Don’t worry. Its not about the last post. Perhaps in its spirit, but believe me, I am not about to bore you with two full posts about “opinions”. That would suck.

But I wanted to share with whoever is interested that I have not been able to sleep very well for a short time after I wrote this book review on Paul Collier’s Wars, Guns, and Votes: Democracy in Dangerous Places on the spur for the Imprint’s art section.

I felt very guilty about the review, especially because of the last paragraph where I wrote this:

“While I admit these critical arguments might seem reductionist and unfair by their snarky nature, they serve to illustrate a more important point: authentic narratives of Africa’s problems and solutions to them would more likely come from people who have a more in-depth perspective — and they probably would not be old white men.”

I personally thought it was racist because it inferred old white men could not make reasonable contributions to development.

Now whatever you are thinking, don’t judge me just yet. I just need you to understand first and foremost where I am coming from.

I’ll be the first to admit I probably fit the description of your typical angry, black (aspiring) academic. However I do so for good reason. And its not colonialism. I couldn’t care less about a sin I would have committed if I were in the same position. Or even slavery. Same story.

However, what angers me is paternalistic attitudes too many westerners have towards the whole concept of development-especially when it concerns Africa.

Now,  I am not about to go all Dambisa Moyo on you. The bottom line still remains that Africa is impoverished and it need help.  Nevertheless, where we differ is on the question of who has the responsibility to help and how. Glad as I am that westerners are interested in helping, I think Africans have every right (and even a responsibility) to draw certain lines in the sand. The rest of the World large as their heart is, cannot, do a lot more than it already has. Africans certainly have to step up to the governance.  I am not just talking dictatorial governments, though. I am talking people. Yes, the normal people. The one everyone thinks are good for nothing other than props for mournful aid ads. Those are the people that need to be told exactly what is needed for them to develop.

I see my neo-marxist (self acclaimed by the way) international development prof scream “but they have no power”. Wrong. They have just as much power as you have. Oppressed as they seem, there are tangible ways they can bring themselves out of poverty despite their governments massive failures. And the sad truth is, there really isn’t any alternative. Only us Africans, powerless and choiceless as we seem, that can re-write our fortunes, whether or not the government chooses to be competent.

So now, I am sure you understand my frustration when I see foreigners who hardly comprehend the realities of poverty itself, parading their “innovative” solutions to poverty while original African ideas to “end poverty” die a slow and painful death, either for lack of proper support, or lack of the same access to huge funding, or even simply because some foreigner thinks the idea wouldn’t work for some expert reason. Now I am not trying to say every African idea to fight poverty is brilliant and should be bought up. Some of them are very clearly pyramid schemes. I am just saying, helping African means we must do so on their own terms. Thus we must pay their ideas some attention.

Something else that really irks me about this attitude towards international development today is its impact on the booming development literature industry. Surely, there must be about 30 must read development themed books out there. Most of them on some “missing ingridient” of development in Africa or elsewhwere in the world. None are in any African language. So I often wonder to myself, so who the hell are these books for? Foreigners? As if to, as we say in my village, “rub the pepper in my eyes”, all of them are so highly priced, I dare the average literate African to buy them. Too many times, it really annoys me that so many people are sitting on a pot of gold in the name of helping others. But let’s assume that’s just the way of the world. Nothing comes free. However, if these ideas about ending poverty are as important as so many in the developed world consider them (and I actually do believe some of them are), would it be a crime to have a cheaper shipload sent of to African countries so my people can read them and end their dying for lack of knowledge?

Finally-and this was Mr Collier’s sin- I hope you understand my frustration when you make blanket statements about my continent, like these people are structurally unable to do such and such. Who made them God? And Collier did this so many times in his book, I wanted to rip my hair out. I  just start thinking to myself, so your country can do it, but my country can never do it. Do your people have three heads? What even frustrated me more was that bare bodied, Collier’s justification for this ill considered hypothesis (at least to me)was “because they have never done it before”. What pained me was that his analysis was on point, but this paternalistic mode of thinking hindered him from thinking up a more revolutionary idea. He stuck his idea on the sharp edges of an anarchic international system, trusting that the answer to Africa’s governmental failures is more government control, only this time by people not obligated to have the Africans interests at heart. Mr Collier and his colleagues need to believe less in their own ability to save Africa and more in our ability to save ourselves.

When I was eventually able to sleep. It was one article that convinced me that unpleasant as my observations were, I was saying something that was at least right.

