IDENTITY AND EXCLUSION IN AFRICA: AN EXAMINATION OF AUTOCHTHONY AND XENOPHOBIA

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A Thesis Presented to

The Faculty of

The College of Arts and Sciences

Ohio University

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In Partial Fulfillment

of the Requirements for Graduation

with Honors in Political Science

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By

Timothy M. Anderson

May 2013

Table of Contents

Introduction………………………………………………………………………….....4 The Politics of Belonging and Identity……………………………………...…8 Constructivist and Instrumentalist Theories………………………………….10

Chapter 1 Citizenship and Civil War: Autochthony’s Trajectories in Cote d’Ivoire……….…...14 Colonialism and Cote d’Ivoire………………………………………………..15 Independence and Houphouet-Boigny………………………………………..17 Bedie and the Doctrine of Ivoirite…………………………………………….21 Coup d’état and the New Ivoirite……………………………………………..24 Civil War in Cote d’Ivoire……………………………………………...…….27 Reconciliation and Peacemaking in Cote d’Ivoire……………………………32 Conclusions…………………………………………………………………...33

Chapter 2 Identity, Exclusion, and Power in Cameroon: An Examination of Autochthonous Discourse.………………………………………………………………………….….35 Colonialism and Modern Consequences……………………………………...36 Cameroonian Political Tendencies; From Nationalist to Nativist……………39 Autochthony and its Salience; Regional Differences……………………...…44 Conclusions…………………………………………………………………...50

Chapter 3 The Politics of Exclusion in South Africa: Authentic Residents and Amagoduka…...51 Xenophobia and Violence…………………………………………………….52 Policy’s Historical Legacy in South Africa……………………………..……53 Post-1994 Politics and Policy………………………………………..……….55 Popular Discourse and Media…………………………………………….…..60 Beyond National Policy: Local Belonging and Violence……………….……62 Conclusions…………………………………………………………………...69

Conclusion……………………………………………………………………...…….70

Bibliography………………………………………………………………………….75 4

Introduction

In the 1990s, several African states undertook transitions towards economic liberalization and democratization. Not coincidentally, during the same period these states witnessed an upsurge in the political salience of belonging. Local communities and national governments alike increasingly have come to define inclusion along identity lines. In Cameroon and Cote d’Ivoire, autochthony, literally translated ‘to be from the soil’ has become a powerful construct in terms of access to state resources, land rights, and citizenship rights (Geschiere, 322). Similarly, in South Africa identities such as ‘bona-fide’ or ‘authentic’ township residents are employed to gain access to the spoils of the state, development projects, and land. Of course, such forms of belonging necessarily require determining who is to be excluded. With the construction of ‘autochthony’ and ‘authentic’ identities also comes the manufacturing of populations to be excluded, of ‘allogenes’ meaning ‘strangers’ and of ‘amagoduka’ meaning ‘those who must go home’. Individuals belonging to these exclude groups experience denial of citizenship rights and communal violence against them. Disputes between autochthons and allogenes have even resulted in full-scale civil war in Cote d’Ivoire. The politics of belonging, therefore, is as much about exclusion as it is inclusion.

Conflicts over inclusion and exclusion have given rise to new schools of thought about the politics of belonging, identity and citizenship both in Africa and around the world. Peter Geschiere, one of the most prolific scholars in the field, views preoccupations with belonging as “the flipside of…globalization” because of its global 5

spread (Geschiere, 322). He notes that autochthonous discourse has taken place in the

Netherlands to the Congo, always preoccupied with excluding ‘strangers’. Though our world continues to shrink as populations and information move faster, such globalizing may trigger “a return to the local” (Geschiere, 1). Globalization, it is argued, operates as a “paradox of flow and closure” meaning that while globalization allows for greater mobility it often results in exclusionary policies and practices

(Geschiere and Nyamnjoh, 425). Ideas of autochthony and the stressing of local identities are not simply a promotion of “traditional” ways of life, but are instead used to exclude others from newly opened avenues of political and economic wealth. In that same vein, he argues “the autochthonous subject is shaped by broader processes: struggles over local belonging are closely intertwined with the desire to be recognized as a citizen of the world” (Geschiere, 27). For Geschiere, processes of globalization, economic liberalization and decentralization, and democratization seem to lead to closure and exclusion, rather than liberal ideas of inclusion (Geschiere, 332). Certainly disputes over local belonging are connected with broader, more global processes such as migration and access to international development projects. However, local belonging is always deeply embedded in any given region’s socio-political history.

Therefore, in asserting that autochthony and belonging are a direct reaction to or effect of more global processes, Geschiere is not telling the whole story. Instead, in order to truly understand how the politics of belonging and exclusion operates, a comparison between different states and even different regions within these states is necessary. 6

How are belonging and identities constructed and redefined? What specific policies contribute to the manipulation of political identities? Who benefits from the politics of exclusion? This thesis looks to explain the reemergence of the politics of belonging and exclusion witnessed in African states through exploring and comparing specific state institutions and elite actions of three states used as case studies: Cote d’Ivoire, Cameroon, and South Africa. I argue that while the colonial history of each of these states contributes to contemporary disputes over belonging; it is the legacy of the post-independence institutions and elite actions that make exclusion a feasible political tool in these cases. This comparison is justified because while each of these states vary greatly in terms of their colonial histories, economic production, and political legacies, all have witnessed an upsurge in the political salience of belonging since the 1990s. If we are to understand how and why belonging operates globally, we must first examine and compare regions in which such discourses take place.

While autochthonous identities are not new (the original definition dates back to Classical Athens) or unique to Africa, their political salience particularly at the national level has been on the rise since the 1980s. Geschiere and Nyamnjoh argue that the increased saliences of autochthonous identities are a direct, but perhaps unforeseen, consequence of the liberalization of politics in several African states

(Geschiere and Nyamnjoh, 428). The exclusive nature of autochthony creates a somewhat paradoxical relationship between political liberalization and illiberal notions of exclusivity (Geschiere, 6). Political liberalization and decentralization, stressed by international organizations such as the World Bank and the International 7

Monetary Fund (IMF), led to a general decentralizing of African states and focused on strengthening civil society over the state. The strengthening and development of local municipalities over state institutions triggered debates about who truly belongs in an area and who is a “stranger”. Of course, bypassing the state and focusing on

“traditional” modes of authority overlook the fact that most traditional governments are the result of colonial or even post-colonial institutions (Geschiere, 21).

Furthermore, while debates around autochthony take place across different continents, recently in Africa these debates have spilled over into political violence (Dunn, 113).

This relationship between autochthony and violence is due to several issues including the uncertainty and insecurity produced by the term due to its plasticity, autochthony’s reliance on a story of victimization, and finally autochthony’s close relationship with state making (Dunn, 124).

In trying to make sense of the politics of belonging, my thesis is structured as follows. Firstly, in the introduction I review the scholarly literature concerning the politics of belonging and identity broadly. I also examine and employ several theories concerning identity. In the first chapter, I look at the colonial legacy, post- independence policies, and elite actions that led Cote d’Ivoire into a full-scale civil war over identity disputes. The next chapter examines Cameroon, exploring what policies and practices led to the reemergence of disputes between autochthones and allogenes. The third and final chapter deals with belonging in South Africa, focusing on inclusion and exclusion at both the national and local level. In the conclusion I 8

elaborate on my findings and outline the future of the politics of belonging on the

African continent.

The Politics of Belonging and Identity

Borrowing from Brubaker’s analysis of the politics of belonging, my thesis focuses on inclusion and exclusion at both the local and national level (Brubaker, 64).

Despite some scholarly arguments about the decreasing importance of states as arenas of identity contestation, they remain particularly important. Membership in a state allows individuals to gain access to public goods and exert political power while exclusion from the state may bear even greater consequences. Furthermore, the politics of belonging “to” a state is distinguishable from the politics of belonging “in” a state. That is to say, while individuals may legally be citizens of a state, this does not necessarily translate to belonging in that state. Similarly, the politics of belonging has both formal and informal traits. Both belonging “to” a state and the formal aspects of the politics of belonging rely on institutional mechanisms and formalized rules.

However, belonging “in” a state and the informal aspects of belonging do not rely on these institutions but instead play out in the everyday, by individuals within a society

(Brubaker, 65).

Since liberalization and democratization projects of the 1990s in Cameroon and Cote d’Ivoire, autochthony has been the determining factor of both belonging “in” and “to” the state. The state itself is necessary for debates about autochthony to even occur because, as Leonhardt notes in his distinction between autochthony and 9

indigenous, “autochthony presupposes a state and indigenous does not” (Leonhardt,

73). Autochthony operates both formally and informally, through institutions and individuals. It takes place at the national and local level of politics, as well as follows various trajectories in any given region of a state. The ambiguity and fluidity of autochthony allows the term to be easily manipulated and variously constructed.

At the national level, autochthony is closely linked to citizenship. At its core, citizenship defines who is included and excluded in a state, who has rights and who does not, who belongs and who doesn't. Traditionally, there are several different means of acquiring citizenship including; being born within a state (jus soli), inheriting citizenship through one’s parents (jus sanguinis), and going through the required naturalization processes of a state. While citizenship is commonly associated with belonging to a political entity, in the practice of law citizenship relies on the mutual recognition of rights and responsibilities between the state and the individual.

Citizenship is thus the basis for all other legal rights an individual possess within the state. While the traditional definition of citizenship stresses individualism and equality before the law, increasingly citizenship is defined in terms of group associations

(Adejumobi, 148). Furthermore, in Cameroon and Cote d’Ivoire, citizenship has stressed regional and local belonging over ideas of a national citizenry (Mbuagbo and

Orock, 178). Autochthony, then, is a textbook example of favoring group rights and regional claims of citizenship over individual and national ones. The claim that true autochthones of a region should enjoy rights over allogenes, despite the fact that both 10

groups may possess national citizenship, demonstrates the inherent tensions between autochthony and national citizenship.

Similarly, in South Africa debates about belonging both at the local and national level have grown since the 1990s. Many hoped that at apartheids end South

Africa would become an inclusive state and embody Tutu’s “rainbow nation”.

However, such sentiments have not played out on the ground and since the 1990s

South Africa has witnessed several xenophobic attacks against foreigners from other

African states (Landau, 2). Most notably, in 2008, residents of Alexandra Township took up arms against their foreign neighbors, displacing thousands and resulting in the deaths of over 60 people. Disputes between ‘bona-fide’ Alexandra township residents and ‘amagoduka’ have a long history in the community and, like autochthony, operate both formally and informally. A number of events, institutions, and elite actions have shaped the construct of ‘bona-fide’ residents throughout the townships history. Even during apartheid, ‘bona-fide’ residents enjoyed a limited amount of rights as property owners. Again, notions of ‘authentic’ and ‘bona-fide’ residents are closely connected with citizenship, access to state resources, and land rights.

Constructivist and Instrumentalist Theories

Much scholarly literature exists about the manipulation of identities by political elites for the purpose of remaining in power. In his examination of the “nation” as a category of practice and a political claim, Brubaker notes that claims of nationhood are used to alter the existing identities individuals assert (Brubaker, 116). 11

Instead of seeing nations as a category of analysis, he treats them as a category of practice. Claims of nationhood address first the “putative members” in a nation; those individuals whose identities elites are attempting to change. Secondly, they involve individuals in positions of power who are able to validate the claim (117). Though

Brubaker was dealing with nations and nationalist identities, his argument can be applied to debates over belonging and exclusion as well. Like notions of nationhood, autochthonous and ‘authentic’ identities seek to alter existing identities and involve both putative members and powerful elites.

