya 2014). 225 government claimed that the deal with Madhvani is in the name of development for local communities (Olanya 2014).

Another example demonstrates the negotiation of power by heavy-weight economic elites with the state. The discovery of large deposits of oil in the Albertine Graben 115 has been described as a ‘muscular form of ‘economic nationalism’’ whereby a ‘gold rush’ has emerged amongst ‘old-guard members of the “super-elite” or “ruling families”, who are frantically seeking to secure a soft financial landing by capturing rents’ (Hickey et al. 2015, 7–8). Once again, crystallisations between those with long-standing connections with the Museveni political regime have been forming, despite the fact that since 2011, three international oil companies, Total, Tullow Oil and China National Offshore Oil Corporation have received permission to explore in five areas of the Albertine Graben (Hickey et al. 2015) .

The deals that happened before large company takeovers are more interesting for our understanding of this section of the elite class, as the buyers have benefited from sales or leases to the multinationals shrouded in a veil of secrecy (Global Witness 2015). In one example, the super-elite included the Minister for Security, Muruli Mukasa, accused of forcing the evictions of 1000 people from the Kingfisher oil field, which has some of the largest deposits (Matsiko 2012). Two other elites from the army, Lieutenant General Jim Owoyesigyire and Col. David Kaboyo are accused of similar actions in the region (Matsiko 2012). The President and departments within his government 116 have been the key players to ensure deals regarding oil reflect the current political status quo. For example, the President’s office now controls access to all villages and communities affected by the oil exploration and local, political and industrial elites are relied upon to transmit messages about oil to the local populations leaving little space for civil society organisations to represent alternative views or even gain access to these communities (Van Alstine et al. 2014; Manyak 2015; Human Rights Watch 2012).

115 Located in Western Uganda, the region comprises mainly of Masindi, Kibale and Hoima districts (Manyak 2015). 116 Such as the Ministries of Energy and Mineral Development, Finance and related agencies such as the Bank of Uganda and the URA (Hickey et al. 2015). 226

Within these discussions, it is also worth noting the securitisation of land and oil by state related militaries, such as Special Forces Group, led by the Brigadier General Mhuoozi Kainerugaba, Museveni’s son and Saracen Security, a private security firm owned by General Salim Saleh, which both protect some of the drilling sites in the Albertine region (Van Alstine et al. 2014, 56; Vokes 2012, 310). With regards to the Amuru region, the land assigned to the Madhvani Group was deemed vacant by the Amuru District Land Board, however, this assessment neglected to mention the large number of displaced people and the huge numbers of military, police and Uganda Wildlife Authority security who have been guarding the land in question (Olanya 2014).

As indicated earlier, there are some elites who appear in more than one category, demonstrating what we may term the “super-elites” of Uganda. Mann does not provide a theorisation of those elites who transcend elite sections, which suggests that his original theorising needs to encompass the crystallisations of economic power with other sources of power as elites maintain their dominance. The elite-elite bargains during this period demonstrate a win-win impact for the state as its own power was forged by granting access to economic resources to those with close relationships with the state. For those at the other end of the spectrum, as pointed out above, land grabbing has created forced evictions and very little mechanisms through which subsistence farmers can protest, but in turn, greater political representation with an increase in districts and quotas has maintained support for the ruling party. As the next section argues, there is not one single peasant or working class identity and the elite pacts above have helped to carve these groups into Mann’s classifications of sections and segments.

The fragmentation of labour This next section of the chapter looks at how economic power organised by the state and elites has created the fragmentation of labour, ensuring that a class identity cannot form. As a consequence, there is no space for an alternative to establish itself and challenge the formation of the current Ugandan state. Instead, three sections, in Mannian terms can be identified, as outlined in the table below. First to be analysed here are agricultural workers who work for large corporations such as Amuru Sugar Works or hold their own subsistence 227 farms, making a small profit selling their goods to the market. Second, the informal sector consists of groups such as market traders or boda boda drivers who offer small scale services; and finally, the third section analyses the manufacturing labour sectional identity.

Table 14. Sociological organisation of labour 117 Class Labour Section Agriculture Small scale services Manufacturing / Industry Who? Owners of 1-10 ha of Young people. Urban dwellers land and up to 10 Large numbers of animals women.

Type of Farming Market traders; In factories work boda boda drivers, producing tobacco, airtime sellers. beverages, paper, Labour intensive, chemicals low skilled trade Based? Rural Mainly urban Urban

This section demonstrates how the state organised economic structures for the lower levels of class in Uganda to maintain its political position. Two examples from Mann’s work are used here to demonstrate how the sociology of this class has been formed in Uganda. First, in his 1973, work on working classes he discusses how ‘the compliance of the working class with the authority structure of liberal democracy [in Britain and the U.S.] rested largely on ‘pragmatic acceptance’ of its lowly position in society’ (Mann 1973, 30). This is due in part to the construction of class identity and their opposition , in the form of the pyramidal structure of labour, whereby workers accept the reality of the structures and ‘generate a total account of [their] life situation’ which results in

117 Sources: Anguyo, 2014; Bategeka, 2013; Deininger & Okidi, 2001; EIU Canback, 2015; Mitullah, 2003; Mpuga, 2004; Salami, Kamara, & Brixiova, 2010; Ssewanyana & Kasirye, 2012; Ssewanyana, Okidi, Angemi, & Barungi, 2004; The World Bank, 2015; Uganda Bureau of Statistics, 2013; UNData, 2015; World Bank, 2005

228 lower aspirations (Mann 1973, 30). In addition, it is also due in part to this alienation from political processes and alternatives which mean they are less likely to become revolutionary as they lack confidence in their own power. In other words, the structures of economic power organisation are presented in such a way, by either the state or elites, that the working class do not perceive there to be any alternative to their status quo.

The second example here is Mann’s analysis of the peasantry; for him, a theorisation of class relations must also include an understanding of agrarian populations (Mann 1993).118 He comments that investigation in the West has been predominantly anti-agrarian and scholars working on the Global South have made better advances in this regard. However, for Mann’s analysis of the West, he argues that political organisations structured agrarian class relations just as much as they did for working classes. In this regard, during the industrial revolution, agrarian class identity was also fragmented and segmentally controlled as farm workers could only achieve their wants and needs through their employer or landlord and rarely saw any point in uniting with other segments or sections of their class (Mann 1993, 695). The following paragraphs examine this IOTA model in relation to the economic organisation of labour.

Agricultural labour In two-thirds of sub-Saharan African countries, more than 60 per cent of people rely upon rural areas to support their daily needs and this number is growing as urbanisation increases the demand for better quality food products and agricultural value chains have become better organised (Boone 2014, 53; Akinyoade et al. 2014). That rural sections of Uganda’s population still remain the most economically disadvantaged in the country leads to questions on how economic power is organised (Kaduru 2011). This section of society can include what Mann terms as landless labourers , those who are working for estate owning elites and in some cases may be bonded to a particular organisation or

118 In Mann’s analysis of the organisation of economic distribution during the second industrial revolution between 1880 and 1914 he points out that ‘[w]hile the workers have been done to death, peasants have been largely forgotten’, and yet for the majority of countries in his analysis, farmers constitute the largest part of the population; even in Germany, those working in agriculture in 1910 numbered just one percentile less than those in manufacturing. The main exception to this was Great Britain, which had only nine per cent of the labour force working in agriculture in 1910 (Mann 1993, 692–93).

229 area of land or they may be peasants (Mann 1993). Either way, they derive their economic existence from the land, and agriculture in particular. For Mann, they possess very little ability to organise themselves, they are ‘territorially dispersed; barely literate; living and working under direct employer control, often accommodated in his or her farm, sometimes as bonded servants; and subject to farmer segmental control’ or hold a very small plot of land for subsistence; ‘they have no inherent class opponent in a Marxian production-centered sense, because their production is autonomous’ (Mann 1993, 695).