The article has some sort of an interesting story behind it.

So a man I fondly refer to as Africa’s Bill Gates. (Yes, Africa has its own Bill Gates), Mo Ibrahim, did something wonderful for the many who still believe African states have a viable role in development (count me out of that group for the most part but’ll we’ll talk about that later). He began to fund two years ago, something called the Ibrahim index of African Governance  that ranks the government’s of African states according to certain performance indicators.

Apparently, this year, he and his principal researcher parted ways and published two different reports this year. Why? Well, the American Havard prof (the researcher), Rotberg, overseeing the study differed with him on certain rankings. Ok. Agreed. Ibahim Mo is Africa’s cell phone Bill Gates, not a Harvard prof so what with his black ass struggling with the experts over stuff they breathe on.

Well, its not that straight forward. Apparently, Mr Ibrahim wanted the index to gradually become an African thing, run by and for Africans once they reached capacity. However, Prof Rotberg, wanted to retain editorial control despite this “Africanisation” process. So naturally they split.

But it spoke to something fundamental about the whole concept of development.

Who is responsible for it? Who should be responsible for it ?

So I end in the spirit of a somewhat egotisitical “Ye-ism”,

“Foreign development and aid workers, imma let you help, but African development is an African thing ok? African!”

Dude! What the hell was with that was eerie silence?

True. August and September were my months of prayer and reflection- not just about where my writing was going, but also where I was going myself. I needed that time to read, write, study and be merry in my mess of a home without the pressue of sharing this space with many others. I was also busy with the more mundane aspects of my life; school work, column submission, business trips, remarkable conferences and such.

Most importantly, I also kind of figured the world could revolve without my “opinionated” (according to some of my always appreciated critics) commentary.

Frankly, I wasn’t sure that the “opinionated” attached to my commentary was a good thing- until I remember this was an opinion blog, so also is my other infamous column. The point essentially is, that but for a little other student reporting, much of my writing  is “opinionated”.

However after mulling over the whole issue of opinion, I suddenly realised the only reason I was offended by the tag of opinion was because I really do a lot of thinking and research before I put up a post about anything at all. Not just because, I think this is what I owe individuals who choose to read my work, but because I consider opinion part of the elaborate process of determining truth.

In any case, I have come to resolution on these issues especially as far as my writing is concerned. This will no longer be an “opinion” blog, where “Eleda” rises each week to deliver to you some well thought out, elaborate opinion on some hellishly complicated subject whilst he considers reactions from the general public. That life sucks.

Not just because I really am not this always composed, never confounded, perfectly rational individual who always has some answer. Sometimes, I am confused and I really don’t know what to think about a really interesting subject. I usually reserve my comments in such situation, engaging in conversation with trusted friends until my perception of truth reveals itself.

Then I spit it out- to you in my usual dictatorial manner

But now I believe you should see this confusion too; my states of mind when preparedness evades me. Those times when there is no conclusion to my thoughts-only an endless sea of questions because even this Eleda should ask questions!

So once again, I’m back. Because there’s no E in “opinion” except when you suffix it with “every” ….and that’s one too many E’s.

Okay. This week is officially for serious business. Enough about arrogant black profs and scared shit white cops. We have come down to wonky-ass posts about the world now live from the UN Headquarters in New York.

At the UN, thanks to Wall Street, ’tis season for “Western country bashing.” God knows I have sickened of it. My qualm with the bashing has nothing to do with its veracity — at least on certain levels. I just resent the supremacist conclusion that the fate of the developing world is so closely tied to the fortunes – or misfortunes, as in this case of the West. In any case, I will gladly rest that bone today. I am sure we will have plenty of other opportunities to question that colonial supposition of many in the development field.

Nevertheless, in this post, I wish to concentrate on the one point of this “Western bashing” there surprisingly seems a lot of consensus on often clashing ideological fronts in development work:

Doha.

There are few mainstream international development practitioners from Moyo to Bono who do not support this cause de celebre. Free and open market access to developed countries for developing countries seems to be the rallying cry that has united all such strange bed fellows. In fact, such is the “kumbayah” over this issue that even the governments of developed countries seem willing to take shots on it — even going as far as committing themselves to concluding the talks by 2010. Clearly, the momentum towards a successful Doha round is more likely than not to ensure it — especially if some important world leaders want  lawns clear of agile protesters.

