How Europe Underdeveloped Africa

By Walter Rodney, 1972

Although written in 1972 – and the language is somewhat dated – this book seems to hold up very well and still offers a compelling explanation of the relationship between underdeveloped countries and the capitalist countries.

Walter Rodney takes the view that Africa and, by extension, other colonized countries need a radical departure from the international capitalist system to develop in a way that meets their own needs and priorities. While heavily focussed on the economic side of development, he also emphasizes the destruction of the former African social systems, and the need to create new social structures to build a fulfilling egalitarian society.

Helpfully for me, Rodney begins with a historical overview of Africa before colonialism, highlighting the continent's transition from communalism to early class-based societies. He explores various regions, such as Egypt, Ethiopia, Nubia and Zimbabwe, and describes their varied societal structures and economic activities. In his description, Africa's pre-contact state was generally transitional, moving towards more advanced class-based societies.

In looking at the impact of European contact, Rodney shows a variety of uneven consequences on political, military and ideological spheres. He describes in detail the economic and social consequences of slave capturing and trading, and how it came to an end when the needs of modernized industry required compliant, not forced, workers.

The end of the slave trade, however, marked a shift in focus to the exploitation of Africa's resources and a new form of colonialism. Rodney argues that European economic growth and dominance relied heavily on resources extracted from Africa, perpetuating a cycle of exploitation.

The late 19^th century period of colonization facilitated the export of surplus profits to Europe, leading to the expropriation of African land and minerals. The colonial period saw the establishment, aided by African intermediaries, of monopolies, extractive practices and the integration of African economies into a global capitalist system for the benefit of Europe and North America.

Rodney identifies many impacts of colonialism, including the destruction of traditional states, the undermining of women's roles, ethnic divisions, monoculture and a limited and exploitative education system. He argues that colonial development hindered Africa's progress by preventing the formation of local industries and perpetuating dependency on Western markets. He also rejects the argument that Africa benefited by colonialization through development, pointing out that education, transportation, financial structures and other developments focused solely on creating conditions for profitable development by the colonizing countries. These systems inhibited the building of vigorous indigenous societies.

In the postscript, Rodney underscores the need for Africa's true development to focus on internal needs rather than conforming to the exploitative relationships of the international capitalist market. Rodney says that Africa needs to reject Western-centric approaches in order to address its own internal priorities for genuine progress. “[Exceptional leaders] were those who either completely rejected the worldview of capitalism, or at least stuck honestly to those idealistic tenets of bourgeois ideology, such as individual freedom – and, through experience, they could come to realize that the ideals remained myths in a society based on the exploitation of man by man.”

This book gave me a much clearer view of how international development works under capitalism, with plenty of concrete examples and statements of principles. While it is based in a particular history and a Marxist analysis, it seems to apply well to contemporary situations, including the colonialism of settlers in North America. The forms of (under)development available to Indigenous peoples here in Canada continue to benefit the colonizers and small numbers of leaders who are willing to continue under capitalist economic development. As in Africa, American Indigenous peoples need to identify their own priorities.

The Secret History

By Donna Tartt (1992)

I feel some ambivalence about this book. It’s similar in many ways to Tartt’s novel, The Goldfinch, which I mostly liked. Both are about the development of a young man following a traumatic event. Goldfinch’s Theo is a bit more likeable than History’s Richard, although both are rather passive participants in their life stories. The writing style is similar – in fact, some sections, like the ones when the protagonists fall into a dreamy, prolonged illness could almost be interchangeable. Both have a cast of colourful characters, although these are more fully drawn in Goldfinch. Perhaps what I’m feeling is just a sense that Tartt has grown as a writer in the 20-odd years between writing the two books.

Yet it seems to me that there is more to Goldfinch than to History. If Goldfinch is broadly about the ability of art and beauty to heal and guide, what is History about? A group of students work with a charismatic professor who tries to teach them about life by studying Greek philosophy and literature. They see themselves as an elite, in a different world from most of their contemporaries. Yet their Greek guidance leads them to a series of heinous acts, despair, emptiness and suicide. Their mentor turns out to be shallow and self-protective, and he abandons them without even pausing to say good bye. (This is not a total surprise as, for all that the students esteem him, there’s little evidence of his character in the story.) So the takeaway from the book seems to be that friendship, mentorship and an elite education in the classics doesn’t help young people dealing with their lives – not that their contemporaries at their university seem to be doing much better.

My dissatisfaction with The Secret History may arise from this nihilistic tone, which leaves little to enjoy at the end of the story. In fact, the most memorable part is the satire about Bunny’s middle-class parents and their ghastly work to put on a memorial service. Here, Richard’s picture of the utter incomprehension among the students as they are compelled take a role in the suburban lifestyle of Bunny’s family reminds me of mid-century stories like The Graduate. The older and younger generations simply can’t comprehend the values of each other, whether they are in the late 1950s in The Graduate or the late 1960s here.

What makes the story work is mystery: we know there will be a death, we’re not sure how it is going to happen or what the outcome will be. Richard is sympathetic as a narrator, so we root for him, although he seems to be a directionless follower, so I’m not sure why we do. The setting, a minor eastern college in the late 1960s, doesn’t have a lot of intrinsic interest.

Although the characters start out as interesting types, I found that most were very thinly drawn with little to distinguish them from each other and little depth. The rich kids, Francis and Henry, are practically interchangeable, and Camilla and Charles are only distinguished by their being twins. Only Bunny has much personality, and it is not a pleasant one. Perhaps this is because Richard, the narrator, doesn’t know them, but it feels more like Tartt not having drawn in their characters. And of course, Richard is, he tells us, a practiced liar who is justifying his role in the story. There are many deceptions and secrets throughout. This is part of Tartt’s trick in keeping readers engaged over 500 pages – while none of the characters is very sympathetic, Bunny’s character is so unpleasant that we come to empathize with the others who want to get rid of him. In fact, Bunny is so much more fully drawn that most readers can probably recognize someone in their lives that they would like to get rid of.

I’m not sure what keeps the story readable for over 500 pages, but I was intrigued enough to keep going. I think I was hoping for some resolution in the dynamic between the Greek philosophies and the contemporary situation. There’s no real resolution, so that may be the reason for my ambivalence. Tartt is an interesting writer whose style can make an interesting novel even if the storyline itself is not really compelling.