Economic organisation within this section of the labouring class has been organised segmentally on a regional basis in Uganda, meaning the state avoids facing a class identity , despite segmental opposition . For example, the Acholi segment signifies a group of agrarian workers in the North who do share an identity with each other as they are no longer divided by conflict and in turn are disproportionately disadvantaged in contrast to the rest of the Ugandan population; therefore, they do not share an identity along class lines. Evidence suggests that they are significantly less well-off than Eastern, Western and Central areas of Uganda (Golooba-Mutebi and Hickey 2010; Ssewanyana 2010). The 2009/10 Uganda National Household Survey showed that rural Northern Uganda suffered from double the percentage level of poverty in comparison to the next highest region in the East; moreover, urban Northern poverty was almost three-quarters higher than Central and Western areas (Uganda Bureau of Statistics 2010).119

The case of the Amuru sugar factory, outlined above, provides a clear example of the creation of a sectional segment of the Acholi society which has been able to express discontent, yet, in turn, does not have any leverage against the arms of the central state and its local elites. Through Operation North, the government initiated displacement in the region as the local, rural populations were forced to move from their farms into government held IDP camps during the war with the LRA (Branch 2009). Those political elites campaigning against the 1998 Land Act and the Gulu District Development Plan of 2001 were prevented from entering the camps. The acts impacted 800,000 agriculturalists

119 Rural Northern Uganda registered 49%, rural Eastern 24.7%; urban Northern consisted of 19.7, whilst urban Central 5.4% and urban Western 4.2% (Uganda Bureau of Statistics 2010). 230 and the ninety per cent of arable land which was not being cultivated in the region due to their internment (Acker 2004, 343; Finnström 2008, 183). This set a precedent for dispossession when peace allowed discussions about the establishment of the sugar factory, as many IDPs could not return to the land that they had held prior to the conflict. Local resistance involved small-scale protests which included destroying fences and other demarcations of land, non- violent demonstrations, stripping by women and local assembly meetings in the face of greater use of force and monitoring by state armed forces and the police (Martiniello 2015, 663–64; Serwajja 2014, 160). Therefore, it is safe to argue that an Acholi agrarian identity exists but its consciousness is regional and cannot extend to a class totality with others in agricultural labour throughout the country; consequently it is not a threat to the state.

In stark contrast to those in the North, agriculturalists in the Central region of Buganda have another segmental identity , this time, aligned with the government. An Acholi newspaper accused the government of providing preferential treatment to the Baganda, who were squatting on land pursued by investors (Wesonga 2013). Forming the basis for the NRA’s war against Obote, the Baganda peasantry and landed elites were seen as the NRM’s natural allies. However, the re-instating of kingdoms by Museveni’s government as cultural (rather than political) institutions created a rift between the elites in Mengo and the government. The state has therefore attempted to win over the rural, agricultural Baganda to maintain popular support (Goodfellow and Lindemann 2013). The aforementioned 1998 Land Act hoped to deal with the colonially created mailo land and protect farmers or occupants who had lived on the land prior to 1995 for at least 12 years giving them the legal protection from eviction, thus creating a division between the Baganda landlords (who were mainly Mengo elites and affiliates) and the state (Goodfellow and Lindemann 2013; Green 2006; Okuku 2006). The occupants were not just Baganda but also migrants to the area such as Banyankole-Bahima and Banyarwanda which added further discontent and brought a segmental, ethnic dimension to the organisation of land in the region. Rural Baganda were stuck in the middle, hoping to gain from the occupancy of land, and yet, also wanting to maintain their allegiances to their Kingdom in the face of a perceived invasion of ‘foreigners’ (Green 2006). 231

Once again, a total identity, even on a segmental basis (i.e. occupiers of Mailo land in the Buganda region) has not emerged, as the government created multiple levels of opposition. What we do see is a small alternative emerging in the form of the 2009 Buganda riots in response to the government’s ‘carrot-and- stick’ tactics (Goodfellow 2013). The riots, consisting of Baganda peasantry, were not a reaction per se to the land issues, but instead a response to government control over the Kingdom (Baral and Brisset-Foucault 2009), although attacks against the Banyankole-Bahima and Banyarwanda demonstrated the underlying hostility and how the government had forged lines between the ethnic groups.

There is a sense that a smallholder and peasant identity , although it exists in segmental (regional) terms, is not a totality in Mannian terms. This lack of a total class identity means that the state does not have to fear any resistance. It does not negate any form of contestation which does occur from this section of society, but indicates, as evidence from Martiniello (2015) suggests, that their voices are not allowed to unite through various means of economic repression by the apparatuses of the state. This is further compounded by the fact that agrarians share very little in a class consciousness with their counterparts in the informal and manufacturing sectors.

Small scale service sector In Uganda the informal sector, described as ‘dynamic’ and ‘growing’, consists of economic activities in an urban environment which are outside the ‘formal institutional framework’ (World Bank 2005). They are sometimes referred to as entrepreneurs or working in micro and small enterprises, however, in reality, they are usually urban based, working outside the parameters of the formal economy receiving very low incomes (Ikoja-Odongo and Ocholla 2004; Haan 2001). In order to theorise informality, we turn to Mann’s understandings of small scale entrepreneurs. Within his analysis of the Chartist movements in the first half of the nineteenth century, there existed those skilled in craft or trade. During the early European formation of classes amongst the backdrop of the industrial revolutions, Mann points out that these sections of the working class failed to create a totality with other sections of the working classes because of 232 segmental divides (Mann 1993, 512). The threat to their own identity are those within their class but not skilled in their particular trade. Their loyalties are vertically aligned to divide the class, situating themselves within their region or type of industry rather than horizontally with their class. For example, in 1764, London tailors took to the streets to strike, but they were not joined by any other artisans of other trades, therefore, they were sectionally organised (Mann 1993, 516–17).

In Uganda the informal sector workers operate alongside the formal sector. ‘It comprises a diversity of small and micro enterprises and trades that are widely spread throughout the country. It excludes illicit activities’ (Ikoja-Odongo and Ocholla 2004, 55). They are usually mixed with the household economy and can include food processing and selling, street vending, transport (taxis and boda boda ), services (hairdressing, car washing), handcrafts and small scale wood and metal fabrication and trade of clothing (World Bank 2005). Generally, as with other sub-Saharan African countries, most informal workers are women and usual comprise of just one person in the enterprise (Haan 2001, 7).

There are a number of examples which demonstrate the crystallisation of state political power with this section of economic power organisation. Museveni has carefully negotiated a relationship with small scale informal traders, through economic interventions such as Savings and Credit Organisations, microfinance initiatives and enabling economic practices in prohibited areas (Titeca 2014)., Traders working in the large markets of Nakasero and Kisekka, for example, were able to benefit from an alliance forged with the NRM, pitting them against the Kampala City Council (KCC). During the 2000s the Council has endeavoured to sell large publically owned markets to individual, private companies as a means of generating capital and encouraging redevelopment (Goodfellow and Titeca 2012). Responding to protests from market traders, Museveni personally overturned the decision. He has also acted to reduce rents for traders and in return was given the opportunity to make use of the market radio station for NRM campaigns.

Similar interventions have been used by the central government to stop the increase of city taxes on the ever-growing boda boda drivers in the city centre 233

(Goodfellow and Titeca 2012; Titeca 2014). When thousands of Kampala commuters chose to walk-to-work in protest at high fuel prices after the 2011 election, the government, through force, but also through placating some groups such as the boda boda drivers, were able to prevent uprisings on a scale to those happening at the same time in North Africa (Izama and Wilkerson 2011; Goodfellow 2014).120 For the Museveni government, large numbers of market traders and boda boda drivers in Kampala are ‘considered to be political capital that can play a crucial role in electoral competitions’ (Titeca 2014, 179). As was the case for small scale enterprises in Mann’s analysis of Western Europe, the sectional identity becomes more important when pitted against other sections within a class, thus making it very easy to form allegiances with a vertical segment, with the state carefully negotiating support to the detriment of local governance in this case.

Expressions of identities amongst this section of the proletariat are varied. For example, boda boda drivers are usually organised within associations, although, in real terms, this usually means a club or stage 121 of drivers, which provide ‘operational discipline’ on a local basis (Howe and Davis 2002, 236). However, membership to an association is costly and can inhibit a potential boda boda driver from the market. Street vendors, on the other hand, are rarely organised into associations, which indeed impacts their ability to organise as a collective section and consequently are limited in defending themselves against by-laws or policies which can affect their day-to-day activities, despite the fact that the local councils collect revenue from them (Mitullah 2003). One study has shown that street vendors in Kampala are susceptible to KCC harassment and must bribe enforcement officers; and in one instance in 2002, the Council resorted to ‘Operation Clean City’ to remove street vendors in response to complaints from shop owners and banks (Mitullah 2003, 17).

As Mann pointed out in his analysis of nineteenth century Europe, working class organisation was disjointed, especially as artisans chose to remain predominantly as a section, rather than solidifying their solidarity with others from the working classes (Mann 1993, 667). What we see here in Uganda are

120 Museveni created new savings and credit facility for the boda boda drivers (Goodfellow and Titeca 2012, 268) 121 The stage is a boda boda type of taxi rank. 234 sections within the informal sector that cannot form a totality , they may have their sectional identities , but opposition is unclear and confusing as the state manipulates its position especially within the urban area of Kampala. As one article notes, ‘many of the city’s workers increasingly secure their livelihoods in the city’s crowded informal economic sphere through exploiting their political significance’ for the current NRM regime (Goodfellow and Titeca 2012, 265, emphasis in original). In other words, the state benefits greatly from the support it garners through this section of the proletariat, whilst informal workers can leverage their general day-to-day conditions with small wins through the central state. Consequently, the state is formed along the lines of this broad social basis of the service sector.