In his account of the violence in the former Yugoslavia, Gagnon argues that the violence witnessed in the region was in fact a strategic choice implemented by political elites (Gagnon, 7). Confronted with popular political mobilization, entrenched elites sought to protect the status quo through manipulating ethnic identities and demobilizing the oppositions support. Elites, borrowing from

Anderson’s timeless definition, seek to” reimagine” the political arena and turn the debate away from the factors the opposition is seeking to mobilize around and instead shift the focus to who truly belongs in the arena (Gagnon, 8). Again, while Gagnon was examining the former Yugoslavia, his argument is salient for African politics as well. The threats faced by elites in the former Yugoslavia and the newly democratized

African states are eerily similar. Moreover, as Geschiere demonstrates the elusive and ever changing nature of the concept of ‘autochthons’ makes it easily manipulated by political elites (Geschiere, 27). Thus, the fluidity of identities and the reimaging of 12

political space allows for elites to control political discourse and demobilize the opposition.

Another seemingly unintended consequence of decentralization and liberalization has been a general “crises of the state” (Adejumobi, 19). Due to the weakness and ineffectiveness of many postcolonial states, individuals within those states refused to recognize the state as legitimate and instead turned to ethnic and primordial identities above national ones. Increasingly, sub-national and local identities are being favored over national identities, impairing the nation-building projects of the past. International organizations, such as the World Bank and the

International Monetary Fund (IMF), in their efforts to “decentralize” and “by-pass” the state, looked to civil society to bolster development, thus relying on local actors to redistribute resources (Geschiere, 2011, 337). Therefore, through political liberalization and international development, local and subnational identities are a more powerful political tool than ever before.

Are local and national identities necessarily mutually exclusive or in contradiction with each other? Of course not. Any citizen of any state has multiple identities such as gender, race, or class to name only a few. Sub-national and national identities only begin to conflict when the rights and benefits of citizenship are being denied or are inaccessible (Adejumobi, 24). It is in the context of denial of citizenship and rights that sub-national identities conflict with national ones. In this way, the state transforms ethnic and sub-national group identities from “’groups in themselves’ into

‘groups for themselves’” (25). While the promotion of indigenous and autochthonous 13

rights have been encouraged by international organizations and human rights groups as a welcomed and necessary transition away from nationalism, these identities have actually led to exclusionary conceptions of citizenship. As Adejumobi demonstrates, the colonial legacy of unequal citizenship before the law has prevailed and autochthony has allowed unequal citizenship to continue in African politics

(Adejumobi, 27).

Clearly, a more detailed explanation of the politics of belonging is needed. The following chapters of this thesis explore inclusion and exclusion in the specific contexts in which such debates occur. Though each of these three case studies vary greatly, a comparison is necessary in order to understand how notions of ‘autochthony’ and ‘authentic’ play out on the ground and in the lives of every day citizens. Again, I will demonstrate that autochthonous and authentic identities are manipulated and reconstructed by political elites and institutions as a means to stay in power. As such, these identities will differ in the various regions in which they are being constructed.

The fluidity of these social highlights the fact that institutions and elites, rather than processes of globalization, define and construct inclusion within the political community.

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Chapter 1 Citizenship and Civil War: Autochthony’s Trajectories in Cote d’Ivoire

In 2002, after a failed military coup, Cote d’Ivoire plunged into a full-scale civil war, effectively splitting the country in two. Once hailed as the Ivorian miracle,

Cote d’Ivoire is now considered a basket case state, where disputes between competing groups have led to violence and the breakdown of state institutions. While many factors contributed to the 2002 civil war, scholars generally agree that the two dominant issues were disputes over land and citizenship (Boas, 21; Cutolo, 531; Dunn,

113; Marshall-Fratani, 18). These disputes were exacerbated through the actions and rhetoric of powerful Ivorian elites who used notions of autochthony to manipulate identities in order to consolidate political power. Unfortunately, Cote d’Ivoire is the perfect case study for examining the emergence of political violence over autochthony, citizenship and land rights. Why has Cote d’Ivoire witnessed violence over autochthonous debates? What accounts for the violence seen in Cote d’Ivoire?

Although the specific postcolonial history of Cote d’Ivoire helps make sense of the violence, the overriding reason conflict occurred was because of state institutions and elite actions. It will be shown that the decisions and policies implemented by major stakeholders in Cote d’Ivoire, namely Houphouet-Boigny, Henri Bedie, Alassane

Ouattara, and Laurent Gbagbo, created tensions between local and immigrant communities and eventually led to civil war.

This chapter, in trying to make sense of the political violence in Cote d’Ivoire, begins with an outline of the colonial history of Cote d’Ivoire, namely exploring the 15

influence the French exerted over its colony. After colonialism, the discussion moves to independence and Houphouet-Boigny’s role in creating the Ivorian state. It is impossible to understand the political landscape of Cote d’Ivoire today without a thorough review of both the colonial and post-independence period. From there, the chapter explores the nature of post-1990s politics in Cote d’Ivoire in relation to liberalization and democratization projects witnessed across African states. The specific factors and policies that plunged Cote d’Ivoire into a full-fledged civil war are examined as well. The evolution of the doctrine of “Ivoirite” under Bedie and Gbagbo is dissected to demonstrate how the ideology fueled the flames of autochthony and led to violence. Finally, the ongoing peace process in Cote d’Ivoire will be discussed in the hopes of providing real solutions to the problems.

Colonialism and Cote d’Ivoire

In the pre-colonial period, in what is today Cote d’Ivoire, dense forests in the southern region of the country barred the ability of individual groups to mobilize into larger ones and form a modern state. In the northern region, dispersed ethnic groups also lacked incentive and motivation to form a larger state (Araoye, 13). With the arrival of the French, the social, political, and economic landscape of modern Cote d’Ivoire drastically changed. After Cote d’Ivoire became an official French colony in

1893, the French introduced cocoa and coffee into the region, established a plantation economy, and built large scale agricultural estates throughout the southern region. The

French also became the sole administrators of land in Cote d’Ivoire, though they did recognize some local claims to land (Woods, 644). In the decades that followed, the 16

plantation economy intensified and production shifted from the southeast more towards the center and west of the country. All the while, the French heavily developed the south, with the only northern development projects being a railroad to transport migrant labor into the south (Araoye, 26). The plantation economy demanded large labor forces and the French encouraged migration into the southern region from the northern ones and from across international borders. Large scale rural- to-urban migration also occurred as a result of the emerging infrastructure in Ivorian urban areas (Mitchell, 270). Migration patterns were further affected by the implementation of forced labor policies, requiring all adult males in Cote d’Ivoire to contribute at least twelve full days of work a year to colonial production (Woods, 645).

All the while, these migratory patterns were tightly controlled and restricted by the colonial government. Further colonial policies, such as forcing Burkinabes and

Malians to build up the infrastructure of the country, further increased migration into

Cote d’Ivoire (Araoye, 25; Kirwin, 45). Eventually, when forced labor policies were outlawed, some foreign laborers were eve able to purchase land and in-migration to

Cote d’Ivoire continued, intimately attached to the promise of economic prosperity. As

Araoye argues, these migration patterns “created a marginalized and underclass community that at the beginning of the twenty-first century sought a voice and citizenship rights” (Araoye, 13). Yet, the assertions for rights of these immigrants were met with resistance from local populations rooted in more traditional forms of belonging. Autochthonous disputes, than, have a long history in Cote d’Ivoire. 17

Not only do the migration patterns encouraged under colonialism still greatly impact autochthony in Cote d’Ivoire today, so too do the policies put in place by the

French colonizers. From colonialism, to present day, French interests play a major role in Ivorian politics. Araoye highlights how French influence in Cote d’Ivoire makes it

“a classic double instrumental state” (24). The first level of instrumentality is the power struggle between rival groups within Ivorian politics. The second level is the desire of the French to continue their hegemony over the Ivorian state even as rival groups struggle to internally control it. Any discussion of autochthony in Cote d’Ivoire must bear in mind this dual instrumentality, that is, the extent to which both political groups in Cote d’Ivoire and the French play a role in the state. While the internal institutions and actions of rival political groups greatly effect disputes over autochthony, to a lesser extent the continuance of French influence in Cote d’Ivoire does as well.

Independence and Houphouet-Boigny

Though Cote d’Ivoire was granted independence in August of 1960, the French had no intention of ceding their influence in the country. In order to continue their power, France had to find a leader willing to work with them and continue their economic policies. They found this leader in Felix Houphouet-Boigny, a cocoa producer and member of the majority Baoule ethnic group (Woods, 645). Houphouet-

Boigny spent thirteen years as a parliamentarian in the French National Assembly before being appointed Prime Minister of Cote d’Ivoire in 1959 (Araoye, 19). A year later he was elected the country’s first president. 18

Houphouet-Boigny’s reign was characterized by two equally important political goals: the hegemony of his Baoule ethnic group and of cocoa producers through the political dominance of his Democratic Party of Cote d’Ivoire (PDCI) and the continuation of French influence. To realize these political goals, Boigny went about opening up the Ivorian economy and encouraging outside investment. In reality, this simply meant continuing the economic policies put in place by the French during colonialism. Like the colonial administration before him, Boigny continued to encourage migration to further develop the cocoa and coffee plantations (Mitchell,

274). To further consolidate his power, Boigny created a strictly paternalistic state, systematically repressive laws, banned opposition parties and free expression, imprisoned political opponents, and implemented a strict ethnic hierarchy (Akindes,

13). These policies ensured that Boigny and the PDCI would be the only game in town.

Along with his reliance on ethnic hierarchies and French support, Boigny implemented a strict, paternalistic system for disturbing public goods along party lines.

The paternalistic structure required Boigny to coopt local and ethnic leaders with state resources in exchange for political support and was made possible through the large amounts of revenue the state received from taxing coca (Woods, 646). Such a system led to widespread inequality in terms of access to state resources and fueled tensions between local communities and the national government.

In terms of economic gains, the openness of Cote d’Ivoire was largely successful. Up until the mid-1980s, Cote d’Ivoire’s gross national product (GNP) grew annually by about 7% (Akindes, 9). The success of the economy also gave rise to the 19

continuation of large-scale migration. Unlike the colonial period however, the migration patterns witnessed under Boigny were mostly driven by the promise of economic success in Cote d’Ivoire (9). The political instability of neighboring countries such as Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger further contributed to migration into

Cote d’Ivoire. The result of these large-scale migration patterns are apparent in the

1998 census in Cote d’Ivoire in which immigrants made up 26.03% of the total population, with most immigrants coming from Burkina Faso, Mali, and Guinea (10).

Citizenship policies under Boigny were deliberately unclear, allowing immigrants to participate in Ivorian politics and further distorting the lines between citizen and immigrant (Bah, 601). Immigrants were allowed to vote and local populations were encouraged to accept the immigrant populations as contributing the economic wellbeing of the nation. Boigny had a personal incentive to enforce lax immigration policies, as his clients consisted mainly of wealthy Baoule farmers who needed the migrant labor (Geschiere, 110). Land policies were also crafted to accommodate immigrant populations. Officially, any unclaimed rural territory belonged to the state, but customary law viewed the land as exclusively belonging to the local, autochthonous community (Marshall-Fratani, 20). The traditional system of tutorat, in which autochthons grant newcomers the right to live on land necessary for their subsistence and in return are expected to integrate and take on community responsibilities, dictated how land was distributed in the absence of formal laws (Boas,

30). 20

This system initially worked well while land was still abundant, however as the cocoa industry expanded from the south towards the west, immigration increased in these areas and undeveloped land became scarce. Boigny, in an attempt to incorporate the traditional tutorat system into more formal policy, placed traditional chiefs, PDCI members, and village secretaries in charge of accommodating migrants in search of land. Due to the paternalistic structure of the state, these elites could not voice their opposition to land policies accommodating immigrants for fear of losing their connection to state resources. In 1963 Boigny publically confirmed his support for immigrants owning land at a meeting between the regime and autochthons, saying “la terre appartient a celui qui la met en valuer” (the land belongs to the one who works it)

(Geschiere, 110). This policy highly favored immigrant populations at the expense of autochthon's claims to the land.

