Mr Sidibeh,
Thanx for the history, political science, sociology lessons all beautifully
weaved
together in this masterpiece. I have learnt something (actually heaps)
today.
Thank you very much.
Wishing you and your family happy Eid.
Manneh.
-----Original Message-----
From: The Gambia and related-issues mailing list
[mailto:[log in to unmask]]On Behalf Of Momodou S Sidibeh
Sent: 22 February 2002 16:52
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: The Fisherman's Tale (1)
"We would talk and talk until the Jawara regime comes tumbling down,
eventhough we would not have moved an inch from Stockholm"
Dumo Sarho, On verbal revolutionary struggle against the PPP government.
Trying to provide answers as to why the Gambian electorate chose to cast its
vote for President Yahya Jammeh last October seemed too schoolmasterish an
undertaking for me. I would rather submit it as a suggestion on the causes
of the Jammeh victory and how those causes could be used as instruments to
effect the widespread desire to transcend the level of ineffectual mutual
swiping that cluttered the menu on Gambia-l both well before the elections
and many moths after it. Hopefully that sort of movement would also help
establish Gambia-l as neither a pro-APRC nor anti-APRC forum (despite the
opinions of supporters and opponents of this party) but rather as a site
where differences of opinion enhance appreciation of our diverse
backgrounds, aiding us to better understand who we are in our quest to
contribute to the common weal. Though that is easier said than done, it
remains true that whatever Gambia-l becomes is our collective
responsibility.
Dumo's limitless sense of humour, even at his bleakest moments, could not
conceal his unfailing pragmatism. It is an old and perhaps natural Popperian
maxim, which rendering everything from a rigorous theoretical outlook,
eventually seeks to arrest and correct selected batteries of demobilising
predicaments such as are the bane of Gambian society. Mobilising a mass of
people for social redressment is as noble a cause as it is monumental. In
our part of the world it is to wage a struggle against cemented traditions,
entrenched belief systems. It invariably entails challenging a repressive
and authoritarian authority, risking lives and the social and economic
security of families and relatives in the process. It means a struggle
against widespread ignorance in largely non-literate societies where men and
women are overburdened with daily preoccupations with the next meal, the
next jar of water, the nearest medical station; where the struggle for
rights remains eternally unequal to the struggle for rice.
The Struggle For Rights
February 8th, 1969. The National Youth Council had been denied permission to
demonstrate against the state visit of Senegalese president, the late
Léopold Sedar Senghore. The Tonya movement of Gambian students was by this
time weekened by internal strife between its radical and conservative
elements. Despite warnings over the radio by then prime Minister Dawda
Jawara, the students demonstrated violently causing considerable destruction
of property in some areas in Banjul. Police tear-gassed and wounded many
students honouring Jawara's threat that demonstrators would be "shot below
the knee". Another violent student demonstration in 1974 (or 1975?)over lack
of transport from Serre-Kunda to Banjul was fiercely dispersed by the Field
Force. A handful of students were lightly injured, but none of them
seriously. Eventhough students continued to use street demonstrations as a
forum to make known their legitimate grievances (educational materials,
grants, transport) their radicalism and militiancy never eclipsed that of
the late sixties. Besides arresting and parading radical students into
detention centres for dubious political activity and torturing some of them
severely, Jawara's record of tolerance for democratic rights of students
throughout his thirty-year rule, (except during the extraordinary
circumstances following the July 1981 Kukoi uprising) immediately pales in
comparison to what we have so far witnessed from successive APRC
governments.