Manufacturing labour Mann is very clear to point out that Marx ‘overestimated the revolutionary tendencies of the proletariat’; most sociologists, in his opinion have elevated the organisational capacity of industrial and manufacturing labour (1993, 24). He does not deny their identities but does insist that other sectional and segmental organisation within the proletariat should be considered, as demonstrated above. Further, conflict that did exist cannot be viewed solely on economic terms, but also within the parameters of the other power relations. The consciousness of industrial workers does not follow a clear trajectory from low to high as Mann identifies: ‘[m]any contrary processes are at work, and particularly heavy defeats or, indeed, economistic gains in strikes may set back a development in consciousness’ (Mann 1973, 47). In Uganda, manufacturing has stagnated at 7.4% of GDP for the past two decades and is regarded as a declining industry during the Museveni era (Ecuru, Lating, and Trojer 2014). Outputs include tobacco, beverages (sodas and beers), paper and printed products, chemicals, paint and soap, and construction materials (metal, brick and cement) (Namakonzi and Inanga 2014).

The start of the modern Ugandan state was met with a ‘faction-ridden and polarized trade union movement’, a legacy of the numerous parties and leaders during the civil war (Barya 2010, 88). By 2002, the unions had been ‘subdued and deactivated’ to a bare existence (Beckman 2002, 93). The processes of neoliberalisation as outlined in Chapter Four have negated any functioning of 235 working class trade unions in the formal sector, although trade unions have not disappeared during the past thirty years; 22 registered unions existed in 2006 (Barya 2010, 92). Instead, workers, whether represented through specially designated MPs established in 1997 or the National Organisation of Trade Unions (NOTU), have been co-opted to the NRM agenda and thus continue to form a social basis for the state (Barya 2010; Beckman 2002; Andrae 2000). These two forms of representation are not united in their identity, nor organised to support workers’ rights, as Barya continues, ‘[t]hey represented government positions and interests to workers rather than workers’ positions and interests to government’ (2010, 96).

Indeed, any attempts to install minimum wages or create labour laws to support workers have either been rejected by workers’ MPs or were introduced solely through pressure from external donors (Barya 2010; Beckman 2002). The rights of investors are prioritised over those of workers (Andrae 2000). Once multiparty elections were established in 2005, workers candidates were given 10m USH to mobilise support from the NOTU for NRM campaigns (Barya 2010). The industrial proletariat has not only been marginalised in the academic development literature, but also receives very little attention from depoliticised and ideologically weak representation which ‘tows the government line’ rather than forging a space for a workers’ identity (Webster 2007, 4). Returning to Mann, political power relations have a central hold on the possibilities of whether working class organisation emerges, this is certainly the case in modern day Uganda (1973; 1993).

The second third of this chapter has discussed the fragmentation of labour in Museveni’s Uganda, using Mann’s theory to demonstrate how the state has formed by organising economic working class power along segmental and sectional lines creating a stable social basis for state formation. Although identities have emerged during this period they are separated along sectional lines, and even within sections on a segmental basis. The opposition has been diversified to ensure that the proletariat cannot see any alternative than that which currently exists, thus maintain their support for the state. Through this inability to organise, the workers conform to Mann’s idea of ‘pragmatic acceptance’ of their position in society (1973, 30). Since the NRM came to 236 power in 1986, economic organisation has created sectional and segmental identities subnationally in Uganda. However, the organisation is intensive rather than extensive, preventing class uprisings or protests. That the organisation is sectionally segmented has played in to the NRM’s ability to negotiate political control, this has further been aided by placated middle classes who feature in the final third of this chapter.

The evolving middle strata In Mann’s assessment of nineteenth century states, he asserts that ‘comfort’ for the regime emerged from a ‘group of predominantly loyal subalterns, the middle class’ (1993, 546). He observes that the “middling groups” have always presented a problem of definition to theorists, which is why most chose to adopt the plural, middle classes, to overcome the conceptual difficulties. In his own work, Mann argues for an “impure” middle class which is fractured into three parts with distinct power organisations (1986, 547). In this regard, middle classes are defined not just by their relationship with capital, i.e. economic power relations, but also by their relationship with political and ideological power, through national citizenship, property laws, state bureaucracy and education, and they share a common diffused power relation. As a result, Mann’s three sections of the middle classes are classified as the petite bourgeoisie , careerists and professionals . The first translates here to the Ugandan context as entrepreneurs and owners of small businesses. The second Mann defines as ‘wage or salaried employees moving up corporate and bureaucratic hierarchies’; in the analysis below, focus turns to those moving in to the political sphere through local government or those in the state administration (1986, 549). Finally, the third fraction is derived from education and learned occupations. Of particular note regarding the middle classes, Mann states that there is: an additional common quality on middle-class persons: They have predominantly segmental relations with dominant classes above, reinforcing their loyalty – if for some generating a worrying “superloyalty.” Thus they are fractions of a single middle class defined by the formula: segmental middling participation in the hierarchies of capitalism and nation-state (1986, 549–550, emphasis in original). 237

I argue that through the neoliberalisation of the Ugandan state, the relationship between the middle classes and the political elite has reinforced and contributed to current state formation along modes of representation.

The middle classes in Uganda are not really new in a political sense. Even in the pre-colonial kingdoms, civil servants and mid-level administrators have always existed in between elite rulers and peasants. It is argued here that these sections of the middle classes have expanded to include an economic dimension, extending beyond the realms of public service to the private and NGO sectors. This final third of the chapter argues that despite consisting of a very small percentage of the population (Whitfield et al. 2015), these sections receive just enough privileges from the state’s infrastructures to continue voting for and serving the NRM regime. The mechanisms of the state and its associated partners have created the image that social mobility is possible, yet, in reality, the movement is narrow, but just enough to retain support for the regime from this middle strata.

A recent article in the Ugandan daily newspaper, Daily Monitor (2014), stated that ‘A Ugandan middle class is nothing but a fallacy’, claiming that the mushrooming emergence of shopping malls and burgeoning hotel and restaurant industries are in fact a bubble catering for a class of the population which simply does not exist on any significant level (Kalyegira 2014). The Economist also made the claim in 2015 that Africa’s emerging middle class is ‘thin’ (The Economist 2015, no page). In contrast, the Ministry of Finance’s Uganda’s Poverty Status Report, claimed that the middle class had more than tripled in twenty years from 10.2 per cent in 1992 to 37 per cent in 2012; although it is argued that the majority are situated in Kampala (Ministry of Finance Planning and Economic Development 2014). For the same Ministry, the middle class is categorised as those in the population who are ‘more likely to hold a steady job, and – perhaps as a result – have fewer, better-educated [sic], and healthier children’ (Ministry of Finance Planning and Economic Development 2012, 12). The table below uses Mann’s work as a structure to analyse this diverse class.

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Table 15. Sociological organisation of the middle strata 122 Class Middle Strata Section Petite bourgeoisie Careerists Professionals Who? Entrepreneurs and Salaried employees Educated and owners of small moving up corporate learned businesses which are or bureaucratic occupations formalised and employ hierarchies more than one person Jobs Retailers, service Some civil servants; Education, providers and skilled mainly local medical artisans politicians, become professions; elites in their regions employees of enterprises, NGO workers. Based? Throughout Urban Throughout

Petite bourgeoisie Mann points out that ‘[b]usiness comes in all sizes’ due to the diffuse nature of capitalism (Mann 1993, 550). However, for Mann, people within the petite bourgeoisie category usually own and control their means of production and are dependent on social capital through friends and family for the business to function. In post-industrial revolution Europe, Mann describes the petite bourgeoisie as being the least active of class factions, ‘there has been little organized petit bourgeois economic discontent right up to the present’; further this is reflected in their political stance too (Mann 1993, 551). They are rarely organised to form a totality and indeed, even if they suffer discontentment, they still do not break away from their usual political allegiances. They are a steady class centred upon urban and small businesses.

Small and medium businesses provide almost 80 per cent of the population with work, but these can range from the boda boda driver as outlined in the labour

122 Sources: Anguyo, 2014; Bategeka, 2013; Deininger & Okidi, 2001; EIU Canback, 2015; Mitullah, 2003; Mpuga, 2004; Salami, Kamara, & Brixiova, 2010; Ssewanyana & Kasirye, 2012; Ssewanyana, Okidi, Angemi, & Barungi, 2004; The World Bank, 2015; Uganda Bureau of Statistics, 2013; UNData, 2015; World Bank, 2005.