Boigny’s ethnic group, the Baoules, occupied a majority of political posts, thanks in part to their assimilation into the colonial administration’s structure and

Boigny’s paternalist practices (Kirwin, 45). At 15% of the total population, the Baoule represent the largest ethnic group in Cote d’Ivoire, a country home to over sixty different ethnic groups (Araoye, 15). The main rival to the Baoule are the Bete, an ethnic group recognized for their success in cash cropping and acceptance of

Christianity. Under Houphouet-Boigny, the colonial legacy of ranking ethnic groups was restructured so that his Baoule group was at the top, followed by other southern groups such as the Agni and the Bete (Araoye, 15; Akindes, 13). The second level of the hierarchy was communities in the West Central region of the country. The bottom 21

tier consisted of groups from the North, the Senoufou and Juula, who migrated to the

South to fill plantation labor demands. While many of these northerners were from the same ethnic communities found in the northern part of the country, they were considered a national minority because most had come from Burkina Faso (Araoye,

15). Furthermore, these northerners were Muslims surrounded by largely Christian communities. Boigny’s reliance on ethnic ranking in order to legitimize his power has both positive and negative consequences. While these hierarchies do re-construct a common identity and help to mobilize supporters, their negative consequences lead to separation between ethnic groups and total exclusion of others (Akindes, 15).

Bedie and the Doctrine of Ivoirite

After the death of Houphouet-Boigny in 1993, the president of the National

Assembly, Henri Bedie, assumed the presidency, in line with constitutional procedures

(Toungara, 66). Bedie was also Boigny’s chosen successor and his political godson

(Araoye, 4). Although a prominent member of both the PDCI and the Baoule ethnic group, Bedie’s succession prompted the split of the PDCI, with Djeni Kobina forming the Rally of the Republican Party (RDR) and inviting the former Prime Minister

Alassane Ouattara to become its presidential candidate (Araoye, 5; Bah, 601). The

RDR consisted mostly of northern Muslims who wanted to reform the PDCI from its

Baoule domination. Another rival political group, the Ivorian Popular Front (FPI) led by Laurent Gbagbo and mostly made up of ethnic Betes, further threatened Bedie’s power as the FPI undertook a sort of “xenophobic nationalism” campaign, in which 22

Gbagbo claimed to be the true representative of autochthons and accused the government of favoring migrants over citizens (Dunn, 114; Mitchell, 276).

With a presidential election only a few years away, and in the face of newly strengthened political opposition parties, Bedie needed to consolidate his power and gain support (Toungara, 67). He did so by heavily restricting opposition parties and implementing the Ivoirite Doctrine, which according to Bah, “infused a divisive form of ethnicity into Ivorian politics and inadvertently sowed the seeds of war” (Bah, 602).

The Ivoirite Doctrine, conceived by southern intellectuals most of whom were members of the University Cell for the Diffusion of Ideas of President Henri Konan

Bedie (CURDIPHE), drew distinctions between “indigenous Ivoirians” and “Ivoirians of immigrant ancestry” and was developed as a new way to distribute scarce public goods. Disguised as a form of patriotism, the true purpose of the doctrine was to marginalize northerners in order to keep them from mobilizing political support.

Ivoirite was implemented through a series of electoral reforms and new national identification policies. In 1995, Bedie passed legislation requiring that any candidate for President be able to prove they are truly Ivorian, by both birth and descent

(Toungara, 67). Further policies dictated that anyone applying for a national identification card was able to prove their parents were born in an Ivorian village (Bah,

603; Cutolo, 527). Almost ironically, it was former Prime Minister Ouattara who, in

1990, originally passed legislation requiring that immigrants carry an identity card

(Cutolo, 530). 23

Land and citizenship policy under Bedie also fueled tensions between autochthons and immigrants. Breaking with his predecessor, Bedie implemented laws that stripped immigrants of their property owning and voting rights. As Woods argues, this break from Boigny’s policies favoring immigrants was prompted by the decreasing economic prosperity of Baoule farmers because of competition from migrant laborers who had acquired land (Woods, 650). Baoule cocoa producers also faced shortages of cheap, migrant labor, as laborers from Burkina Faso preferred to work their own land or for members of their own kin (650). Furthermore, like the

Ivoirite Doctrine, Bedie implemented such restrictive laws to further consolidate his power in the face of heavy opposition from Ouattara. The 1998 Land Laws, the first actual law implemented to deal with land issues, excluded foreigners from owning land, because the only legitimate source of claims to land were an individual’s autochthony (Boas, 31; Mitchell, 275). Ivorian citizenship and access to land, therefore, rested on the ability of an individual to prove their autochthony. Given the colonial legacy of weak citizenship definitions and lackluster birth records, these policies were unrealistic in their lofty goals of proving citizenship through the village.

However such policies were effective in achieving their true goals of disqualifying northerners, such as Ouattara, from running for the presidency and denying access to citizenship rights for northerners across the board.

The 1995 presidential election in Cote d’Ivoire further contributed to political conflict. Bedie, for his own political gain, reopened discussions about the nationality of Alassane Ouattara and eventually, through the implementation of the policies 24

mentioned above, banned him from running for president (Akindes, 20; Bah, 602;

Boas, 32). As a result of Ouattara’s disqualification and the implementation of discriminatory policies, northerners felt effectively excluded from politics and that their citizenship was in jeopardy. The elections also led to violence between Bete and

Baoule ethnic groups, specifically in the plantations in the center west (Araoye, 5). In the center west, the Bauoles had developed large agricultural estates in the Bete region.

As a result of local misunderstanding being exploited by political elite, the Bete demanded that the Baoule leave their region. After the elections concluded and Bedie secured the presidency, the contentious political atmosphere did not let up. Instead, it only worsened as Bedie continued to crack down on political opposition. An international arrest warrant was issued for Ouattara based on doubts about his identity,

RDR militants were arrested and put in prison, and northern Muslims were harassed by police and their citizenship was constantly called into question (Akindes, 19;

Toungara 67). All of these tensions resulted in the coup d’état of December 24, 1999, which ousted and exiled President Bedie and ushered in a new era in Ivorian politics.

Coup d’état and the New Ivoirite

Only four years after the 1995 elections, a group of rebel soldiers, headed by

General Robert Guei of the Yacouba ethnic group, led the first successful coup d’état in Cote d’Ivoire bringing an end to the reign of President Bedie (Akindes, 28; Bah,

604;). Adamantly opposed to the doctrine of Ivoirite, and accusing the Bedie government of engaging in explicitly divisive identity politics, the coup d’état was determined to bring an end to corruption in Ivorian politics by declaring their goal to 25

completely “clean the house” of autochthonous politics (Akindes, 21; Cutolo, 527).

General Guei even assured both northerners and foreign immigrants of the crucial role they play in the “grandeur of Cote d’Ivoire and national unity” and lifted the ban on

Ouattara from participating in politics (Akindes, 21). He further promised to amend the constitution and implement free and fair elections.

However, the inclusive rhetoric of General Guei would not last even a year as he looked to consolidate his power and remain head of state despite warnings from the

United States and international organizations that he would not be allowed to do so

(Toungara, 69). When the time came for presidential elections in October of 2000,

Guei began selectively arresting political opponents, fueling xenophobia based on the

“hold of foreigners over vital sectors of the national economy”, and again banned

Ouattara from running based on the Ivoirite Doctrine he originally opposed and

Article 35 of the constitution (Toungara, 69; Bah, 603). Guei also encouraged the

Supreme Court to ban Bombet, the PDCI candidate leaving Gbagbo as the only serious political rival. In response, both the PDCI and the RDR boycotted the elections.

Guei then halted ballot counting and declared himself the winner of the elections (Bah,

603). Yet, Guei was unable to remain in power as massive street protests and violence organized by the FPI forced Guei to flee (Bah, 603). In only a few days after the contested elections, 150 people had died in clashes between supporters of the FPI and

RDR. Eventually, the violence receded and Laurent Gbagbo became president after

Guei fled. 26

Laurent Gbagbo’s tenure as president did little to quell the contentious political atmosphere in Cote d’Ivoire. Right from the start, Gbagbo’s ascension to the presidency led to violence between his FPI and the rival RDR who demanded new elections based on transparency and inclusive citizenship and voting rights (Bah, 604).

Gbagbo refused to cede his power however, which led to the RDR and most northerners claiming his presidency was illegitimate. Even after Gbagbo remained head of state, the rift between the two political parties, the FPI and the RDR, continued to manifest. The nationalist rhetoric of the FPI became state policy and increasingly led to more xenophobic policies. Any RDR sympathizers were seen as a threat to the state and were demoted or jailed (Marshall-Fratani, 25).

Much like the Bedie regime before him, Gbagbo further fueled tensions by adopting highly exclusive national identity policies. For example, Gbagbo’s national identity card policy, the National Operation of Identification, stated “Anyone requesting an identity document [is] required to prove their nationality by obtaining a statement of origin issued by a committee from their village of origin” (Bah, 603;

Geschiere, 98). Anyone who failed to provide proof of their autochthony in an Ivorian village would be issued a foreign residency card, which were expensive and entailed harsh penalties with the possibility of expulsion (Marshall-Fratani, 27). As Geschiere argues, there is an important distinction to be made between an individual’s birthplace and their village of origin. As the “director of identification” under the program, Seri

Wayoro, stated, 27

“The village of an Ivorian, it’s firstly from the ancient Cote d’Ivoire…Authentically, people were sedentary, they stayed on their homelands, where their parents, their elders and ancestors were born. That’s what we consider as a village, the place where a person finds members of his family at their origin, before the urban phenomenon.” (Geschiere, 99) Yet such a minimalist focus on an individual’s village of origin overlooks and overly simplifies the mass migratory movements witnessed in Cote d’Ivoire since colonialism. To believe it possible for every Ivorian to return to their village of origin, especially given the fact that cities such as the capital Abidjan, home to over 3 million people, would not count as villages of origin, seems almost laughable. Northerners understood Gbagbo’s National Operation of Identification as a means of excluding them from citizenship rights and stripping them of their national identity (Geschiere,

99; Mitchell, 276). Their fears culminated in the outbreak of all out civil war in

September 2002, when rebel forces attempted but ultimately failed to overthrow

Gbagbo’s government. The failed coup d’état effectively split the country in two, with the Gbagbo government controlling the south and rebel forces taking the north.

Civil War in Cote d’Ivoire

The split of Cote d’Ivoire and the subsequent civil war drove hundreds of thousands of immigrants from their homes and killed countless more (Marshall-

Fratani, 11). After the failed coup d’état, President Gbagbo increased his xenophobic and nativist rhetoric which only fueled the flames. Rebel forces belonging to the

Patriotic Movement of Cote d’Ivoire (MPCI) attacked the capital city Abidjan and other northern cities in an attempt to remove Gbagbo from power (Bah, 604). Smaller 28

rebel groups began to form until all of the groups eventually came under the umbrella of the Forces Nouvelles (FN) led by Guillaume Soro. Communal violence also took place as young members of the FPI, belonging to the Young Patriots (YP), took to the streets against any and all opposition to the regime.

More so than the nativist sentiments expressed by the regime and even than the ousting of Ouattara from elections, rebel forces cited the national identity card programs as the main reason for the rebellion. In a 2003 interview with Marshall-

Fratani, one fighter in the rebel army stated “I joined the rebellion because the

Malinke have been here since the twelfth century and soon they’ll be giving us foreign resident’s card to be able to live here (Marshall-Fratani, 27). This view was shared by a majority of rebel fighters, who upon entering a town would immediately go about destroying national identity records. As many scholars argue (Araoye, 37; Bah, 605;

Marshall-Fratani, 35), the failure of international peace processes in Cote d’Ivoire to recognize the importance of national identity and citizenship in the civil war has meant the continuation of violence.