Central in the fight for democratic rights and freedoms is the struggle of
journalists for free speech and expression. Gambian journalists, like those
elsewhere in Africa have always been the frontline victims of governmental
displeasure and vengeance since the first print medium appeared in Gambia in
the 1870s. From the activism of William Francis Small at the end of the
nineteenth century to the recent abduction and torture of Ebrima Sillah, a
constant voice of protest runs through more than 100 years of Gambian
journalistic history. In between the two extremes lies a long line of heroic
sacrifice, perseverance and dedication to the work of telling the truth
about opressive governments. Unfortunately, as elsewhere, Gambian
newspapers had a very small circulation, depending largely on a tiny
readership in the cities and towns. Their life expectancy was therefore,
often short. The medium of radio on the other hand had the advantage of
reaching and engaging a wider audience. My very little experience tells me
however that politically critical reporting and programming over the radio
is a relatively recent phenomenon. (I stand to be correted here). My object
however is to pinpoint the fact that, progressive work of newspaper and
radio journalists notwithstanding, Gambians have never, as far as I know,
taken to the streets to display righteous indignation over wanton assault on
journalists. Their was obvious widespread sympathy for Baboucarr Gaye and
Christensen when thugs and arsonists tried with obvious government
complicity, to muzzle up their stations.
The Workers movement equally has a relatively long history of struggle. Yet
worker militancy also seems to have disappeared with the banning of the
powerful Gambia Workers Union in 1976. Even more important than the
struggles of student groups, the fights of workers for better working
conditions and higher wages directly links economic questions with the
politics of the day, connects the welfare of families with government
economic policies. This is of great significance in Gambia where the state
has remains the largest employer. The plight of Gambian workers has however,
never been sufficiently represented in the manifestoes of mainstream
political parties.. As far as I know Gambian workers as a distinct class of
producers were treated significantly only inside the pages of underground
papers of the 70s and MOJA's New Year Messages - pamphlets which succeeded
more in scaring the regime than organising workers. Not even PDOIS has taken
up the protracted struggle of workers as a distinct concern worthy of
separation from its general thrust in raising political awareness. It is
true that worker militancy in Gambia is severely undercut by the fact that
this class of producers and consumers is still embryonic; and reasons are
that it is of relatively small size, possesses a widespread semi-feudal
world outlook, and perhaps more importantly, is the absence of a strong
industrial tradition. Yet the very fact that Gambian workers, in both
private and public sector employment, have organised themselves autonomously
into unions of teachers, dock-workers, motor drivers, bespeaks a
consciousness of their pivotal role in the economic life of society as a
whole. Unfortunately, this potential for democratic change has scarcely been
used by the established political opposition to press for reforms. Gambian
workers have used industrial action such as strikes to fight for better
wages since the 1920s. In our family-centred, clan based culture where
workers usually cater for an extended family and where they have a foothold
in the rural areas, the organisation of workers' demands, if buttressed by a
political force could gradually lead to a shift in the average mentality.
This applies as well to even white collar workers in various government
departments: hotel employees, health sector workers, agriculatural workers,
teachers, etc.
Unlike in Senegal, numerous political parties have incorporated the
concerns, grievances, and interests of workers as central planks into both
their organisational thrust and political paltforms. No less than five
opposition parties formed the Senegalese Democratic Alliance (ADS) in
October 1986 to press for the release of all political prisoners (including
El Hadj Momodou Sow Sarr) and denounce the human rights abuses of the Joof
regime. At least three of these parties, And-Jeff (A.J./ M.R.D.N), the
Democratic League (L.D. / M.P.T) and the O.S.T (Senegalese Organisation of
Workers ?) have as part of their mass base, the Senegalese working class.
This far, it is possible to compare the dynamics of the struggle for rigths
under both the first and second republics with a strong reservation on
electoral contests between the old PPP and the U.P on the one hand, and the
APRC and U.D.P on the other.
Jawara's record though, should not be glossed over with a fresh coat of
varnish. His attitude to constitutional and civic rights of citizens took a
drastic and backward slide after July ' 81. He seemed to have believed that
to strengthen his rule and ward off any recurrence of coup plots he needed
to militarise the state. Torture and political repression became commonplace
and the intimidation of political opponents also became commoner than they
formerly were. All six elections that took place under his tutelage were
marred by more or less severe incidents of vote rigging, and open purchase
of voter cards. In the runup to the 1987 general elections, members of the
opposition in Sabah Sanjal were severely beaten and tortured in the presence
of one or two government ministers and the then Vice President. Besides,
Jawara created the security and military institutions that would be
reinforced and refined as instruments of coercion by his successor.