In view of the above positive developments, as most people would consider them, I am aware that I am in the minority on this issue. Nevertheless, I must raise my salient objections despite of all the groupie love around free trade in agricultural products. My wish?

Doha should fail.

My position is perhaps made more ironic by the fact that I am vehemently refuting the de-facto position many would assume I should take, being from a developing country myself. In any case, it would be useful for me to define in as clearly terms as possible my three most important objections to Doha.

First and foremost, Doha when it is resolved will probably not deal with non-tariff trade restrictions. The truth is that western Food and Administration officials will still be more likely to wave through products from Germany than products from Cameroon even after Doha. Doha will not — and should not be expected to — cover issues of the choking quality controls measures developing countries are expected to meet before they can start flooding the West with cheap products from elsewhere. Even more so, where is the demand for these products? Having lived here for two years now, I will blithely contend that even if those products were waved through, consumer skepticism would likely doom them. Britain’s wives will more likely buy their fruits and vegetables closer to home than from some god-forsaken country they have never heard of. American mothers, already programmed by their media to fear Chinese lead toys and Mexican salmonella vegetables would likely not relish the thought of another food experiment on their families. In these many ways and more, I doubt that Doha provides as “open and free” a market for products from developing countries as is being currently advertised.

My second objection to Doha is steeped primarily in my experiences as an African who has lived in an African country for much of his life. Any well-informed African would — and should — question the rationale behind advancing the Doha talks for African countries. I mean, why scramble to ship our food over to an over-fed West when over half of our entire population goes to bed hungry. What manner of voodoo economics mandates that we leave our populations hungry whilst pandering so hard to serve a market that hardly understands us and would more probably avoid our food? African farmers have a market of close to 900 million people to feed, what is the sense in wasting so much human and financial capital struggling over pocket markets where we would not be able to compete anyways—not just because of tariff restriction but also because of non-tariff restrictions. Why should we continue to patronize a market that needs be blackmailed into buying products with pictures of poor black kids when we have millions starving, not because we do not have food, but because the distribution sucks? Doha does not address the challenges of hunger in Africa in particular and in many other poor countries in general, in fact it depletes the available resources to indulge an unwilling market. So I wonder, why is it being hailed as some sort of panacea to world poverty and hunger?

My final objection to Doha might in fact be read as tacit support at the West’s efforts at subsidizing their farmers. Forget the moral outrage that often follows this issue. I wish we would look at this objectively — and from a national security stand point. Granted. It probably makes no economic sense for the west to continue to heavily subsidize its farms but it makes sense from a national security standpoint. My intention is not to give strength to the paranoid; however, the truth really is that food is a national security issue. One of the world’s most important revolutions, the French revolution blew open over food. There are only a few things that are as important as feeding to living beings. So, if we are really looking at this objectively, why would any country want other countries to control its food supplies? That in itself is a security risk comparable to contracting out your water system to foreigners. What assurances do you have that they do not seek to obliterate your population by contaminating your food supply? We are all sensitive to the things we put in our mouth, food being one of such primary things. Hence, developed countries governments have every right to ensure that their food industries are in a position to protect their people from the threats that mass poisoning poses in the interest of National Security. When one begins to see—and right so—food as a national security issue, it becomes easier to see where Western governments are coming from.

The question really is, instead of wasting time and resources on trade deals that will always find some loop hole within which to screw developing countries, why don’t we focus on developing infrastructure for regional trade — so that Africans for instance, can trade amongst themselves. Why don’t we focus on increasing the capacity of African farmers to meet the huge demand for food on their continents and supplement their efforts with aid money instead of importing American wheat few of us ever have the heart to eat? Most importantly, why don’t we invest in creating industries that can add value to these products so that if we need export at all, we can export peanut butter instead of peanuts, pasta source instead of tomatoes, banana juice instead of bananas. We want African coffee chains to compete with Starbucks and we don’t have to begin to blackmail you with pictures of malnourished kids just so you can buy “fair trade” coffee at the inconvenience of inflated prices. These are real solutions to development problems that are not as “white elephant” as Doha is.

As pressure builds up on Western countries to abandon their farmers and force African farm products on their people in the name of “free and open trade,” this African assures you that in fact, the last thing we want to do is force our food down your throats. We have got enough of those.

My verdict?: Each to his own mouth.