The process to end the war in Cote d’Ivoire was led by international organizations such as the Economic Community of West Africa States (ECOWAS), the United Nations (UN), the African Union (AU) and the French government (Araoye,

32; Bah 605). For the ECOWAS, the UN, and the AU, the crises in Cote d’Ivoire furthered the instability witnessed in West Africa and thus needed to be addressed urgently. The French, the colonial occupier of Cote d’Ivoire, had vested economic interests in the country and therefore also wanted the problem to be solved as soon as 29

possible. Standard international peace keeping practices called for peacekeepers to be deployed, the establishment of safe zones, a recognized ceasefire, talks between the regime and the rebels which would lead to power sharing, and eventually elections.

Yet, the standard international processes towards peace continually failed to address citizenship policies. Notably, the Linas-Marcoussis Agreement, signed by both sides in 2003, did address citizenship, however the Agreement still treated the civil war as one over power instead of identity. The Agreement established a Government of

National Reconciliation (GNR), while acknowledging that citizenship laws needed to be reformed. It called for the elimination of national identity cards and the rewording of laws on who can run for president (Bah, 606). Ultimately, the Agreement failed because neither side agreed on a formal definition of citizenship. Gbagbo continually called for legal proof of citizenship via official birth records and family ties to the village, while the rebels in the north wanted citizenship to be established solely by birth place. Subsequent peace accords also placed citizenship on the backburner and ultimately produced little results.

As the war raged on into 2006 with no end in sight, popular discontent and the realization that clear military victory was unachievable fostered direct talks between the regime and rebel forces. Tired of international peace agreements, the people of

Cote d’Ivoire wanted a homegrown solution to the crises to be worked out between the different sides. Participants in the peace talks included Gbagbo, Soro, Bedie, and

Ouattara (Araoye, 128). Unlike the past internationally mediated peace talks, from the beginning the Ouagadougou Accord addressed the issue of citizenship (Bah, 610). To 30

solve the problem of citizenship, the Accord called for the establishment of mobile courts that would issue birth certificates to any individual who was born in Cote d’Ivoire but had never been registered as a citizen or who lacked official proof of citizenship. The courts would recognize both official documents and testimonies from witnesses about a person’s nationality. No longer would individuals have to return to their village of origin, but instead would be required to file a petition at their birth place (611). Foreigners would be issued residency permits once they gained a new birth certificate and proved their nationality through an official document from their consulate. Ivoirians would register on an electoral role and once they did they would receive their new national identity cards. Power sharing was also an informal part of the agreements. Gbagbo chose Soro to be the new Prime Minister of the country, a political decision driven by Gbagbo’s desire to retain his presidency. Soro did however exert considerable control over the implementation of the policies outlined in the Ouagadougou Accord. These solutions attempted to resolve the complications over citizenship that arose out of the Ivoirite Doctrine and foster an end to the violence.

The slow implementation of the stipulations in the Ouagadougou Accord spelled trouble for Cote d’Ivoire. Although, already by 2008 the mobile courts had issues over 300,000 new birth certificate and begun the process of voter registration, the scheduled elections for November 2009 were postponed a year (Bah, 614). When the time again came for elections in 2010, Gbagbo disband the government on accusations of voter fraud. Gbagbo claimed that non-nationals were being allowed to vote and insisted that only true Ivoirians be able to participate in the election. Due to 31

Gbagbo’s dissolution of the government, opposition parties no longer recognized him as president (Araoye, 353). The opposition encouraged its supporters to take to the streets and demanded that Gbagbo be removed from office. Civil unrest soon followed, and while the international community called for calm, the opposition’s hopes of international support dwindled (Araoye, 360). Political leaders in Cote d’Ivoire worked to come to an agreement, but differed over voter registration policy. The crises in Cote d’Ivoire had come full circle.

Elections did eventually take place on October 31, 2010. The process of national identity cards and voter registration remained contentious however, with both sides highly distrustful of the other. The campaigns leading up to the elections focused on the ethnicity of candidates over their political views and allogenes populations living in autochthonous communities expressed fear for their lives (Araoye, 375).

Troops were deployed throughout the country to quell violence. After all of this contention, none of the fourteen candidates won a 50% majority so a run-off election between Ouattara and Gbagbo ensued. Gbagbo claimed large-scale voter fraud in areas still controlled by the Forces Nouvelles. However despite these claims, the

Independent Elections Commission proclaimed Ouattara the winner with 54.6% of the vote but failed to decide by the constitutionally mandated deadline of seventy-two hours after the election (Araoye, 372). The responsibility to declare the winner moved to the Constitutional Council, which validated Gbagbo’s claims of voter fraud, cancelled the results from those areas, and declared Gbagbo the winner. Yet the international community chose to validate the claims of the Independent Elections 32

Commission and recognized Ouattara as president-elect. Gbagbo refused to cede power however, and violence ensued yet again. Only after a military intervention led by French forces was Gbagbo removed from the presidency. Eventually, Gbagbo was transferred to The Hague after being indicted by the International Criminal Court (ICC)

(International Crises Group Report, 1).

Reconciliation and Peacemaking in Cote d’Ivoire

After Gbagbo was forcibly removed from the presidency, the international community recognized Ouattara as the legitimate leader of Cote d’Ivoire and he was sworn in on May 21, 2011. Though the political violence has been mitigated, several challenges remain for President Ouattara and for Cote d’Ivoire as a whole. For one, the new army, Republican Forces of Cote d’Ivoire, has both members of the FN and

Gbagbo’s former Defense and Security Forces in active duty (International Crises

Report, 2). Efforts must be undertaken to foster reconciliation between the two opposing forces if the state wishes to maintain its monopoly of force. Furthermore, though the violence has mostly stopped, the fragile political situation should not be underestimated. With the arrest of Gbagbo, his FPI has a very uncertain political future. Ouattara also owes his victory to Bedie and the PDCI, which supported him after the run-off election in 2010. Ouattara must balance these political forces so as to curb the possibility of opposition parties claiming Ouattara’s presidency is simply a northern government seeking revenge on the pro-Gbagbo south (International Crises

Report, 5). Such a strategy could reignite the Ivoirite Doctrine discourses and spell 33

disaster for the country. The freedom of opposition parties is crucial for a healthy democratic Cote d’Ivoire and Ouattara must avoid restricting freedom of expression.

Obviously, the most important step for reconciliation and peacemaking in Cote d’Ivoire must be the legal establishment of clear national citizenship laws and land rights. As has been shown, disputes over land and citizenship are at the forefront of fighting in Cote d’Ivoire. The first steps to be taken are to assure local communities that they have a place in Cote d’Ivoire and that security forces are under the control of the state and no longer serve the rebel cause. As such, a legal framework for determining citizenship must be adopted and implemented as soon as possible. As one

Ivorian politician put it, “It is a question of doing what is necessary to make the local populations feel they belong to the republic of Côte d’Ivoire and not to the neighboring state of Liberia” (International Crises Report, 14). Economic development of areas most affected by the war is also a positive step in the right direction.

Fortunately, some steps are being taken to develop areas most effected by the conflict, as public officials, police forces, and customs agents return to the north, west, and center regions of the country after a nearly 8 year absence (6). Only through constant dialogue between local community leaders and the state will tensions be curbed.

Conclusion

Clearly the example of Cote d’Ivoire highlights the danger of the politics of autochthony. The political violence witnessed in the first decade of the 21st century was influenced by a number of factors dating back to pre-colonial times. Large-scale 34

migration, economic development, and fuzzy citizenship and land policies all contributed in some way to the violence. These factors, especially immigration and land policy, have roots in the colonial history of Cote d’Ivoire but have been manipulated and reconstructed throughout the post-independence period by Boigny and other subsequent national elites. With the liberalization and democratization efforts of the 1990s, citizenship and land issues were politically exploited in the hopes of mobilizing political support. The specific state institutions and elite decisions allowed for identities to be exploited and manipulated in order to mobilize political support. Through both policies and practices, Ivorian elites manipulated political identities to serve their own self-interests. Reconciliation and peacemaking in Cote d’Ivoire will continue to be a drawn out process, however as long as disputes over citizenship and land are at the forefront of political bargaining, there is hope for the future.

35

Chapter 2 Identity, Exclusion, and Power in Cameroon; An Examination of Autochthonous Discourse

In the past few decades the reemergence of “autochthon” and “allogene” identities have been an important part of Cameroonian politics. Debates about autochthony have given rise to new schools of thought on the politics of belonging, identity and citizenship both in Africa and around the world. Unlike the nation building projects in Cameroon of the 1960s and ‘70s which stressed a common national identity, the current regime has engaged in explicitly divisive tactics, relying on the manipulation of ethnic identities. Autochthon and allogene identities are purposefully manipulated by elites to fracture opposition and continue regime control.

As stated, these identities are not, as Geschiere and others argue a direct reaction to or effect of globalization but, instead, garner their salience only within local and national

Cameroonian politics.

This chapter draws on previous works on the politics of belonging and identity to explain how and why autochthonous identities are used and manipulated in

Cameroonian politics. First, the chapter begins with a discussion of the history of

Cameroonian politics, including the colonial era. The chapter then moves to discuss the post-independence period and the reign of longtime president Ahmadou Ahidjo.

From there the chapter moves to examine the presidency of Paul Biya, all the while dissecting the different strategies employed by him and other political elites in order to continue their political and economic domination. After the intuitional historicism section, the chapter moves to examine the different regions of Cameroon where 36

autochthonous identities are found. Finally, conclusions about autochthony and its salience in Cameroon are drawn.

Colonialism and Modern Consequences

During the colonial era, modern Cameroon was occupied by three different colonial powers: Germany, France, and Great Britain. In 1884, Germany signed a treaty with two traditional chiefs and began to shape modern Cameroon both politically and economically. Controlling much of the southwest coast, the Germans pushed north and negotiated boundaries with the other colonial powers. Plantations were established along the southern coast and port city of Douala became an important regional player. Eventually, the Germans lost their colonial territory after World War

II and the French and British governments divided the territory under two separate

League of Nations mandates. The British controlled about 20% of modern Cameroon and split their territory into Northern Cameroons and Southern Cameroons which were administered separately (Crises Group Africa Report, 2).

By far the most influential colonial power in Cameroonian history is the

French. In fact, interesting for our purpose is that the French were the first to introduce the idea of autochthony into West African politics (Geschiere, 13). Used as a tool to administer their new colonial territories, the French envisioned autochthony would serve as an alternative system to British Indirect Rule. The policy of “autochthonie” mandated that homogenous ethnic groups would organize and be ruled by local power-holders who would answer directly to the French (14). The main purpose of the 37

policy was to create permanent, immobile indigenous populations that the French could more efficiently tax and exploit for labor. Despite the policy’s seemingly simple goal of creating permanent, homogenous settlements, in practice the colonial government often favored migrant groups who were regarded as more enthusiastic and willing to work (15). Clearly then, while autochthony and its salience are due in large part to the liberalization efforts in the 1990s, policies intent on favoring local populations over migrant ones have a long history in Cameroon.

In the early 20th century, French colonial authorities began public work programs in which indigenous populations were forced to work for the colonial government. These projects produced huge economic gains for the French government, with trade multiplying by five times between 1922 and 1938 (Crises Group Africa

Report, 2). The colonial economic system also created large labor migration movements mostly to plantations along the southern coast. The French colonial authorities reorganized traditional chieftaincies and ranked them on a scale of importance. The way in which the French dealt with local chieftaincies varied from case to case, with some continuing their traditional authoritative role and some set up merely to collect taxes (2). The institutional and economic structure of colonial

Cameroon, as well as the large scale migration patterns it brought on, shaped

Cameroonian politics today.