239 section or towards the higher end of owning a health centre or a skilled trade business (Nangoli et al. 2013, 284). The focus here is the successful section of the population who possess key skills such as problem solving, goal setting and business vision based in Kampala or as some scholars recently put it ‘[a] distinction needs to be made between people who are self-employed simply for reasons of survival or necessity and the Schumpeterian type of creative entrepreneurs’ (Rooks, Szirmai, and Sserwanga 2009, 11).123 The government has supported Enterprise Uganda to create jobs through a graduate empowerment programme and the establishment of the Makerere University Business School (Briggs 2009; Rooks, Szirmai, and Sserwanga 2009; Shimeles and Ncube 2015; Oyugi 2014). Further, there is evidence that low enforcement of building regulations and little in the way of taxation of this group helps to ensure the economic and social lives of the petite bourgeoisie remain comfortable (Tangri, n.d.; Mwenda 2016).

The petite bourgeoisie becomes ‘wedded’ as Mann describes it to capitalism and the state within which individual profiteering can take place. In Kampala owners of small businesses have been able to expand and in turn, multiply their choices of consumption, demonstrating economic exchange between this group and the neoliberal state. This is reflected in the increasing numbers of supermarkets, car registrations and changes in food consumption (Bateebe 2012; Ayo, Bonabana-Wabbi, and Sserunkuuma 2012). According to one study, Uganda only had one supermarket in 2003 along with some under construction (Weatherspoon and Reardon 2003).124 Just thirteen years later, Kampala has three Shoprites (of which there are none outside the capital), five Uchumi (of which there are two outside the capital in Gulu and Mbale), one Game, three Nakumatt and four Capital Shoppers (Nambiar et al. 2015; Osarenkhoe and Komunda 2013; Mathuva 2014; Rwothungeyo 2014).125 In a more recent study, data showed that if the main source of income was a salary then the household is more likely to shop at supermarkets more than once a month, along with

123 For these scholars, Schumpeterian entrepreneurs are those which take advantage of business opportunities (Rooks, Szirmai, and Sserwanga 2009). 124 A supermarket being defined as ‘all large-format “modern retail” stores including supermarket, large discount stores, and hypermarkets’ (Weatherspoon and Reardon 2003, 336). At this date (2003) the only supermarket was a Shoprite, a chain originating from South Africa. 125 Data also gathered from supermarkets’ own websites. 240 other grocery outlets, this also increased if families had a higher education (Nambiar et al. 2015). In addition, households in Kampala shop more frequently at supermarkets in comparison to other cities in Uganda, such as Mbale, Soroti, Lira or Gulu. Further, it is the 20-29 year old households which is the largest age group shopping at supermarkets in Kampala (38%) (Osarenkhoe and Komunda 2013). According to the New Vision newspaper the ‘retail business in Uganda has been steadily [sic] over the recent years owing to the steady rise of a middle class in Uganda. The growth of a middle class and their need for one stop shopping, the retail business has attracted players from Kenya and South Africa’ (Rwothungeyo 2014, no page). For this section of the middle classes an identity has been created, one benefitting from capitalist development, whilst at the same time, not progressing to identify any form of alternative as for them, the current status quo works.

Careerists In Mann’s theorisation, careerists are ‘people employed within, but mobile through, the hierarchical organizations of capitalist corporations and modern state bureaucracies’ (1993, 558, emphasis added). He asks, ‘[a]lthough the job of the salesgirl may be similar to “working-class” jobs, why should those with careers be considered “ruling class”?’ (1993, 559). In other words, those working in positions of government administration or in non-management employment are not part of the elite as they cannot control capitalist or political organisation; yet, they are not the proletariat because they do see some mobility. As a result, they are in a state of ‘containment’ in segmental hierarchies; resulting in ‘ opportunity’ of career movement within their organisation, whilst also being caged because capital or the regime prevent them from engaging in collective action with other middle class sections (Mann 1993, 558, emphasis in original). The section below focuses on those contained within state bureaucracies in Uganda’s modern history.

The first half of the Museveni period had diverse impacts on those working for public services and public enterprises. Those employed in the formal economy saw a rise in unemployment. For example, between 1993 and 1995 the privatisation of nine public enterprises resulted in $3.7million worth of payments as forced redundancy to employees (New Vision 1995 quoted in Tukahebwa 241

1998, 69). Between 1990 and 1995 the civil service managed to eliminate 170,000 jobs, cutting the sector by about half to just 160,000; this followed a dramatic reduction of central state ministries from thirty-eight to twenty-one in the years leading up to 1989 (Olowu 1999, 4, 8; Olum 2002, 6; Kjaer 2004, 393; Robinson 2006, 16).126 However, more recent evidence from Green (2010, 86) suggests that, since 1995, the numbers of civil servants have started to increase, related perhaps to the increase in districts as outlined below.

For those who were fortunate enough to retain their jobs in the civil service, the wages were low. A government messenger would only be able to feed a family of four on matooke for five days on their monthly wages, the head of the civil service could extend this to just 19 days (Chew 1990, 1004; Langseth 1995, 376). This was roughly a quarter of the wages of a similarly skilled person in a medium sized private sector organisation (Olowu 1999, 12). We do see from 1990 to 1995 a rise in public sector wages but still public sector workers need to supplement their incomes with other work (Olowu 1999, 6, 13; Langseth 1995, 378) and salaries in 2006 were averaging 42 per cent of comparable jobs in the private sector (Robinson 2006, 17). This section of Ugandan society cannot be defined as a class, as they did not constitute a group with a coherent identity . The economic conditions of those working in civil services did not lead to the creation of a total identity which would coalesce together to revolt against the state’s structural adjustment. Instead, these sections were disjointed and not able to unify to express dissatisfaction.

From the mid-1990s we see a concentrated effort by the NRM to prioritise its public service workers, to the point where the World Bank comments that the government had made ‘impressive progress’ with support from itself, the UNDP and other bilateral donors (1998, 20). Corresponding to the launch of the PEAP, the government introduced “Public Service 2002”, a five year plan to improve the civil service, featuring amongst other things, linking pay to the performance of civil servants, along with better training (The World Bank 1998; Mitchinson 2003). In addition, an earlier recruitment freeze was lifted at the end of 1998 to accommodate the need for new teachers as Universal Primary Education

126 These endeavours were part of the government’s Uganda Civil Service Reform Programme officially introduced in 1990 (Langseth 1995). 242 started (Robinson 2006). In accordance with Mann’s theorisation above, we see segmental social mobility in the public sector, yet this is caged, preventing a collective identity .

Aside from these public sector reforms, other major government policies have created an increase in the civil servant population and career opportunities. For example, with each term in parliament, new districts are created; there were just 56 in 2002 and 111 today (Government of Uganda, n.d.). Decentralisation, introduced in 1997, has had an inverse effect on government spending as each district requires funds for its administrative and bureaucratic structure and central government holds the purse strings (Sjögren 2013a; Tripp 2010; Lambright 2014). Yet, although more districts may appear in theory to hand greater power to local people, it is instead enabling careerist middle classes the opportunities to become upper middle classes in their own areas and thus create a greater barrier between the central state elite and the masses. The Chairman (CAO) of each district has the power to select administrative and technical personnel who will decide on the winners of local government contracts (Lewis 2014). District councillors from Local Council (LC) level 5 -1 are dramatically increasing as one scholar notes, [a]s the LC system was spread throughout the country and divided into an ever-growing number of districts, hundreds of thousands of local leaders – including former rebels – from all tribal backgrounds have been able to obtain access to paid employment, political influence and government resources. Since jobs and resources are no longer exclusively controlled at the central state level, the value of holding national power has declined – a powerful disincentive for rebellion (Lindemann 2010). Indeed, as the localised power of these careerists increase, so has the government’s desire to take back control especially for opposition held councils (Lambright 2014).

Despite neoliberalism’s efforts to reduce the size of the state in developing countries, the organisation of economic middle sections and segments in Ugandan society demonstrates that after an initial downturn, the Ugandan state has increased the number of positions available in the public sector, either 243 through civil servants or in local government. The fact that wages are still low and irregular has not deterred people from taking up positions of relative power in local communities. Indeed, there is the perception that public officials must provide for the communities that they serve, even if this is not within their remit, leading to instances of corruption at this level according to Bukuluki (2013). Research on education funding by Reinikka and Svensson (2004) demonstrates that there is a large capture of funds by local politicians that are meant to go towards public services.