Something else a white man will not do! (Obama bows in greeting to Saudi King Abdullah, photo courtesy RushLimbaugh.com)

It is unfortunate, but considering certain recent events — more specifically Gates’s Gate — I must start my first series of posts on this Afro-centric blog on the rather unfortunate note of discussing racism. Despite the fact that this difficult issue hardly allows for enough of nuance and reason, I will try to forward certain conclusions that you may very well consider strange, without sounding like either David Duke or Al Sharpton.

First let me begin by establishing the foundational premises for our discussion here: racism exists. It is not a farce, or an outdated occurrence that only occurred before the civil rights movement. Even in our small community at the University of Waterloo, which we would ordinarily consider tolerant and diverse, certain annoying racist stereotypes persist. You need only to hear some jaded fellow whisper “you got some grass?” in your ear at a club just because you are black, or even be trailed by a Waterloo Police car on your way back home from the 24-hour computer lab at 3 a.m. because you are a black man wearing a hoodie, to know it exists even here. I would be in as much denial about the reality of racism if I had not experienced these things myself.

However, I think one part of the many discussions on race that has not been fully explored, or explored as much as other aspects of the issue, is how the black man thinks of himself.

One of the best kept secrets in the entire discussion about racism, especially following the Gate’s issue, is that the black man himself can and often does feel he is inferior to other peoples. He believes deep inside him that there is really something wrong with him. Forget the pretentious displays of black pride that black elites are apt to promote — in truth, they can be the greatest culprits when it comes to furthering racial stereotypes against blacks.

When we look critically at Professor Gates’ arrest, one finds that this was a case of an insecure black man against an prejudiced and arrogant police officer. They worked together to produce the perfect storm that was Gate’s arrest. There is no doubt that if the professor had been white, things would have turn out differently. However, too often, that argument is used to prove in a very simplistic manner that the Sergeant Crowley was racist. I disagree. If Gates had been white, he would not have seen the situation in the same way. He just as likely would have been angry that a policeman had had the audacity to question him about a house that he owned and had confirmed was his. However, from the moment Gates angrily uttered these lines, “Is it because I am a black man in America?”, he made himself the victim. He implicitly empowered Crowley to re-enact a scene backed by a widely accepted racial stereotype – that angry black males are always dangerous. Even worse, he directly placed Crowley in a position of authority by making himself the potential victim.

This raises questions about how this scholar who sees black men in thirteen ways sees himself as a black man. I would venture an supposition, supported by the racism Gates had experienced in the decades leading up to the event: He sees himself as inferior. If it had been otherwise, he would not have assumed any form of racial profiling was going on. He might irritatingly inquire (as the long trip from China is sure to have made him edgy) why there was a police man on his front porch. The police man would have timidly inquired after his safety. With a dismissive wave of the hand and depending on his disposition, a little appreciation, the overzealous young cop would be gone from his front porch. If this cop still insists upon seeing some proof that white Professor Gates was the owner of the house (as he insists he would in any other case), white Professor Gates would hand him the relevant documents and perhaps bitch a little about how young cops of nowadays were losing it. The stage would be set thus: Busy, tired Harvard Professor versus overzealous young cop. No race-baiting. No drama. Normal event in the terrible day of a Harvard Professor. Normal event in the slow day of a cop in retirement county with paranoid white people. In fact, he would sigh gratefully right after. “At least it wasn’t drunk college students.”

Unfortunately, in this case, it is not too difficult to see how race changes everything. Black man sees cop as a threat; cop sees black man as a thief hence the actions and reactions that ensued. Still, it is easy to see that if Professor Gates had acted less like a black man and more like a Harvard elite, we would not have this national headlines today. This is the problem with too many of our Black Elites. They already have a default position whenever they encounter the brutality of prejudice. They think, “he is superior to me”, I must either prostrate and be left alone or protest and face the consequences. It is difficult for them to think, first, that they are equal, or as in cases like this superior (by special virtue of class) before scheming discrimination everywhere they turn. You have to wonder what this means for the so-called post-racial era.

As if the shame of having a prominent black professor ‘act up’ was not enough, there was the reaction of black males in the media. I had to cringe as highly placed black man after black man began a public group therapy session whining about their various incidences of racial profiling that they encounter despite their social status. The victim pictures they try to get us emotional with honestly disgusted me. In each case, I found that they could have reacted in the way that that their class-not their race-demanded of them. Even if things had gotten out of hand with a few crazy cops, is telling brothers and sons to keep their heads down and “behave” when they see a cop a new kind of emancipatory road? What happened to lawsuits? Or do the legal costs of striking the fear of racial profiling into a few recalcitrant and prejudiced police officers not outweigh the futility of making legal motions to street cops? After so long, even elite black men still do not understand that the only thing worse than behaving like you are inferior is accepting inferiority.