The French continued to play a major role in Cameroon even as the transition to independence and reunification with British Cameroon took place. The colonizers, though, did face heavy opposition to their role in the transition period. Militant 38

branches of the Union of the People of Cameroon (UPC) took up arms against the

French in 1955 after the party was official band. The UPC was originally formed in

1948 as the only political group in West Africa demanding independence from the

French and dedicated to a sort of radical nationalist ideology (Joseph, 430). Such an agenda was due in part to the social groups from which the UPC drew a majority of its support. The most prominent social group the UPC recruited from was the Bamileke, specifically the diaspora populations in the south of Cameroon whose large agricultural estates threatened European owned plantations (Joseph, 431). Secondly, the UPC actively recruited from urban populations in southern Cameroon, specifically the ‘stranger quarter’ of cities like New-bell and Douala, which had high levels of unemployment and poor living conditions. Even the term ‘stranger quarter’ demonstrates the long history of disputes between autochthons and allogenes. The final population the UPC drew its support from was the Bassa people, immediately located outside the urban hub of Douala (431). A majority of the Bassa were poor due to the decreasing value of their main products, palm oil and palm nuts and the fact that the colonial administration had made no efforts to develop infrastructure in the region.

The large-scale support networks the UPC accumulated prompted even the French to admit that it was the only political party in Cameroon with a national base (432).

In 1958, the French high commissioner to Cameroon handpicked Ahmadou

Ahidjo to lead the country. The decision to appoint Ahidjo as prime minister was due to his moderate views which the French thought necessary for reunification between the north and south, his support for immediate independence from France, and his 39

desire that France continue to play a role in Cameroon after independence (Takougang and Krieger, 37). Ahidjo was also willing to grant amnesty to members of the UPC and even allowed them to participate in elections in April of 1959 (39). On January 1,

1960 the French granted French Cameroon its independence and within the year the

British territories united with the French territories to form the Federal Republic of

Cameroon.

Cameroonian Political Tendencies; From Nationalist to Nativist

Under the authoritarian regime of President Ahidjo, the country enjoyed relative stability throughout the 1960s and 1970s. This is in part due to implementation of a strict one-party system in the country under Ahidjo, the appeasement of various ethnic factions, and a general intolerance for dissent. As

Nyamnjoh notes, borrowing from Mamdani’s term, Ahidjo implemented a sort of

“decentralized despotism” in which local and regional leaders were appointed by the central government and lack of an appointment meant that one’s own ethnic group or region are to blame (Nyamnjoh, 1999, 106). Such a paternalist system ensured that regional elite would maintain complete loyalty to the Head of State in return for political appointments and awards such as development projects. The implementation of one-party rule was purportedly done to foster national integration (Jua, 37). In reality however, the top-down policies of “nation-building” were used as a guise to cover Ahidjo’s real goals of regime stability and continuity. The 1960s did witness relative growth in Cameroon due to agricultural imports which allowed Ahidjo to implement a clientelist political system. During this period, the regime attempted to 40

stress the importance of a national unified party, banning opposition parties and viewing any kind of pluralism as a threat to regime security (Crisis Group Africa

Report, 7). Ahidjo’s goal of a one-party, authoritarian regime was eventually realized through the buying off of political and ethnic leaders and disposing of those unwilling to go along with the regime. The structure of the political institutions in Cameroon contributed to Ahidjo’s ability to buy off ethnic support. For example, the policy of

équilibre regional mandated that all regions were entitled to an equal number of posts within the party (Geschiere, 185). In Cameroon, however, regions were determined along ethnic lines, thus politicians from the same ethnic group would compete for the limited number of party posts. The policy bred infighting within the regions and demonstrated the top-down structure of the nation building projects.

In 1966 the Cameroonian National Union (CNU) was established as the only party in the state. Further laws were implemented to discourage political participation such as Article 4 of the June 1967 law which stated that no parties could be formed along exclusively ethnic or tribal lines (Takougang and Krieger, 106). Into the 1970s,

Ahidjo continued to centralize his regime and eventually passed a unitary constitution in 1972. The constitution granted broad powers to the executive, allowing Ahidjo to completely control state financial resources and appoint political leaders as he saw fit.

Patronage politics and corruption ran rampant while political opposition was virtually silenced. Of course, state resources could not buy off all opposition so a strong security apparatus also served to silence dissent. Even during the 1970s, a period of slow growth in the state, Ahidjo’s power remained firm. Despite the authoritarian 41

nature of the regime, the centralist structure of the state and patronage were successful in creating political stability. Through the coercion and cooperation of elites, who went along with Ahidjo’s ideas of national unity and nation building for their own gain, Cameroon was able to avoid slipping into a drawn out civil war, like the one witnessed in neighboring Nigeria in the late 1960s (Crises Group Africa Report, 10).

In 1982, Ahidjo resigned from the presidency due to illness and was succeeded by Paul Biya, the former prime minister. At first, the regime transition went smoothly but eventually conflicts over distribution of state resources led to violence (Crises

Group Report, 10). When Ahidjo recovered from his illness in 1983 he attempted to reassert his dominant political position, as he was still the president of CNU (11).

However, Biya was reluctant to cede any power to Ahidjo and eventually prosecuted

Ahidjo and other conspirators in 1983. Biya then moved to get rid of Ahidjo loyalists in the regime and changed the CNU to the Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement

(CPDM).

Since taking power, Biya’s reign has been characterized by regime continuity with the continuation of patronage and clientilst politics, as well as periods of liberalization in Cameroonian politics and the allowance of different political parties.

Even before the wave of democratization in the 1990s, Biya felt threatened by his lack of legitimacy and saw democratization as a means to gain a new political base.

However, the process carried with it major threats to the regime so Biya attempted to tightly control the process (Crisis Group Report, 12). In 1991, Biya held a meeting between the regime, opposition parties, and civil society to discuss a democratic 42

transition in Cameroon. The meeting turned out to be a complete success for the regime, as simply bringing all sides to the table for negotiations effectively halted the opposition’s momentum (12). Following the meeting subsequent legislative elections were held in March of 1992. The newly legalized opposition parties, the Social

Democratic Front (SDF) and the Cameroon Democratic Union (CDU) decided to boycott the elections because their demands for more time to prepare were not met and electoral laws were ignored by the CPDM. Yet, despite the fact that the major opposition parties boycotted the elections the CPDM was not able to win a clear majority, forcing them to bargain with opposition parties. In October of the same year, a multiparty presidential election was held. After a highly contested period in which

Biya sought to blatantly manipulate the vote, the Supreme Court announced that Biya had won by a narrow margin. While political liberalization efforts seriously threatened

Biya for several years, the regime had managed to survive.

After the contentious legislative and presidential elections, public attention turned to the constitution which had remained unchanged since the implementation of multiparty elections (14). Finalized in 1996, the Cameroonian constitution allowed for the creation of different regions, the Senate which would be made up of representatives from these new regions, provided for local level elections; and, most importantly for our purposes, provided for the protection of minority rights. However, though the constitution was formally adopted in 1996, its implementation required that

Biya sign laws approving it. It was not until 2008 that the regions were actually created, after an unexplained 12 year delay (14). Furthermore, though local level 43

elections took place in 1996 and many opposition parties won seats, nationally nominated administrators still held power over local level officials upsetting the legitimacy of the democratic process.

Perhaps the most important aspect of the 1996 constitution, in terms of autochthony, is the article that provides for the protection of minority rights. Such protections for minorities and indigenous peoples are absent from the previous constitution of 1972 which states:

“The people of Cameroon, proud of its cultural and linguistic diversity…profoundly aware of the imperative need to achieve complete unity, solemnly declares that it constitutes one and the same Nation…Everyone has the right to settle in any place and to move about freely…No one shall be harassed because of his origin.” (Geschiere, 51) Unlike the previous constitution, the newly adopted constitution of 1996 stresses minority rights over national integration. For example, in the new preamble one of the first listed duties of the state is to “ensure the protection of minorities” and

“preserve the rights of indigenous populations in accordance with the law” (51). Yet despite these special accommodations, the government has made no real effort to actually define the terms “minority” or “indigenous”. Instead, political parties have taken the lead in claiming to be the protectors of minority rights in hopes of garnering support and legitimacy (Jua, 37). However, as Section 9 of Law No. 90/056 states,

“No party shall be authorized to exist if it undermines the territorial integrity, national unity…national sovereignty and national integration, in particular through any type of discrimination based on tribe, province, linguistic group or religions discrimination” 44

(Jua, 37; Takougang and Krieger, 109). The CPDM used this law to its advantage, painting opposition parties such as the SDF as an Anglo-Bamileke party and as not truly representative of the “nation”. Such a strategy highlights the inherent paradox of

Cameroonian politics. While minority and ethnic groups are celebrated and to be protected under the constitution, political parties can be cast as illegitimate if they are claimed to only represent a specific ethnic group. These practices highlight the role national elites play in manipulating ethnic identity and autochthony in order to further their own goals of continuing the status quo.

Autochthony and its Salience; Regional Differences

Even within Cameroon, autochthonous identities vary in their political salience.

In order to understand how autochthony operates, it is important to examine the various regions where such sentiments occur. The two regions that will be explored below are the South-West Province and Eastern Province, specifically the southeast region of the province. These regions have witnessed varying degrees of in- and out- migration but autochthonous discourses permeate throughout.

One region in Cameroon where autochthony has a long history is the south- west province, specifically the Manyu division. Historically, the south-west province has witnessed large scale migration as the result of the establishment of a plantation economy by the German colonists towards the end of the 19th century (Konings, 204).

Many of these migrant laborers came from the Anglophone and Francophone parts of the Grassfields, a majority of whom were from the Bamileke ethnic group (205). The 45

large-scale migration patterns witnessed in the region, as Konings points out, “seems to have gradually strained relations with the autochthonous population that increasingly felt overwhelmed by the rapid expansion of these strangers in their territory and came to deepy resent their perceived domination in demographic, economic and political terms” (Konings, 205). Manyu is the largest and most northern division in the south-west province, one of only two Anglophone provinces within

Cameroon (Evans, 400). Manyu also encompasses within it several different ethnic groups, most notably the Banyang majority in Mamfe and the Ejagham majority in

Eyumojock (401). The political structure of Manyu is decentralized with local chieftaincies possessing relatively weak authority.

However, groups perceived as “allogenes” or “strangers” have changed as the migration patterns into the South-West Province have. Today, fellow Anglophones from Grassfields (mostly Bamilekes) in the North-West Province are considered the main threat to autochthons in the southwest due to the large number of them working on the plantations since the 1960s (Geschiere, 53). Before the 1960s though, it was

Francophones from the east and the Igbo from Nigeria that constituted the main “other”

(Geschiere, 54). Furthermore, it was not until the liberalization of politics that small- scale violence began to take place against Bamilekes. Because political parties were no longer outlawed, migrants in the southwest began to form SDF cells and started mobilizing support (Geschiere, 64). This perceived threat to local “autochthons” prompted them to vote for the CPDM so as to curtail the influence of immigrants in politics. Such movements were promoted by the regime, which increasingly called for 46

immigrants to go “home” (64) and as noted above, wasted no time in labeling the SDF as an Anglo-Bamileke party. The ever-changing conception of those considered strangers highlights the fluid nature of the struggle between autochthons and allogenes.

Groups excluded from the political sphere are those that elites are most easily able to paint as strangers as well as those migrant groups that are perceived as dominating the local economy.

In the southeast and eastern regions of Cameroon, autochthony has followed very different trajectories compared to the southwest. The eastern region of Cameroon has been much less affected by patterns of migration and opposition groups such as the SDF have been unable to mobilize support in the region. This is in part due to the fact that the East Province is covered by dense forest and scarcely populated

(Geschiere, 66). Yet, despite this fact, discourses about autochthony and truly belonging still prevail. Here, instead of autochthonous disputes occurring over voting rights, debates about autochthony take place in the context of development projects such as the creation of a community forest (Geschiere, 67, 95). With the collapse in world prices of Cameroon’s main cash crops (cacao, coffee and cotton) in the 1980s, logging became the country’s main export (Geschiere, 70). The focus on logging brought with it new laws meant to empower local communities, such as the 1994

Forest Law (72). The new forest law, put in place with the help of international organizations such as the World Bank, provided for local populations to be able to create their own community forests and manage them collectively, as well as allocated half of the tax revenues collected on logging activities to the local communities (73). 47

While, again, the law stresses the role of the local community, such complex projects require the involvement of urban elites in the organization and approval of the projects.