The careerist middle class has loyalty to the state through the opportunities that are given to them, yet, this also serves to maintain the state in the long-term. Patronage on a local level has been a consequence and fuel for a placated public sector, or in Mann’s words, enough opportunity and caging (Green 2010). The creation of additional districts and the administrative posts has resulted in carefully organised state infrastructural power which has enabled those in state service to be promoted to higher level positions in the bureaucracy or put themselves forward for political roles in local government. People perceive that the state is everywhere as they are now able to actually see their district in the form of headquarters and careerist councillors and civil servants, but in turn, the central state has created these new districts and positions to placate local communities and thus recentralising their hold over electoral power, with careerists acting as the middle man or woman. Research shows that ‘the incumbent president receives an electoral bonus of between 2.5% and 3% in counties that were elevated to the status of a district prior to election’ (Grossman and Lewis 2014, 197).

Professionals There are five characteristics which identify professionals as a section of the middle class. First, it is a learned occupation with, second, some technical capacity or cultural knowledge. Third, the positions exhibit esprit de corps ; further, fourthly, they express a desire to service society which is fifthly, facilitated by the state (Mann 1993, 565). In 1700s Western Europe, Mann identifies four organisations which exhibited these professional characteristics: the church, law, medicine and the military. As the industrial revolution expanded, so emerged more diffused power networks of professions to meet 244 the demands of consumers as the state started to license these suppliers of knowledge. As a result, segmental loyalty constrains them less than careerists, meaning there is possibility for them to transcend the class structure (Mann 1993, 569). Yet their reputable professional power is affected by the clients and consumers who use their services, exhibiting diffused constraints.

In Uganda, the characteristics of professionals are exhibited in similar organisations as those which Mann identifies in the West. Some university lecturers and lawyers, for example, have managed to make the jump from Makerere to government, becoming part of the NRM ruling elite. 127 However, for the majority of this section, they have had to live within the government’s neoliberal structural adjustment policies. A study of Makerere University revealed that the late 1980s and early 1990s were characterised by meagre salaries which usually arrived late and many lecturers were forced to find additional employment (Musisi and Muwanga 2003, 10). Strikes did happen, but they were sporadic and sectional. For example, university students and staff went on strike in early 1990 due to the lack of government funding, and doctors and professors threatened strikes in 1994. Health care workers called for industrial action in 1994 and 1995, but they failed to garner any universal support from other groups in society (Mayanja 2008; Sjögren 2013a; Langseth 1995).

This was further compounded by the fact that any public sector trade unions which did exist could not actually act against the large-scale redundancies of the early 1990s mainly because the majority of staff who were let go were casual and were not part of a union; furthermore, for those who were let go, the redundancy packages offered by the NRM were too attractive to be ignored (Robinson 2006; Langseth 1995). In addition, civil servants with some political influence, such as the judiciary, were receiving substantial wage increases in the years after 1997 within the context of the PEAP and a drop in NRM historicals in government. This created a distinct barrier between the elite sections of the civil service professionals and those who were the bulk of civil

127 Tarsis Kabwegyere (lecturer) and Rebecca Alitwala Kadaga (lawyer) are notable examples. 245 service employees (Robinson 2006; Langseth 1995).128 The state managed to consolidate its position with state professionals through a careful organisation of the economic capacity of this section of society, whilst ensuring diminished public support for what was perceived as a ‘corrupt and self-serving’ civil service (Robinson 2006, 16).

The final section for consideration during the NRM period is the rise of the NGO worker. In this regard, we are talking about educated professionals who have benefited from the state adopting structural adjustment policies, creating a space for NGOs to fill the gap left by a reduction in public services, and concurrently, as conflict in the North increased, humanitarian and development organisations in the region. Mann’s analysis of professionals in his volume on classes does not consider the third sector (1993), yet his five categories of the professional section, outlined above, fit in with the characteristics of the NGO worker. Uganda, like many other sub-Saharan African countries, has seen a dramatic increase in NGOs from 500 registered in 1992, to 3500 in 2002, up to almost 7000 in 2008 (Bougheas, Isopi, and Owens 2008, 5). The NGO sector is the fastest growing employer in Uganda after the government sector; 129 which for Mwenda (2007, 34), has meant a great deal of knowledge and energy has been diverted to NGOs from a section of society which could have been used to democratise the state. In other words, neoliberalism of Uganda’s economy has fuelled a professional fraction of the middle classes who are seeing their career needs being met by NGOs filling the gap left by state services and in return, depriving the state of these ‘well educated and apparently entrepreneurial individuals’ (Barr and Fafchamps 2006, 613). According to one source at a privately run, Catholic hospital in Northern Uganda, once medics and nurses graduate university they make it their priority to find work with an NGO as they are then guaranteed high and stable wages (see also Bazaara and Nyago 1999).130

128 For example, the professors at Makerere and doctors who threatened strike in 1994 were appeased by the government (Langseth 1995). 129 As outlined earlier, decentralisation has actually increased government employment demonstrating the contradictions of neoliberalisation policies. 130 Personal correspondence. 246

The international nature of this sector enables an identity which is outwardly facing rather than inward towards the state. Wages are determined by Overseas Development Assistance and international grants and loans. As a result, those professionals working in this sector may have an identity , but their opposition is distanced from the state, despite the development agenda being a joint international and state venture.

The final third of this chapter examined a significant, albeit very small, economic class in Ugandan society. As Mann has pointed out, a sociology of economic power relations must appreciate the complexities of the middle classes, something which many sociologists fail to do mainly because focus centres on the relationships between capital and labour (1993). Through the fuzzy boundaries within this class, Mann creates his “impure” definition of middling sections of petite bourgeoisie, careerists and professionals which formed the framework of analysis for this part of the chapter (1993, 549). The limited evidence from Uganda conforms to Mann’s understanding of ‘super loyal’, slightly mobile, yet caged middle classes. Even though the boundaries between sections in this class are blurred, the state has been able to garner this group’s support through segmental loyalty to the NRM regime either with political benefits, such as positions in local government or economic benefits through slight increases in wages or access to greater consumption. Furthermore, the state’s development agenda in Uganda has created a space for professionals to take advantage of an aid industry which pays better than the state.

Stability through division - conclusion This chapter provided a sociology of elites, labour and a middle stratum in post- 1986 Uganda through an analysis of how the state has crystallised economic and political power organisation. This responds to the research question of how has economic power been used to form the state in modern Uganda? Through three state-led economic changes, structural adjustment, neoliberalisation and the National Development Plan, economic patronage exists between the Museveni regime and a small, but well-resourced, elite. During the PEAP period, we see a gradual increase in public sector jobs and administrative and bureaucratic roles, benefiting local business leaders and what Mann calls the careerists , plus there were a number of measures which directly benefited the 247 well-off. The Decentralisation Policy of 1997 initiated a process of District creation which directly impacted the number of MPs in parliament and the number of people able to stand for local elections. The government was able to create a sectional identity , co-opted by the NRM through greater social inclusion in local and national seats, thus cutting across segmental and class identities. The sectional element elevated prominent business leaders to positions of political power throughout the country, thus ensuring the NRM was well-placed for the introduction of multi-party elections in 2006. In addition the new middle elite in local areas were able to profit from this surge in localised political power and in some instances benefit economically from patronage and corruption, placating not only local people who believed the state was closer to them but also the new middle section of society who had direct links with the central state.

This chapter has demonstrated that a labour identity has been segmentally split, usually along regional lines, with each region having to deal with different injustices, leaving no common ground to unite on. The land issue in Buganda and subnational distance from economic infrastructures in the North are cases in point. In another instance, this chapter demonstrated that urban informal workers are mastering their political significance to the NRM regime, enabling them to gain small economic wins by playing the city council against the government. Unable to transcend regions informal workers are left powerless to perceive of a credible alternative , despite their sectionally segmented totalities . Writing in the early 1990s, Mamdani described the NRM as a ‘regime under pressure [as it] looks for new and more effective allies to prevent middle-class urban opponents from forging links with dissatisfied peasant strata’ (Mamdani 1996a, 216). It would appear that through careful organisation of economic power, along with elite alliances, the NRM has managed to maintain its hold over state power and form a stable, yet inherently divided, society. The state has formed based upon its social bases, its modes of representation and its methods of intervention.

To conclude, state power and formation has been organised through the economically uneven distribution of infrastructural power leading to greater disparities between classes, sections and segmental economic groups which 248 has resulted in state endurance. Its hold over the control of economic power has created certain class, sectional and segmental identities , however these groups are unable to provide a coherent opposition and alternative to the state.