This pervasive feeling of insecurity and inferiority among black people is one that has to be resolved before we can find a lasting solutions to issues of race. Black men, especially upper class black men, must free themselves of the barriers they have erected in their minds and act like indeed the civil rights movements actually happened-and succeeded. We need to behave like black people have some -not all- but some freedoms, and pretty important ones at that. Black people have made critical advances over the past few centuries – and it is about time we began to act like our new influence – not just in America, but all over the world – actually counted for something.

In conclusion, at the heart of this teachable moment on race is a question that many have cynically asked to promote a defeatist image for the black man: Would this have happened to a white professor in the same position? No.

A white professor would keep Crowley an unknown. This black professor gave him a ticket to fame and the White House’s Bar.

So here I am — the pan-African weirdo with the strange blogging title — at your service.

Even I was surprised anyone would want me writing about global politics for them, considering my personal aversion (or to put it in more euphemistic terms, “regular challenges”) to long-time western values like democracy, individuality, freedom (in what I consider a misunderstood sense of the term) and the like. But the name of this blog sheds light on why someone with my views is always useful in such discussions.

Of course, to understand that statement you need to know about Eleda. But who or what is Eleda anyway? It’s not even English! And I must confess it was chosen in part for my infatuation with the letter “E”. Since “E is for Error” (my Imprint column name), was already taken, but my love affair with the nickname “E” (a love affair made more ironic by the fact that there is really no “E” in my first name) cannot be ended that quickly, I felt a name that bore such a resemblance to my pan-African music idol, Abami Eda, was strong in its own right. (Besides, I am confident our graphic designers could have a field day making me don hot pants, shirtless, complete with ritualistic white Nzu on my body, for the caption photo — bad idea, guys.)

But the more substantial — or dare I say “intellectual” — reason I picked the name has nothing to do with its component letters and everything to do with its symbolism. To explain this, I must tell you about “Legba” (as he is also fondly called by my people).

It is pretty difficult to define Eleda properly without dipping excessively into my traditional tongue, Yoruba, and having already confounded you into reading a rant on the meaning of a word in this language you honestly should not care a rat’s ass about, I think you have learned enough Yoruba to last you forever… or at least, as long as my blog will.

So let me try with credible difficulty to define my personal and favorite “Orisa,” Eleda:

Like other smaller gods in Yoruba lore, Eleda is powerful and believed to be a rather clever but difficult teacher.

In fact, one story that entrenched Eleda’s legendary status in Yoruba lore as a wise but demanding Orisa involved him walking down the road one day, wearing a large hat that was red on one side and black on the other. The villagers who had seen him walking down this road began arguing with each other over what color his hat was. The people who saw him from the one side of the street thought he was wearing a black hat; the people on the other side insisted he was wearing a red hat.

From across the street they derided each others’ powers of perception and Eleda in his foxiness sat chuckling at the foolishness of these mortals, enjoying all the attention his crafty hat trick was giving him. But as tensions rose and these people seemed to be gearing up to do battle over the color of a random individual’s hat, Eleda saw he must intervene. He took of his hat and showed each side the whole of it. His lesson? One’s perspective can alter his or her perception of reality so they believe theirs is the only true reality.

That is what Eleda taught me: that one thing may mean several different things to several different people, but in the end, it is all the same, because the strife these differences create is itself meaningless. Just as a hat is no excuse to go to war (no matter how different two perspectives about its colour are), so too do we often look for meaning in all the wrong places.

For the time that I blog here, I hope to be your Orisa — but I cannot promise that I will be a wise one. As much as I will do my best to be like Eleda (if only to justify the graphic designer’s creativity), I will confuse you. I will confound you with perspectives that are likely very different from your own, but in the end I will be telling you all my stories from the only perspective I have: my own. Oftentimes, I will only be seeing Eleda’s hat from my own point of view.

And I do not just want to dictate to you blindly with my monochrome view of everything. I want to see Eleda’s hat from your side, too. So if you don’t like my color, please try not to shout insults from the other side. Just tell me which colour you see: I’ll do my best to cross the road.

E Aboyeji will be blogging about global politics and diversity matters every Monday: Tune in next week for his first topical post.