Furthermore, as Geschiere notes, no effort was made to actually define “local communities” and the highly centralized structure of Cameroon’s government ensured that none of the tax revenues were actually redistributed. Both elite involvement and a lack of specificity in terms of the “local community” contribute to autochthonous debates about who truly belongs and are explored below.

Urban elite’s association with their home village has a complex history in the

Eastern Province. As noted previously, before the liberalization periods in the 1990s elites had few reasons to associate with their village of origin and such associations were even considered a threat to the regime. However, since liberalization elites are incentivized to form associations with their home village. In terms of political incentives, elites within the party are encouraged to form regional associations so as to mitigate the effects of multi-party politics (Geschiere, 87). In terms of economic incentives, with the new stress on local involvement in logging projects elites are able to use their knowledge of administrative procedures and networking to introduce logging companies to villages and initiate the projects. Such incentives, coupled with the history of elite neglect in the Eastern Province, evoke strong suspicion from villagers, afraid elites are trying to personally benefit from the communities forest.

These sentiments are personified in a quote from a local individual from the village of

Mpoundou: “You people, you have already your salaries. So there is no need to come down here now and try to share in what we get for our wood” (Geschiere, 88). 48

Yet, perhaps more so than conflicts over elite belonging, clashes over who truly belongs occur at the local level between fellow villagers. While the very nature of autochthony allows belonging to become increasingly exclusive, such problems are only exacerbated by projects like community forests which look to distribute profits to the local populations. In one instance, a village in which scholar Monica Graziani was conducting her field research had recently received royalties from logging companies doing business in their area and selected a committee to oversee the redistribution of the royalties (Geschiere, 90). Originally, the committee decided that the money would be used to benefit the whole community through the purchase of a generator. However, the committee’s decision was not favored by the villagers who wanted to redistribute royalties on an individual basis. The latter prevailed yet individual redistribution brought on infighting between villagers who increasingly invoked social status (i.e. immigrants) and stigmas in order to bias the distribution process (91). Thus, the decentralized nature of community forests actually serves to intensify debates about who truly belongs, both at the elite and local level.

Further examples in the southeastern region of Cameroon highlight the complexity of autochthony. The southeastern region of Cameroon is home to the indigenous Baka group, hunter-gatherers commonly known as Pygmies (Leonhardt,

70). While the Baka are considered one of the most indigenous peoples in the world, their autochthony in Cameroon is often fiercely debated. As Leonhardt argues, the

Baka demonstrate the two different levels of autochthony in Cameroon; substantive and symbolic. Symbolic autochthony describes the very relation of a group “to the soil” 49

but substantive aspects of autochthony are what ensure access to state resources.

While the Baka’s symbolic autochthony cannot be questioned, this does not translate into them enjoying substantive claims of autochthony (71). Clearly, the fluidity and emptiness of notions of autochthony is exposed by the Baka example.

Like the Baka, the Mbororo of northwest Cameroon also highlight the fluidity of autochthony and indigenous. The Mbororo are dispersed throughout Cameroon, but represent 5-10% of the total population in the North West province (Pelican, 57). The

Mbororo people are largely Grassfielders, subsistence farmers and are organized in central chiefdoms (57). Originally, the Mbororo were welcome in the Grassfields by the local autochthonous populations, who treated them as guests but still classified them as “strangers”. With the democratization of Cameroon in the 1990s, the Mbororo organized in ethnic associations, culminating in the establishment of the Mbororo

Social and Cultural Development Association (MBOSCUDA) (57). Thanks to the ability of MBOSCUDA to lobby, the Mbororo were eventually recognized as a national and regional minority and therefore had rights to natural resources and political appointments in their home region. However, though the Mbororo identity underwent a large transformation thanks to these lobbying efforts, autochthons perceptions of the Mbororo have changed very little. The autochthonous populations of the Grassfields still consider the Mbororo migrants and “latecomers” because of the fact they only migrated to the region in the early 20th century. Disputes over land rights between Grassfield autochthons and minority Mbororo are long standing and have resulted in accusations that the Mbororo are infringing upon the autochthons 50

“ancestral land” (58). Such disputes demonstrate the inherent tensions between autochthons and stranger populations, and also the fact that identities are variously reconstructed through state institutions.

Conclusions

Autochthony’s importance throughout Cameroonian politics cannot be denied.

These identities are increasingly used to exclude those labeled “others” from the political arena and have served to maintain elites’ power. Group migration and local politics have an obvious effect on the degree of conflict between autochthones and allogenes and therefore the political salience of autochthony depends greatly on the specific sociopolitical context of a given region. Furthermore, the liberalization and opening of the political arena in Cameroon has served to fuel tensions between autochthons and “strangers” because these groups are perceived as a political threat to local populations and elites. Though autochthonous identities have been on the rise around the globe in the last few decades, these identities vary significantly in their degree and ability to mobilize support. Therefore, globalization is not a sufficient explanation as to why autochthony’s salience has been on the rise. It would be more useful to examine autochthony within specific regional contexts and as a tool used by elites to demobilize opposition support and preserve the status quo. There is a need to continue to explore notions of autochthony and their consequences if one wishes to understand the phenomenon.

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Chapter 3 The Politics of Exclusion in South Africa: Authentic Residents and Amagoduka

Although autochthony is not part of the daily language in South Africa (as it is in Cameroon and Cote d’Ivoire) the politics of belonging and exclusion remains relevant to the country. In 1994, with the first democratic election in the country, many hoped that South Africa would move beyond race as a marker of inclusion and instead promote equality for all. Yet despite these hopeful sentiments, South Africa has witnessed an intensification of disputes between citizens and immigrants that have resulted in new types of exclusionary practices and policies. Once hailed as Tutu’s

“rainbow nation”, South Africa is now categorized by terms like xenophobia and exclusion. Anti-immigrant sentiments have even resulted in large-scale violence against those perceived as outsiders, most notably the 2008 attacks that began in

Alexandra Township and quickly spread across the country. Why have immigration issues become so politically salient in South Africa? Who benefits from the politics of exclusion? Why has anti-immigrant sentiments resulted in violence? The answers to these questions can be found in the history, institutions, and elite decisions that have shaped South Africa since before and after apartheid.

This chapter examines the policies and practices of both national and local institutions in order to understand the politics of exclusion in South Africa. It begins with a brief description of the xenophobic violence witnessed in 2008, exploring what factors contribute to violence against foreigners. A discussion of the history of the country follows, investigating what policies before, during and after apartheid shape 52

relations between citizens and foreign nationals today. From there, I examine both the

South African media and popular discourse to demonstrate how the perception of immigrants is constructed in the country. The chapter then moves to a discussion of the township of Alexandra to explore the various local institutions that contributed to the violence in 2008.

Xenophobia and Violence

In May of 2008, violent attacks against foreigners began in the township of

Alexandra, South Africa. Most victims were African nationals from beyond South

Africa’s border, however at least one third of the victims were South African citizens themselves (Landau, 1). For the next two weeks the violence spread across Gauteng province and other townships throughout the country. South African citizens turned on their immigrant neighbors and by the end 60 were dead, over 700 wounded, and a hundred thousand displaced from their homes. Individuals in the townships forcibly removed immigrants from their homes and destroyed various properties resulting in over a million Rands worth of damage (Landau, 1). Even more unfortunate is the fact that these series of attacks were not the first instances of violence against immigrants in South Africa (Landau, 2010: 214). As early as 1994, community leaders in

Alexandra accused migrant, African workers of causing crime and as the reason for high unemployment. In 2006, mobs raided the shops of Somali immigrants and left 29 dead (Steenkamp, 2009: 441). 53

Various explanations of the violence have been offered in recent scholarship.

Some analyses focused on the socioeconomic condition of those who committed the violence, arguing that economic inequality between immigrants and foreigners caused the violence (Pillay, 94). Other explanations focused on the apparently inherent xenophobic sentiments held by South Africans, confirmed by various public surveys conducted in the country (Fauvelle-Aymar and Segatti, 60). However, these analyses do not go far enough in examining the specific national and local policies and practices that have led to violence against foreigners. The following sections of this chapter explore the historical and contemporary policies at all levels of government to demonstrate how these policies have contributed to the politics of exclusion in South

Africa.

Policy’s Historical Legacy in South Africa

Since its creation in 1910, the state of South Africa has attracted large migrant populations and simultaneously crafted policies meant to protect elite interests and limit African mobility. The high levels of in-migration are due to a number of reasons most notably the demand for migrant labor in South Africa and the relative instability of South Africa’s neighboring countries. The mining industry has fueled migration into South Africa for more than a century and at times foreign populations made up 80% of the mining employees (Reilly, 2). Much like the cocoa industry of Cote d’Ivoire, the mining industry in South Africa has created and maintained a high demand for unskilled, migrant labor (Reilly, 5; Cornelissen, 352). Throughout the 20th century, demand for mining labor fueled cross-border migration, but within South Africa, high 54

levels of rural-to-urban migration patterns also occurred. Rural-to-urban migration patterns prompted the apartheid regime to tightly control black mobility. However, as early as 1913, South Africa passed immigration laws attempting to restrict African mobility. The Immigration Regulations Act of 1913 aimed to curb African immigration into South Africa by stating “any person or class of persons deemed by the Minister on economic grounds or on account of standards or habits of life to be unsuited to the requirements of the Union” (Peberdy, 2). This law allowed the government to racially discriminate against immigrants and ensured that only whites would be able to immigrate to the country. However, an immigration system encouraging temporary black migration to fill labor demands in the mines and the agricultural system was also in place. In 1937, the government passed the Aliens Act requiring all non-citizens to carry work permits and paving the way for influx control policies implemented during apartheid (Reilly, 6).

Furthermore, as a report by the Human Rights Watch concluded, the apartheid regime actively participated in the destabilizing of its neighbors due to their opposition of the apartheid system. Former President Pieter Botha tactically engaged in the destruction of infrastructure in neighboring countries and directly intervened in

Mozambique, Angola, Lesotho, Botswana, and Nambia (Reilly, 5). The apartheid regime also introduced devastating embargos to countries such as Swaziland and

Botswana for their support of the African National Congress (ANC).

Under the system of apartheid, South Africa’s minority government abolished any non-white representation in government, segregated schools, and, with the passing 55

of the Bantu Homelands Citizenship Act in 1970, stripped all black South Africans of their citizenship. Political opponents were forbidden and speaking out against the government’s policies could result in imprisonment. Individuals born and raised in

South Africans were forced to carry a passport with them at all times containing their work history, finger prints, and their reason for being in a given area. Truly this system of racial segregation created “foreign natives” in South Africa (Landau, 2010:

219). The apartheid regime also enacted strict influx control policies in order to regulate the flow of black, African workers into urban areas of South Africa. Influx control laws, such as the Bantu Laws Amendment Act of 1961, were enacted to make sure black, migrant workers could only attain unskilled jobs, such as mining and agriculture, in order to preserve skilled jobs for white South Africans (Tati, 2003). As late as 1991, the apartheid government continued its racist influx control policies with the Aliens Control Act, which drew distinctions between black and white migrants and placed the policing of immigrants at the discrepancy of individual immigration officers. Unfortunately, even with the end of apartheid the government of South

Africa has inherited this system of racist immigration policies.

Post-1994 Politics and Policy

In 1994, the Republic of South Africa held its first non-racial elections, ending minority rule and ushering in a new era of politics in the country. A new constitution was adopted in 1996 that granted all citizens the right to vote, enter the country, run for public office, and form a political party. The Bill of Rights “enshrines the rights of all people” and makes few distinctions between citizens and non- (Constitution of the 56

Republic of South Africa, 1247). It guarantees several rights to “everyone” including equality before the law, freedom of movement, property rights, and access to health care, sufficient food, and water. Several clauses in the Bill of Rights sets limits on the power of the state and prohibits it from discriminating against anyone based on race, gender, ethnic or social origin, sexual orientation or religious affiliation. A report by

Human Rights Watch concluded that immigrants in South Africa “were protected by the Bill of Rights’ non-discrimination clause, and that all employment opportunities, with the limited exception of politically sensitive positions, should be available to permanent residents and South African citizens on an equal basis.”(Reilly, 8).