Turning back to Mann’s theorisation of economic power relations and his IOTA model, it can be said that the modern Ugandan state has been formed through a stabilising technique ensuring that the distribution of economic power throughout the country has forged the current state. Identities have formed but crucially on a segmental and sectional basis, rather than on a class basis. This does not mean that people do not see an opposition or indeed find a totality amongst their groups, but it has meant that through the careful negotiation of distributive economic power, the state has managed to ensure that those who see it as an opposition are not able to progress to an alternative phase as their consciousness is on a small, confined basis, i.e. through their own sections or segments, rather than nationally on a class basis. Any edition of the Daily Monitor will show that there is discontent, but an alternative , even in the form of the recent presidential candidate and former Prime Minister, Amama Mbabazi, must overcome the economic distribution of power which maintains the status quo and continued support for Museveni and the NRM and the state in its current form. As recent events testify, perhaps Museveni’s means of ensuring this hold will eventually have to resort to a use of military power relations in the future. 131

131 Mbabazi and former Presidential candidate were arrested by the government before major rallies on 9 th July 2015 (The Daily Monitor 2015). 249

Chapter Nine - Conclusion - Ugandan state formation: A story worth telling

Introduction This thesis started with a quote from Clammer (2012) who underscored how important it is for the discipline of Development Studies to learn from the past. This represents the original purpose of this research, namely to employ a historical sociology framework to the study of the development of one specific country, Uganda. In doing so, the thesis responds to recent calls by development and policy makers alike for greater interrogation of the historical processes which affect social change in developing societies (Van Donge 1995; Booth 1992; Hickey 2009; Bernstein 2006; Woolcock, Szreter, and Rao 2011; DFID 2003). The thesis has employed a historical sociology model to interrogate processes of state formation in a sub-Saharan African country, using Michael Mann’s model of social power as its point of entry. The state is often a subject of debate within the development literature (Englebert 2000), yet, it is very rare for its historical origins, structures and configurations to be explored. The use of Mann’s model has provided a coherent means of studying this form of development.

This concluding chapter outlines what an application of Mann’s model of social power tells us about state formation in Uganda and further explains how the case study of Uganda has contributed to our use and understanding of Mann’s theorisation. Using each chapter as a structure, the findings are summarised below. These respond more generally to the final research question which asks what type of state is Uganda. The concluding remarks discuss the broader implications of the research.

Theories of state formation The thesis considers social change in Uganda from a perspective of state formation. Consequently, the literature review identified the key debates on this topic, which, largely, focus on Western contexts. That theorisation of state formation exhibits this tendency results in a case being made for European exceptionalism. Yet, when one also interrogates the ideographic literature on the historiographies of African states a clear rebuttal of this case can be made.

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Processes of state formation are not unique to one geographical region and, generally, the literature shows that there are three areas which discourses centre upon as instigators of state formation: property and land, revenue, and war and conquest. What also became clear from the literature review is that theories tend to assume an end point to the state, yet history tells us that states are constantly evolving and that a theory to analyse state formation must take this into account, along with the specificity of individual states. This has drawn me to Mann’s theoretical framework for examining state formation. This chapter also outlined the specific dimensions of state formation which formed the basis for measuring the four main empirical chapters on each source of power in Uganda’s history.

A framework of social power The third chapter of the thesis justified an interdisciplinary approach by applying historical sociology to Development Studies, whilst making a justification for the application of Mann’s framework to examine state formation in a sub-Saharan African country. In contrast to the other theories of Western state formation presented in Chapter Two, Mann’s theory posits that social change never stops, ergo, states never stop forming and at different times and in different contexts, different sources of power will have primacy; this evolves as people negotiate power to achieve their aims and goals. His model encompasses the many facets of power which determine the inter-relations between people and how societies are organised. Mann has claimed that the model can be used to understand social change in any society, yet he has only applied it in the main to Western and mostly powerful states. The chapter demonstrated that due to its characteristics, the framework should also be applied to a non-Western setting to determine what it can tell us about those places Mann has not considered. Further, the framework stems from historical sociology research methods, which enables the researcher to interrogate longer periods of history using the wealth of information which ideographic, historical works have provided, past and present. Indeed, these works formed the basis for the context chapter which interrogated, according to historians of Uganda, what have been the key instances of state formation for the area of East Africa now known as Uganda. The table below summarises how these periods translated

251 to one of Mann’s sources of social power and the type of state which consequently emerged. These findings are discussed in more detail below.

Table 16. Key instances of state formation and Mann’s framework of social power in Uganda Dates Source of social State characteristics power for state formation 1800- Ideological power Centralised, hierarchical Kingdom dissolved 1894 into religious factionalism and the creation of spaces for alternative power sources. 1894- Political power A self-perpetuating colonial state based on 1962 decentralised multi-power actors. 1962- Military power Variations of despotic power forged through 1986 control of military power and the creation of a new mini-state based on military power. 1986- Economic power Long-term governance based upon present crystallisations of political with economic power forging divided identities.

Ideological power In Mann’s understanding of ideological power, track-layers are mechanisms deployed by those whose goals are to extend their morals, beliefs and values beyond the individual realm. In Uganda, these people were the Protestant and Catholic missionaries, who wished to extend Christianity throughout Africa. The analysis of ideological power in this thesis casts light not only on how the track- layers enabled Christian expansion, but also on how ideological infrastructures made colonialism possible. This was the beginnings of Uganda. Ideological power transcended borders, such as the Buganda Kingdom, through the track- layers which ideologically powerful elites put in place. Initially the track-layers created infrastructures for extensive and universal membership to Christianity, but they also aided colonial acquisition of the territory and the people within this. For the colonial state, the initial track-layer centres upon ideological achievements of universal membership and the deployment of existing and new infrastructures and institutions. In this regard, the missionaries took advantage 252 of military uncertainty in the Buganda Kingdom to gain favour, and used economic infrastructures of trade to successfully ensure safe arrival to the region. Further, the missionaries were fortunate that Kiganda beliefs had already started to wane in the Kingdom, leaving an ideological space for people to adopt a new method of understanding social change, through Christian norms, values and morals. In particular, missionaries targeted members of the Kabaka’s court who had influence over others in the region, extending the membership to the new religions, through indigenous conversions. Christianity spread quickly throughout the Kingdom and the surrounding areas, meaning that colonialism could also swiftly follow this track through a common ideological belief system.

The use of ideological power to explore state formation in pre-colonial Uganda also provides an understanding of the ways personal spheres had changed as a result of Christianity. By investigating the changes in family relations, perceptions of life and death, and transformations of values and cultures, the analysis revealed how ideological power fractured previous social norms, creating spaces for other forms of power to penetrate Buganda and later Uganda society in the shape of colonialism. These changes included the giving and adoption of Christian names, the transformation of ceremonies and family structures, and the telling of biblical stories and singing of hymns. Consequently, these changes explain why many Baganda were employed by the colonisers as part of their project to extend the Protectorate; seen as ‘westernised’ and ‘civilised’ by the British in comparison with other kingdoms and groups in this part of East Africa.

The analysis established that literacy was a significant track-layer for future colonialism. For Mann, literacy is a means for religious leaders to extend their message across borders, creating forms of media and communication. In Uganda, the missionaries initially used languages which were already established in Buganda high society, Arabic and Luganda. From here, they developed a Luganda lexicon, which helped disseminate these messages, along with print media. This form of ideological power not only creates ideological elite but these infrastructures are usurped by holders of other sources of power to achieve their economic and political goals. In this case, 253 literate Baganda became essential for future colonial bureaucracy and administration and the proceeding schooling enabled this throughout the colonial period. Literacy was a key track-layer for colonial advancement, especially that of the English language.

An interrogation of how ideological power impacted the relationship between ruler and ruled revealed how missionaries and later the coloniser could play on elite insecurities in pre-colonial Uganda. The absolute power of the Kabaka was eroded away as new converts moved their loyalties from the Kingdom, to the Christian churches. The violent reaction, in the form of the martyrs’ deaths, only strengthened the Christian cause, as Mann has demonstrated in other examples; creating factions between the old order and society. Once again space was made for a new state to permeate society which shared the same norms and values. This was not before the final track-layer for the colonial state was put in place as the region dissolved into warring, religious factions. As Mann has pointed out, it is an achievement of ideological power that ideological enemies are eradicated. Although neither the Protestants, Catholics nor Muslims were dispelled (and remain prominent groups in Uganda today), the conflict created the impetus for the unification of ideological and military power with the arrival of the British East Africa Company’s armed forces, and political power through campaigns at home putting pressure on the British government to take over the land and protect the new Protestants.

This analysis is two-fold in its broader findings. First, an examination of the facets of ideological power reveals the social change taking place in pre- colonial Uganda and how spaces were opened up for colonial advancement. Without these track-layers, I argue, there would not have been the same motivations or facilities to take over this region of East Africa. Second, the Uganda case study adds a new Southern example to Mann’s previous assessments of ideological power in that its own achievements eventually lead to its own “downfall”, as those wielding other sources of power negotiate and employ the infrastructures and institutions of ideologies to achieve their own military, economic and political goals, eventually surpassing the strength of ideological power.

