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and constructed stadiums in which to address his people . . . He
bought off his enemies and turned his friends—most of them
from his Gbande tribe—into overnight millionaires . . . He spent
$15 million sponsoring the Muhammad Ali-George Foreman
world championship fight in 1974. Said Ali: “Zaire’s gotta be
great. I never seen so many Mercedes” . . . Mobutu was hardly
the penniless army sergeant of a decade ago. He was now one
of the world’s wealthiest men, with assets conservatively esti-
mated by Western intelligence sources at more than 43 billion.
(1983, 45)
In nearby Central African Republic, Jean-Bedel Bokassa, also
a coup maker, had “a huge fortune and immense power, so
many decorations that he needed a specially made jacket to
display them all, and a fine family numbering nine wives and
thirty legitimate children” (Lamb 1983, 50). But Bokassa suf-
fered what all dictators suffer, and what I call “the small man
syndrome,” an acute sense of smallness and inadequacy that so
starkly contrasts with the fact of being head of state as to be
painfully obsessive. The dictator is always trying to feel “big.”
Whether he was a physical giant like Idi Amin or a midget
like Bokassa, the dictator’s uncontrollable urge for a feeling of
greatness drives his every sensibility. So severe was Bokassa’s
“small man syndrome” that he sought to deal with it by emu-
lating Napoleon I and crowning himself emperor of what sud-
denly became the Central African Empire, up from the Central
African Republic. Lamb (1983, 50) observes:
Surely no one would take him lightly if he was emperor. And to
the amazement of everyone, including his two million subjects,
Bokassa declared one day that his republic was now an empire
and he was no longer a mere life-president; he was Emperor
Bokassa I. Bokassa invited the Pope (who respectfully declined)
to the coronation and offered international television rights to
the highest bidder. He waived the edict that foreign journalists
entering the country had to post a $400 bond at the airport,
and hired the French firm of Guiselin, which had embroidered
Napoleon’s uniforms, to design a coronation robe with two mil-
lion pearls and crystal beads for $145,000. He drew up a list of
earls and dukes, imported white horses from Belgium to pull his
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coach to the cathedral and spent $2 million for a crown topped
by a 138-carat diamond.
All this seemed a bit lavish for a Texas-sized country with only
170 miles of paved roads and a per capita income of $250.
Gambia’s Jammeh betrays the “small man syndrome” in the
practice of donning huge boubou’s even under the most siz-
zling of weathers, perpetually clutching a sword and worry
beads in one hand, a “holy book” in the other, and publicly
claiming to be possessed of strange powers that enabled him to
cure AIDS and rendered him indomitable to his enemies, espe-
cially Western enemies in the Commonwealth and the United
States.
As demonstrated in the case of post-Nkrumah Ghana, the
most obvious consequence of leadership failure in postcolonial
Africa has been a chronic series of military interventions in civil-
ian politics. These have tapered off somewhat in the twenty-
first century, but they remain a distinct possibility alongside the
eruption of rebel movements and guerilla wars against sitting
governments. The dozens of military coups that characterized
the quarter century or so after independence generated leaders
who were often worse than the civilians or other military dicta-
tors they removed from power. Both Mobutu and Bokassa were
coup makers. So were men like Kutu Acheampong in Ghana,
Sani Abacha in Nigeria, Siad Barre in Somalia, Idi Amin in
Uganda, Mengistu Haile Mariam in Ethiopia, Eyadema in
Togo, Gadhafi in Libya, and Jammeh in Gambia. The list is
much longer. So chronic is leadership failure in Africa that it has
paradoxically lent considerable credence to the political excep-
tionalism that democracy, human rights, and the rule of law
are not suitable for African conditions. Lamb (1983, 58) asked
and answered the question this way, a view that persists in some
quarters to this day.
Is a Western-style democracy pertinent to the needs of Africa? . . . I
don’t think so. Not now, anyway . . . In countries where national
goals are not clearly defined, such freedoms enable the various
factions to fight for self-interests at the expense of majority con-
cerns. National institutions are not strong enough to withstand
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these pressures. And governments are not cohesive enough to
endure forces motivated by anything less than nationalistic con-
cerns . . . At this stage, most African countries are best served by
benign dictators. Democracy can come later, if it is to come at
all. But for now, democracy is no more a panacea for Africa’s ills
than is communism.
Lamb obviously does not like dictatorship; no decent person
does. But he was mistaken in thinking that functional and
effective democracy, the opposite of dictatorship, is not suitable
for Africa because “national goals are not clearly defined” or
because “such freedoms enable the various factions to fight for
self-interests at the expense of majority concerns.” One need only
look to the US Congress and the British House of Commons
to appreciate that the politics of factionalism are not unique
to countries “where governments are not cohesive enough to
endure forces motivated by anything less than nationalistic con-
cerns.” In fact, in Africa, “national institutions are not strong”
and “governments are not cohesive enough” precisely because
of the absence of legitimate political factionalism and diversity.
Weak institutions and incoherent governments are the results
of bad leadership and lack of democratic rights in postcolonial
Africa. Lamb is equally mistaken in his view, expressed below,
that there existed some kind of “middle way” between dictator-
ship and democracy that Africa could adopt.
What Africa needs to develop is an African political system,
imported from neither East nor West, that combines elements
of capitalism and socialism, both of which are inherent in the
African character. It should include two concepts that Africans
today mistakenly view as contradictory—economic incentive
and social justice. (1983, 58)
In fact, what Lamb should have added is that this perceived
contradiction between economic incentive and social justice
was a fiction invented and perpetuated by African leaders; it
was a pseudoculture they created and imposed on their peoples,
and not necessarily one shared by all Africans. There was no
“African character” in which elements of capitalism and social-
ism were “inherent” either. The “African character” so visible to
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