The politics of immigration in South Africa is closely related to the economy of the state. Since the 1990s, immigration into South Africa has increased while the policies dealing with immigration have largely remained the same. Since the end of apartheid, unemployment and poverty in South Africa has increased, as well as the divide between the rich and poor (Rutherford, 211). Furthermore, the state building projects since the end of apartheid have taken increasingly xenophobic rhetoric in an attempt to promote the South African national identity (Rutherford, 211). Both public officials and the media in South Africa placed special emphasis on building the South

African nations, drawing distinct dividers between nationals and foreigners, sentiments that are explored more in the remainder of this chapter (Rutherford, 213).

Several international economic groupings of which South Africa has been a member since the end of apartheid are committed to the freer movement of people within member states. The Organization of African Unity (OAU), with the adoption of 57

the African Economic Community (AEC) Treaty in 1991, made the free movement of individuals a main priority. The AEC treaty required that states attempt to remove

“obstacles to the free movement of persons, goods, services and capital and the right of residence and establishment” (Crush, 142). More specifically, the Southern African

Development Community (SADC) has been committed to free movement of people since the mid-1990s. In 1995, the Free Movement Protocol was proposed by SADC to

“promote and protect the right to enter freely and without a visa the territory of another Member State for a short visit, the right to reside in the territory of another

Member State, and the right to establish oneself and work in the territory of another

Member States” (144). However, South Africa vehemently opposed the protocol in a report conducted by its Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC). The HSRC argued that the kind of free movement championed by the Free Movement Protocol had never existed, even before colonialism. Furthermore, the HSRC claimed the

Protocol would further increase “already unmanageable” migration into South Africa, legitimize the presence of illegal immigrants in South Africa, and actually serve to increase xenophobia by preventing the government from implementing Reconstruction and Development Programs (RDP) for citizens (Crush, 146). Eventually, in 1997 The

Department of Home Affairs proposed their own Draft Protocol on the Facilitation of

Movement which focused on protecting the sovereignty of member states, expanding bilateral agreements between states, and furthering cooperation to prevent illegal movement of people. (149). South Africans clear opposition to SACD policies promoting free movement of individuals highlights the state’s feelings on immigration 58

into the country. As the former Minister of Home Affairs has stated, “South Africa is faced with another threat, and that is the SADC ideology of free movement of people, free trade and freedom to choose where you live and work. Free movement of persons spells disaster for our country.” (Landau, 2010, 220)

Immigration policies in South Africa since 1994 have not mirrored the liberal nature of the Bill of Rights or the lofty goals of international economic groupings.

During the first few years of democracy, the government implemented immigration amnesties, created to grant specific groups permanent residence status in the country

(Peberdy, 20). The first target group was miners who worked in South Africa for at least ten years, voted in the 1994 elections, and were from a member country in the

SADC. The second was undocumented residents from SADC countries who had lived in South Africa for at least five years. The final group granted immigration amnesty was former refugees from Mozambique who came to South Africa before 1992. As

Peberdy notes, by making the cut off for amnesty at least five years earlier, the government recognized the injustice of apartheid immigration policies. However, the amnesty grants also allowed the government to define who was to be included in the new South Africa (20). The amnesty grants focus on member SADC states effectively excluded undocumented workers from outside southern Africa. Finally, these amnesty grants laid the foundation for the government to define, restrict and police future undocumented immigrants.

Policies enacted since 1994 have increasingly attempted to control and restrict entry into South Africa. In 1995 and again in 1996, the apartheid Aliens Control Act 59

was amended by the new government in an attempt to better control immigration. The amendments mandated that anyone applying for immigration or work permits must do so outside the country to prevent people from using visitor visas to find work (Peberdy,

17). It also implemented hefty application fees for anyone applying for permanent and temporary residence permits. The Immigration Act of 2002, which replaced the Alien

Control Act, is extremely aggressive in dealing with illegal immigrants and even grants the police the authority to stop and search anyone suspected of being in the country illegally (Mosselson, 647). Such a system puts tremendous amounts of power in the hands of individual police officers and does little to shield immigrants from illegal treatment. Furthermore, the Immigration Act seeks to limit the amount of certain demographic populations allowed into the country. In the preamble, the act states its goal is to ensure the economic stability of South Africa, adding that immigration must not harm the chances of South African workers to acquire jobs. The bill actively encourages only skilled laborers and foreign investors to immigrate to

South Africa, citing that unskilled labor is specifically reserved for citizens of South

Africa (Crush, 2006).

Clearly then, immigration policies in South Africa have looked to restrict immigration into the country. However, the failure of other government policies meant to empower disenfranchised black populations has also facilitated anti-immigrant sentiments. For example, the Black Economic Empowerment programs under

President Thabo Mbeki were originally meant to reserve jobs and housing for black

South Africans. However, the affirmative policies failed to realize their goals of 60

empowering the majority. Instead, poverty and crime have persisted and unemployment remains above 30% (Onah, 271). Originally, the government denied that such problems were a reality. Yet, unable to continually deny the facts on the ground, the Mbeki government employed two tactics for explaining the failure of their policies. Firstly, they justified the increasingly racist affirmative policies as simply the rational response to the legacy of apartheid’s racial injustice, effectively adopting the same racist ideology employed under apartheid. The second tactic was to scapegoat and shift the blame for crime and unemployment onto foreigners in the country (272).

Popular Discourse and Media

On top of exclusionary immigration policies and the failure of government to bring about real change in the lives of a majority of citizens, both public rhetoric and the media in South Africa have taken on an increasingly xenophobic tone. The most prominent example of anti-immigrant sentiments is the construction of the

“makwerekwere”, a derogative term describing Africans from beyond South Africa’s borders. The construction of the makwerekwere has taken place in political debate, the media, and public discourse. Like the rest of the country, the media in South Africa before 1994 was tightly controlled by white interests and actively attempted to disenfranchise blacks. Even today, the media remains predominantly under the control of white South Africans, thus its portrayal of immigrants can be seen as the assertion of white elite interests in the country (Nyamnjoh, 68). Furthermore, Nyamnjoh argues that even if black South Africans discriminate against foreigners for their own interests as citizens, they remain in synch with the desires of white elites (69). Thus 61

the South African media, controlled by elite white interests, does much to construct and demonize the makwerekwere in the country. Immigrants are constantly portrayed in the media as connected to crime, poverty, and even the spread of HIV/AIDS.

Countless examples exist of African nationals being connected to organized crime and the drug trade. Nigerian immigrants are portrayed as controlling the cocaine trade,

Congolese nationals as diamond smugglers, individuals from Lesotho as gold smugglers, and Zimbabwe women as engaging in protestation. They are further constructed as a threat to local interests and state sponsored development programs such as the RDPs.

The media is not the only source in which immigrants are constructed as a problem in South Africa. Only a year after the first democratic election, the HSRC was already drawing parallels between immigrants and organized crime (Vigneswaran,

467). There is a plethora of further examples of public officials blaming immigrants for the problems of the country. For example, the former Defense Minister stated in

1997,

“As for crime, the army is helping the police get rid of crime and violence in the country. However, what can we do? We have one million illegal immigrants in our country who commit crimes and who are mistaken by some people for South African citizens. That is the real problem.” (Landau, 2010, 224) In 2002, the Director-General of Home Affairs stated

“Approximately 90 percent of foreign persons who are in RSA with fraudulent documents, i.e., either citizenship or migration documents, are involved in 62

other crimes as well . . . it is quicker to charge these criminals for their false documentation and then to deport them than to pursue the long route in respect of the other crimes that are committed” (224). The official public rhetoric concerning immigrants, as well as their portrayal in the media, contribute to the construction of the makwerekwere as the most profound problem confronting South Africa. Such sentiments have fueled violence against foreigners and encouraged the public to take the law into their own hands.

Beyond National Policy: Local Belonging and Violence

While national institutions, policies, and actors contribute to the general anti- foreigner sentiments in South Africa, they do not fully account for the outbreak of xenophobic violence witnessed in 2008. In order to truly explain the 2008 attacks, local actors and institutions must be examined to show why violence occurred where it did and who benefits from such acts of violence. As stated, the xenophobic attacks of

2008 originated in the township of Alexandra, located just northeast of the city of

Johannesburg, and rapidly spread to other townships across the country. As

Nieftagodien argues, the township of Alexandra has a long history of exclusion of outsiders, despite its rich cultural history (Nieftagodien, 110). The political landscape of Alexandra underwent massive changes with the country’s transition to democracy and this transition also fueled the emergence of xenophobia.

Both before and during apartheid, black South Africans living in Alexandra

Township were able to own land and even functioned semi-autonomously through the governing of the local Health Committee. Thus, in Alexandra there has been an 63

established property owning class for over 70 years who consider themselves authentic residents of the township. It is easy to see the parallels between the concept of authentic residents and autochthons in other contexts. Due to increased urbanization into the mid-20th century, Alexandra attracted large numbers of migrant populations who would rent property from owners. These migrants would rent either rooms in the house, or live in separate informal dwellings on the property. As the number of renters increased, so too did the tensions between land owners and renters. Into the 1940s, the number of renters surpassed the number of property owners, further fueling tensions.

Despite the tensions between renters and owners, a common political identity was formed as black Africans looked to assert their “right to city” (113). Protests and service boycotts against the apartheid regime were largely successful and demonstrated the unity the community of Alexandra had achieved.

The political unity of the township would not last however, as the apartheid government looked to directly incorporate the township into its legislative and policy framework (114). The apartheid government looked to define African ‘insiders’ and

‘outsiders’ in urban areas through section 10 of the Urban Areas Act. Section 10 determined the rights of Africans within urban areas, with ‘insiders’ being those who qualified to live permanently in the township. Insiders enjoyed limited rights to legitimately reside in an urban area and were granted access to public housing in segregated neighborhoods. ‘Outsiders’ however, were only allowed to reside in urban areas so long as they had a work contract and lived in migrant compounds either on the mines or in a township. 64

Into the 1960s and 1970s, the National Party looked to exert even more control over Alexandra in a period known as ‘high apartheid’ (114). During the period, residences in the township were subject to unprecedented levels of security and strict enforcement of pass laws. Eventually, the apartheid regime replaced the governing

Health Committee with its own state government, the Peri-Urban Areas Board (PUAD)

(115). The state body immediately went about enforcing even stricter pass laws and began the process of relocating vast numbers of tenants into neighboring townships.

The massive relocation process left mostly property owners in Alexandra, who considered themselves secure ‘bona fide residents’ or ‘insiders’ (115). Yet even property owners’ status as “bona fide residents” was insecure in the face of increasingly strict state control. In 1963, the apartheid government concluded that

Alexandra should be converted into a ‘hostel city’ in which exclusively migrant laborers would reside (Nieftagodien, 116; Jochelson, 3). To achieve this goal, the government undertook a campaign to remove property owners, demolish homes, and erect migrant compounds in their place. At first, little progress was made in the conversion, however into 1970s the construction of the hostels were completed and the

West Rand Administration Board (WRAB) replaced the PUAB as the governing body of Alexandra. In 1974, township residents were stripped of their property rights and informed they would eventually be evicted from their homes. Yet, residents of the township organized a committee, later called the Alexandra Liaison Committee (ALC), to protests against the apartheid government’s plans and effectively ended the project.

The significance of the community’s resistance cannot be overstated. By abandoning 65

its plan to convert the township into a migrant dormitory the apartheid government effectively acknowledged that the presence of Africans in urban areas was permanent.