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Political power For Mann, political power is state power. For the purposes of this analysis, state power denoted the colonial state in Uganda, not its power from the metropolis in London, although some decisions made there impacted the formation of the Ugandan state during this period. Three features of Mann’s understanding of political power were employed to examine the formation and retention of the Protectorate, namely the bureaucracy, revenue collection and political representation. These led to the conclusion that the colonial state which formed was small, weak and consisted of multi-power actors, yet through the infrastructures of political power, the colonisers were able to maintain the colony based upon economic and ideological outputs.

Using Mann’s theorisation of political power, the analysis demonstrated that decentralised multi-power actors were essential to the formation of the colonial Ugandan state. These actors were identified through an examination of the bureaucracy and organisation of revenue collection. The bureaucracy of colonial Uganda was organised in what Mann has termed as a strategy of ruling through clients. Ideologically aligned Baganda formed this basis as they were dispersed to each newly acquired territory of Uganda to implement hierarchical structures of administration. The links to the central colonial government in Entebbe were tenuous, resulting in a system of ‘chiefs’ which could in effect, rule their areas with very little in the way of checks and balances. Most notably, an enquiry into revenue collection demonstrated this, as locally-based government agents were free to set the amounts and punishments for non- compliance, any benefits for the population were negligible.

Political power in the colonial state had to be a well-organised support mechanism to maintain a Protectorate which had little value or held no interest for those in the metropolis. Revenue, therefore, became an essential feature of Uganda’s political power. Key to Mann’s thinking in this regard, is how the arrangement of revenue signifies the state’s relationship with society. In the analysis, the colonial government forged distinct lines of separation between groups in society as a means to finance the state. The process of acquiring revenue from hut and poll taxes and the export of cash crops resulted in large divergences emerging between groups in society, forging a bifurcated society, 255 split according to those who collected and organised taxes versus those who had to pay, and those who owned and rented cash crop farms versus those who migrated to provide labour. Further, social standing within the colonial state reflected these forms of hierarchies. In particular, the analysis revealed that the Baganda benefited from these privileges from selective schooling and positions in the Legislative Council.

Finally, an application of Mann’s understanding of political power has highlighted the paradoxes of the colonial Ugandan state, in line with work by Mamdani (1996a). By investigating the features of the bureaucracy, financing and representation of the state, the analysis showed the extent of a small, weak state, which used infrastructural powers to reach out subnationally, yet did not provide a two-way street for communication between the majority of the population and the central state. Law and the judiciary exhibited this bifurcation, as the notion of customary law maintained the social distinctions created early in the colonial period. Further, the development of indigenous political representation reflected the favours that had been bestowed on Baganda and other elites who had risen to “chiefly” status and decentralised government enabled the extension of state power throughout the territory, but prevented access to the central state where important decisions about Uganda were being made. As a result, the notion of a nation never developed, providing further support to use Mann’s phrase of decentralised multi-power actors . This analysis of the Ugandan state gives clear causality to the type of state formation which occurred after independence.

Military power As outlined in Chapter Three, Mann’s concept of military power prompted much debate since the publication of his first volume in 1986. Yet its application to Ugandan state formation in the era after independence validates its utility and theoretical stature. The use of military power as a source of state formation is based upon three elements as outlined by Mann, control, organisation and functions . These were applied to the analysis of Uganda after it gained independence from Britain to conclude that military power was a source of repression and resistance. Despite fundamentally causing the deaths of thousands of Ugandans, military power paradoxically was also deployed to form 256 the basis of a new type of state. There are four key findings which emerged from this analysis.

First, the political power of the independent state was gradually annulled through the strengthening of military power over a period of twenty years. Principally, the personnel of the bureaucracy and administration changed. Those who worked for the armed forces were brought in by the two main protagonists of the period, Obote and Amin, to control and organise the provinces as clerks or governors, government offices, or seats in government. Further, they gained a hand over policing, the judiciary and intelligence, and local government. These actions demonstrate that the two leaders could not achieve their own goals through political means, instead, as Mann has pointed out, using the military enables them to maintain their hold over the state by replacing political power holders with the armed forces, or at least using them to place pressure over decisions, such as was the case for judges and magistrates.

Second, state infrastructures were usurped by military power holders to maintain the state and new military infrastructures emerged. Crystallisation of the militarised state was essential to maintain power as both Amin and Obote learned from Obote’s first term as Uganda’s leader, although Amin did this better. This involved redirecting resources to military spending, increasing military personnel, especially those who demonstrated loyalty to the leaders and developing external relations for training and funding purposes. Further, spending increased for communication, especially surveillance. However, as Mann has examined, key to maintaining despotism is through paramilitaries. Both Amin’s and Obote’s regimes had this through the General Service Unit, Public Safety Unit, State Research Bureau and the National Security Agency, who acted as secret units relying upon informers. These groups were able to permeate society and in the Obote II era the armed forces, whilst eliminating those who were threats to the regime.

Third, Mann has been clear to show that military power can still be strong even when it is not actually causing deaths. Sometimes it is the threat of death that can be enough to maintain control, in other instances, death appears as the 257 only option for leaders. Both of these characteristics were exhibited in Uganda’s post-independence era. Amin, in particular, was skilful at using the threat of death as a form of domestic repression, enabling him to preserve his power through terror and fear after initial large purges of state enemies. Obote on the other hand, used military power as a direct form of domestic repression on both the Baganda but also on the armed forces themselves. These acts conform to Mann’s description of the highest level of domestic repression and in turn highlight how lethal actions can also indicate a loss of control over the state as was the case towards the end of the Obote II regime.

Fourth, throughout his work, Mann has always been clear that military power holders can exist separate to state power. The rise of the National Resistance Army clearly underscores the importance of Mann’s theoretical contribution to state theory. Control, organisation and functions of military power were deployed by an autonomous military group as a form of resistance to the power of the state. The NRA deployed the infrastructures of militarism to forge the beginnings of a new political state, or to use terminology derived from Mann’s work, Museveni created a mini-state within Uganda which eventually expanded from the Luwero triangle to Kampala. The infrastructures were put in place to establish a new stage in Uganda’s history.

Economic Power Mann’s perception of economic power focuses on a theorisation of classes, segments and sections in society in order to understand the organisation and expressions of economic consciousness. With this in mind, the analysis argued that economic power is the most dominant source of power for the formation of the modern Ugandan state, as it consolidated its position through economic means. The analysis of economic consciousness as understood through identities of class, segments and sections denoted the complex social relations which emanate from and radiate around the state; it is these interactions which help our understanding of modern Uganda’s state formation.

The crystallisation of economic and political elites has served the state throughout the period as patronage became a feature of the Ugandan state; a relationship which Mann has argued in his own works is common when 258 neoliberal policies are introduced. The analysis revealed that the lines between those who held positions in Museveni’s government and those who benefited from the sell-off of state-owned enterprises were blurred. Furthermore, political decisions, such as decentralisation or the distribution of valuable resources has seen a growth in new economic elites entering the political sphere. In return, the NRM has been able to extend its power throughout the territory and maintain a foothold over other classes and groups through the bolstering of significant elites from diverse segments. In the main then, the elite class have not seen recourse to seek opposition to the Museveni regime as they have benefited politically and economically.

Mann’s theorisation of sectional and segmental identities helps establish how groups in society maintain support for the NRM regime and have solidified its position over the past thirty years. Sectional identities, which relate to skilled trades or particular professions, have formed due to particular government policies and as a result many have seen their economic position improve or at least stay the same. Opting for an alternative form of economic power relations would hinder their own status quo. Small scale service sector workers, petite bourgeoisie and the careerists in Chapter Eight provide examples of these groups in societies. As a consequence, allegiance to the regime becomes more important than allegiance to a class.

The same can also be said for those who are not benefitting from the current form of economic power relations. For Mann, there has to be a coherent opposition which cuts across segmental and sectional identities for any totality and alternative to the current status quo to emerge. The analysis showed that some oppositions do exist in economic terms, but they are not coherent enough. Agricultural labour provides a clear example of this where sectional or segmental identities exist, such as small holder peasants or agriculturalists in the North, yet certain structures are in place which prevent common agendas arising. Mann’s theorisation of economic power and its layers of economic consciousness have been thoroughly exemplified in the modern Ugandan context and in turn, it has provided an analysis of economic power relations between the state and its people which help explain the durability and form of the regime. 259

Implications of using the social power model for the case study of Uganda In using a historical sociology framework to look at the formations of the Ugandan state, we have been able to provide a thorough historiography of this country’s history. Mann’s model of social power has alerted the researcher to new aspects of Uganda’s history which only a chronological and teleological study can do. At the beginning of each analysis chapter, the dominant debates and discourses for every period were highlighted. In turn, the employment of Mann’s model has enabled me to push back against these monocausal approaches to each period and shed new light on how the state was formed. In some instances parallels with these debates were demonstrated, but more often than not, the use of the model allowed for a more thorough examination of the complexities of state formation.