In a complete policy reverse, instead of leveling homes to the ground, the apartheid government planned to redevelop Alexandra through the construction of new residencies (117). The official policy was that the township was to be “replanned for the accommodation of land owners and other qualified families (Jochelson, 2).

Essentially, this replanning adopted the policies recommended by the Riekert

Commission, which recognized the rights of permanent urban residences but suggested drawing distinctions between insiders and outsiders communities (Jochelson,

3). Alexandra was supposed to be an insider community, and thus the state wanted to develop infrastructure like housing and running water to accommodate the transition.

However, the state withdrew its initial plan, leaving the township in even worse condition than before 1979. Coupled with the general underdevelopment of the city was the fact that South Africa again experienced large migration movements into the late 1970s and beyond. Again, Alexandra became the destination of choice for many new immigrants looking to make a life in Johannesburg. The arrival en masse of new immigrant populations reignited tensions between bona fide residents and immigrants.

To understand just how large these migrant populations were, consider that in 1983 the population of Alexandra was between 50,000 to 70,000 but by the end of the decade that number had increased to about 200,000 to 300,000 (118).

The ALC, claiming to act in the interest of bona fide residents, attempted to exclude newcomers and ‘illegals’ from the small scale development projects of the 66

apartheid government. The ALC blamed newcomers as the reason Alexandra was not converted into a homeowners’ settlement and for the townships general lack of services. Acting in line with the government, the ALC even took on the responsibility of forcefully removing ‘illegal’ populations from the township. The ALC accused new immigrants of constructing shacks without the permission of ‘bona fide residents’ and in 1985 carried out large scale demolitions of illegal shacks.

It is important to note that, like autochthony, the definition of ‘bona fide residents’ was quite fluid and constantly redefined by both local actors and apartheid institutions. Originally, ‘insiders’ were considered those residents who arrived before

1979, the year in which the community resisted the apartheid governments plan to convert the township (119). Eventually, this conception of insiders would change to include anyone who arrived before 1986, the year in which the apartheid influx control system was abolished. Any individual who arrived in Alexandra before 1986 would be legally permitted to build a residence in the township and granted access to communal toilets and water. Residents of Alexandra who arrived after 1986 were deemed illegal and forcibly relocated to designated squatter camps on the periphery of Johannesburg

(119).

The Six Day War of 1986 also contributed to the construction of insiders and outsiders in the township. During a peaceful funeral procession of a young Alexandra resident allegedly killed by apartheid security forces, government forces unleashed tear gas on the crowd and the residents revolted. Township residents attacked police officers and their houses in an attempt to take control of the township from the police 67

(Carter, 115). Youths in the township even targeted administrative councilors and government employees (Jochelson, 8). For the next six days, a standoff ensued between residents and the apartheid government and established the township as a stronghold for the anti-apartheid movement. The standoff was led by the Alexandra

Action Committee (AAC) who replaced the ALC as the legitimate governing body of the township (120). Even after the Six Day War, the AAC continued to demand that the apartheid government provide housing for the poorest residents of Alexandra. A main component of this strategy was to encourage residents living in hostels to occupy the remaining land throughout the township, fueling resentment from property owners who felt the AAC was not representing their interests. Eventually, the land owning residents of the township formed the Alexandra Land and Property Owners’

Association (ALPOA) conceived as the legitimate representation of bona fide residents. Yet, as the struggle against apartheid continued into the 1990s the ALPOA’s demands were increasingly out of touch with a majority of residents in the township who preferred the AAC’s agenda stressing the unity of Alexandra and equal distribution of land (120).

With the first democratic elections in 1994, Alexandra residents were hopeful for a new beginning in the life of the township. However, living conditions continued to worsen, employment remained stagnant, and the township remained overcrowded into the 1990s. In an attempt to develop the township, the ANC in 2001 passed the

R1.3 billion Alexandra Renewal Project (ARP) (122). The ARP aimed to upgrade existing residencies, redevelop migrant hostels, ‘de-densificate’ the township by 68

removing some 20,000 individuals, and construct over 50,000 new homes. The program was slow to develop but eventually by 2007 the ARP claimed to have built about 26,500 new housing units.

Despite the limited success of the ARP, intense struggles over access to public resources continued. The main point of contestation was who would benefit from the housing development projects, again fueling tensions between those considered ‘bona fide residents’ and outsiders. Originally in 1996, the ARP used a waiting list system to determine which individuals would receive housing units first, ensuring that residents who signed up in 1996 would be the first to receive housing. In doing so, the government again reconstructed the definition of ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ in the township. The waiting list system was eventually replaced however, in favor of a

‘block system’. This replacement angered older residents who felt they were being excluded from the development projects in favor of newcomers. One resident voiced his concern by stating, “You will find in the yard there are people who just came in maybe two years, three years, but there are people who have been there for 30 years.

So the system which is being introduced by the ARP, it is sidelining the people which have been here all these years.” (124).

Clearly, tensions between long-term residents and newcomers have a history in

Alexandra. These tensions boiled over into massive displays of violence in May of

2008 when Alexandra residents turned on foreign nationals living in the township. For almost a week, large groups of armed young men patrolled the township harassing and forcibly evicting foreign residents. By the end, over 60 people were injured, 2 dead, 69

and hundreds were displaced from their homes in Alexandra alone. Although this was not the first demonstration of violence against foreigners in the township, the scale of the attacks was unprecedented. Interestingly, no one group or individual organized or perpetrated the attacks but instead the violence seems to be the result of longstanding tensions between insiders and outsiders in the township.

Conclusions

The politics of belonging and exclusion are alive and well in South Africa.

From national policies that attempt to restrict unskilled immigrants’ mobility, to local attitudes that frame foreigners as criminals, xenophobia and exclusion can be witnessed at multiple levels of the South African state. Any examination of the politics of exclusion in South Africa must take into account the historical legacy of apartheid influx control policies, immigration policies post-1994, as well as local struggles over land and belonging. It is therefore in the context of state building and elite discourse that issues of immigration garner salience and can be politically exploited. Again, in

South Africa as is the case in the other two case studies, state institutions and elite actions drive the politics of belonging more so than migration patterns and general processes of globalization. Only through exploring both the history of exclusion and contemporary policies, can the politics of belonging be explained in South Africa.

70

Conclusion

Belonging and exclusion remain salient issues in the political arena of many

African states. As has been demonstrated, the politics of belonging is influenced by a number of factors, most notably the specific institutions and elite strategies employed in any given state. With the liberalization and democratizations efforts undertaken in the 1990s, also came the rise in disputes over belonging and exclusion. These discourses, over ‘autochthony’ in Cameroon and Cote d’Ivoire and ‘authentic’ in

South Africa, were certainly affected by democratization, liberalization, and more broadly globalization. However, in each instance, the politics of belonging followed very different trajectories. These different trajectories warrant a comparison between the states and regions where exclusive rhetoric occurs. Only through a comparison between the different regions where disputes over belonging occur can these disputes be properly understood.

Geschiere understands the politics of belonging and specifically autochthony as connected to more global processes. As stated, he finds that “the autochthonous subject is shaped by broader processes: struggles over local belonging are closely intertwined with the desire to be recognized as a citizen of the world” (Geschiere, 27).

However, I have demonstrated that more so than wanting to be “a citizen of the world”, disputes over local belonging are deeply entwined with the history of a given region as well as specific political institutions and elite actions. For that reason, the politics of belonging must be understood within the specific socio-political history of a given 71

region. While processes of globalization and democratization certainly affect the politics of belonging, more so do elite actions and historical institutions.

Political theories concerning the manipulation of identities by elites lend to my main argument that belonging and inclusion are influenced by elites more so than global processes. Constructivists and instrumentalist theories demonstrate that entrenched elites seek to maintain the status quo through the manipulation of identity and can even chose to employ violence as a means of demobilizing opposition. These theories can be applied to my three specific case studies, as they demonstrate the choices faced by political elites in the face of political opposition. These theories view identities as fluid and able to be manipulated which is a central argument throughout my thesis.

Cote d’Ivoire, once hailed as the Ivorian miracle, has witnessed an entire civil war over identity, land disputes, and citizenship rights. A number of institutions and elite actions facilitated the conflict and led to the escalation of violence. Colonial policies of forced labor and development of the cocoa plantations fueled large scale migration into the country and set the stage for disputes between local residents and migrant populations. Houphouet-Boigny’s unclear citizenship policies, support for immigrants engaging in Ivorian politics, and land policies that favored immigrant populations contributed to the uncertainty over identity in Cote d’Ivoire. Such uncertainties were tactically exploited after Boigny’s death by his predecessor, Henri

Bedie, who adopted the Ivoirite Doctrine as a way to consolidate political power and undermine his main political rival from the north, Alassane Ouattara. Bedie’s national 72

identity card campaign, along with his land policies that excluded foreigners from owning land, led to his ousting from power and sowed the seeds for civil war. Today, the political situation in Cote d’Ivoire remains uncertain, however as long as efforts towards reconciliation bear in mind disputes over identity and citizenship, there is hope for the future.

Similarly, in Cameroon, disputes over belonging and identity are affected by a number of historical policies and elite decisions. During colonialism, the establishment of large agricultural estates fueled large-scale migration patterns into the southern regions of the country and heavily influenced contemporary politics.

Ahijdo’s ethnic balancing, focus on nation building, and commitment to a single party state, all contributed to current disputes over identity and belonging. Ahijdo’s successor, Biya, reignited tensions over belonging in an effort to consolidate his political power in the face of democratic presidential elections. Eventually Biya institutionalized autochthony through the 1996 constitution, stressing minority and indigenous rights. Even within Cameroon, autochthony’s salience and meaning varies greatly from region to region, and only through a thorough examination of each region can the politics of belonging be understood.

In South Africa, tensions between ‘bona-fide’ residents and ‘amagoduka’ are long standing. Apartheid policies that draw distinctions between ‘insiders’ and

‘outsiders’ contribute to current disputes over belonging and remain salient today.

Furthermore although the transition has been made from apartheid to majority rule, this transition has not resulted in the improvement of the livelihoods of a majority of 73

township residents. Instead, poverty and unemployment have only increased, as have immigration patterns into South Africa. Both the media and public officials have drawn connections between unemployment and immigration, scapegoating immigrants as the bearers of disease and the reason for South African unemployment. These official sentiments fuel xenophobia in the country and facilitate disputes between immigrants and local populations. Like the other case studies, belonging in the community has been affected and reconstructed throughout history due to institutions, historical events, and elite actions.

Clearly, the politics of belonging and exclusion operates differently in all three of these case studies. Despite similarities between these three African states, in terms of general economic liberalization and democratization efforts, notions of

‘autochthony’ and ‘authentic’ vary in their implementation and social construction.

Autochthony does not illicit the same feeling for an Ivorian from the northern region as it does a Cameroonian from the South-West Province. And, indeed, the term does not even mean the same thing to a Cameroonian from the southeast region as it does to a Cameroonian from the northwest. The various meanings and constructions of belonging in a community can only be accounted for by examining the specific institutions and elite actions in a given region. Therefore, attributing the politics of belonging to more global processes such as increased migration patterns overlooks the complexity of local and national politics in which belonging is constantly renegotiated.

Certainly, global factors like economic liberalization or international development projects effect states; however, inclusion and exclusion in a community must be 74

understood as highly politicized processes of negotiation that take place within the complex framework of the socio-political history of a specific region.

The politics of belonging and identity will remain contested issues in African politics for the foreseeable future. Attributing these disputes over identity to global processes is too simplistic and undermines the roles that local and state institutions and elites play. While globalization, migration, liberalization, and democratization all do play a vital role in inclusion and exclusion, overwhelmingly it is the history of institutions and elite actions that determine whether the politics of belonging will be employed. This thesis contributes to debates about inclusion and exclusion in the modern African state by examining and comparing three different states where disputes over belonging occur and arguing that only within local contexts can belonging be understood.

75

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