Specifically, Mann’s model pointed to a number of new elements about the case. For instance, the power of discursive literacy was shown to be fundamental in shaping the advancement of the colonial state. Further the model demonstrated how the ideological power of the two churches became its own nemesis. In addition, the value of a study of infrastructural power, no matter how strong or weak it proves to be, is significant for understanding subnational variations of colonialism and the formation of the colony in Uganda. The model also added a new dynamic to the debates on independent Uganda which has a tendency to focus on the leaders, such as Idi Amin, however, the use of the model demonstrates the infrastructures of military power and how these forge fear rather than the figures themselves. Furthermore, the militarism of the NRM’s Luwero triangle mini-state has never been studied as a force for state formation, Mann’s model enabled us to do this. Finally, employing the model for modern Uganda re-focuses attention on the formation and, perhaps more significantly, on the maintenance of the current state, rather than that of narratives of underdevelopment. It also provides a new way of understanding the lack of large scale or popular opposition to President Museveni.

What does the case study of Uganda tell us about Mann’s model? The application of the model of social power to the Ugandan case study has not only allowed for new and interesting insights into this country, but the case study itself also contributes to Mann’s theorisation of social power. First, Mann 260 applied his model to understand all aspects of societies; my application of the model to Uganda demonstrates that the model can be used simply to tell a story of the state. For it to have relevance, we do not need to encompass all elements of societies, making the model of use not just for social theorists but also those from political science. Second and related to the prior point, the Ugandan case study speaks to how social power helps us explain the sequencing of state formation; an aspect which Mann could have explored in more detail in his own work. This is influenced by understanding Mann’s premise that although no source of power has primacy, each source or a crystallisation of sources may have more dominance at certain periods of time. The Ugandan analysis demonstrates that monocausal explanations of state formation are unhelpful and yet, shows some form of order in power relations and their different dominant roles at various points in history.

The Ugandan case also adds to Mann’s theorisation of each source of power. Third, credence is added to the weight of ideological power, an element of state formation which hardly features in the literature as shown in Chapter Three. Pre-colonial Uganda underscores how ideological power functions best when there is an existing ideological gap. Further, Mann considers the track layers as significant for the beginning of pre-medieval societies, yet the case provides justification for its use in understanding the emergence of singular states too. Fourth, as pointed out early in the thesis, much usage of Mann’s work has been through his theorisation of infrastructural power. The employment of the case of Uganda emphasises that this should now be reformulated to encompass political power in its entire form, i.e. infrastructural and despotic power. Both of these are important for exploring the dimensions of state formation and also add value to how other power relations are deployed by the state, such as military and economic power. Without both of these, state power analyses are incomplete. Fifth, Mann has been steadfast in his defence of autonomous military power, yet has never ventured far from European examples or those containing high levels of violence. The case study of the NRA in the Luwero Triangle is significant in this regard as autonomous military power developed a new state. It is for this reason that I have developed the term mini-state, a more modern version of his city- or tribal-state. Sixth, the economic power relations of modern Uganda show that Mann’s model needs to encompass those people,

261 especially elites, who transcend sections in order to achieve their goals. It also demonstrates a thorough example of the crystallisations of economic power with other sources of power. This seems obvious when we consider that this is a diffused and much slower power relation in comparison to the others, therefore, we should expect greater relationships between economic and other power relations; something which Mann does not make clear.

Concluding remarks Using Mann’s framework of social power to interrogate state formation in Uganda has proven to be a valuable exercise not only for the field of Development Studies but also for historical sociology. Primarily, the use of the framework has demonstrated that theories of state formation should not be confined to Western contexts. The application of the model has shown that whatever the subject of study, states are constantly evolving entities which in their histories share characteristics with other processes of state formation in other areas of the globe, whilst also being unique (Hawkins 2014). The methodological approach of historical sociology also adds value to case studies from Development Studies and forces the researcher to consider much longer development, or little ‘d’ development, an area currently lacking from this field. The methods also allow for an interrogation of the rich academic and home- grown ideographic work on Uganda, past and present, something which policy orientated development scholars rarely have time to do. Despite some biases and flaws, this scholarship deserves to be brought to the fore, if only to prove that research in and on the global south is not all ahistorical.

This research has implications for the study of Uganda. There is not a monograph which tells a story of the Ugandan state from the date of the publication of the Daily Telegraph article in the nineteenth century to the present day. 132 There is much literature which looks at the Ugandan state at a specific moment in time, and some historical pieces which do attempt to tell the history of Uganda up until the changes in the 1980s. None of these cover such a long period of time, nor address the massive ruptures of state formation which this period encountered; furthermore they do not employ a theoretical framework to do this. Therefore, this research adds to the literature on East Africa in general

132 At least in the English language and academic literature. 262 by providing a comprehensive historiography of state formation in Uganda from the 1850s to the present day. There is now also the imperative to further enhance Mann’s empirical case studies by considering other contexts, whether in sub-Saharan Africa or elsewhere, on a national or subnational basis. 133

To summarise, an application of Mann’s model of social power to understand Ugandan state formation has provided the following findings: First, ideological power was the primary source of power in the years leading up to the colonial acquisition of the territory now known as Uganda. Mann’s notion of ideological “tracklaying achievements” helps us understand the processes which enabled this acquisition. Second, political power became the basis for the formation and maintenance of the colonial Ugandan state. An application of this source of power helps us understand the creation of decentralised multi-power actors which forged the infrastructures for future state formation and destruction in Uganda. Third, this analysis continued with an application of military power to independent Uganda, as earlier political power formations made leaders forge infrastructures of military might which had both negative and eventual positive effects for Ugandan state formation. Finally, to analyse the current, modern Ugandan state, Mann’s theorisation of economic power was applied. This helped us to explain how the current regime has created a durable government, with one single, dominating organisation, the NRM, holding the reigns.

Writing in 1986, Mann claimed that his model of social power was a ‘distinctive, general way of looking at human societies that is at odds with models of society dominant within sociology and historical writing’ (1986, 1). This study has aimed to test this model by applying it to cast light on processes of state formation in an African state. Further, the use of the model has provided a much needed historical dimension to the scholarship within Development Studies. In this thesis, I have argued that Mann’s model tells us a great deal about Ugandan state formation and furthermore, I have made the case for the application of a

133 This thesis has pointed to the need to understand state power particularly on a subnational basis for example. Research into the creation of government owned camps during the Obote II and Museveni period has raised questions about the extent to which the state will use and organise its infrastructures to control its citizens when faced with a regional opposition (see for example Hawkins 2015). These produce different infrastructures to those which we see on a national level and can have an impact on how citizens view and see their state depending upon where they are geographically situated in that state.

263 historical sociology model to understanding this. Its use demonstrates that states are constantly evolving and that there is no set way for states to form, nor a specific definition of what a state should look like. In the case of Uganda, the story is by no means finished; its future history will demand more from Mann’s framework, as will other case studies throughout the world.

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Appendices Appendix 1. NRM Ten point programme 1. Establish popular democracy 2. Restore security 3. Consolidate national unity 4. Defend national independence 5. Build a national economy 6. Restore and rehabilitate social services 7. Eliminate corruption and abuse of power 8. Resettle displaced people 9. Regional cooperational and human rights 10. Establish a mixed economy (adapted from Flanary and Watt 1999)

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Appendix 2. Dates of colonial acquisition of areas of Uganda.

District Pre-colonial Date of British Initial County Sub-county structure control over chiefs chiefs area

Teso Acephalous 1908 Baganda Teso

Lango Acephalous 1907 Baganda Lango

Toro Kingdom 1900 Baganga & Toro Toro

Ankole Kingdom Agreement Baganda Baganda & signed 1894, Ankole control 1901

Bunyoro Kingdom 1899 More than 20 Banyoro Baganda

Busoga Kingdom Baganda

Acholi Acephalous 1910 (Gulu), 3 Baganda 1914 (Kitgum)

Karamoja Acephalous 1911(military Karamoja Karamoja presence), 1921 (District Commisioner)

(Tosh 1973; Vincent 1977; Gartrell 1983; Roberts 1962; Finnström 2008; Barber 1962; J. Willis 2006; Dunbar 1965; Karugire 1980)

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