The treatment journalists have endured under President Jammeh's rule is
unprecedented in Gambian history. Dcerees No. 70 and No. 71, 1996 on libel
and sedition are chilling reminders of Governor Hillary Blood's Odinance 4
of 1944, which because of uncertainties about Gambia's colonial future,
sought to silence those voices struggling for freedom from domination. The
nocturnal Kafkaesque abductions of media professionals who are then
subjected to gringo-style interrogations is equivalent to taking a giant
leap back into the Middle Ages.
But what stands out as a monumental contrast to the first republic is
governmental reaction to protest by students. The April 2000 massacre of
teenage students and an employee of the Red Cross plunged the entire nation
into unbelievable shock. The outpouring of grief and outrage was
unprecedented. Gambians everywhere demanded that the perpetrators of this
most heinous of crimes be brought to justice without delay. Yet when the
coroner's report was submitted, the government threw it out, refusing to
take responsibility for what happened; and our frustrations and anger, as
they had clearly hoped fizzled out with time. In the absence of any
captivating graphic motif, I still search for a clue to understand the
despair of mothers by gazing at a print out of Edvard Munch's The Scream.
But those dark eyes in "The Sceam's" skull are just too surreal for this
gory act. So I instead gaze at Sam Nzima's immortalization of a screaming
Mbuyiswa Makhubo carrying the dead body of Hector Petersson - the first
victim of the 19 76 Soweto Uprising - to get a glimpse into the souls of
both the victims and their murderers.
My belief is that the govermnet itself was shocked by its own actions, but
designed a strategy to ride out the storm since it could not contemplate the
alternative of mass resignation. They would have to stick together, use the
nationaal TV to mollify feelings by expressing regret at what happened, beg
the population for patience and time and promise that a full investigation
would be carried out. It then deliberately went on to prejudge the outcome
of that investigation by blaming the students for destroying property and
even shooting first at the soldiers. This line of propaganda, (begging an
aggrieved religious population for calm and patience) aired over and over on
Gambian TV was a perfect tactic in a DCO (damage control operation); and it
worked. But the price the government had to pay was the complete loss of its
moral integrity. Dr. Sedat Jobe, himself a former university lecturer,
simply bided his time to "gracefully" resign at the right moment. Why
Ousainou Darboe chose to heap glittery accolades on him instead of
denouncing him for sitting in a government guilty of a massacre, he alone
can explain!
Before venturing an analysis of the above connected but separate narratives,
allow me to share with you a personal experience of Gambian solidarity:
Its exactly twenty years ago, precisely January 1982 in cell number 6 at the
Remand Wing of the Mile Two prisons. We were twelve inmates, including Dumo
and myself, sharing a cell not larger than three by four metres. The cell,
like all the other five, is divided into compartments. An embankment, two
bricks high, runs across the lenght of the cell just a meter inside from the
door, dividing it in two. The larger compartment, (four by two metres) was
our sleeping quarters where we stretched out like helpless sardines in a
grave. To make the drab monotony of life less frustrating, we cut and drew a
draught board into the concrete floor of the smaller compartment using brown
and grey pebbles as game pieces. This way our cell became the natural
meeting place for an assortment of "bawdolu" and "choonaylu" (expert and
novice players) in the entire remand. We would invite some members of cell
number 5 ( Jibou Jagne, the late Abou Gassama, Sosseh Colley, Kebba Bayo,
the late Pa Ali Jammeh, and Foday Baldeh of Gambia College) and thrash them
to pieces. (You may have noticed that this was part of the NCP leadership
locked at Mile 2). This was the fun part of life there; everything else was
customized horror.
Fisticuffs were commonplace between our cell and the warders largely because
we protested against their cheating us of our fourty minutes break into the
open air before noon everyday. So tensions were almost always high. We had
three meals a day, all of them just about fit for dogs. We ate the same damn
thing everyday. Breakfast consisted of pap, most of it just the chaff of
millet boiled in gallons of water. You drink it like tea, if you were lucky.
Otherwise you just pick the pieces of glass and nails and pebbles from it,
which, in our case we placed in a small transparent plastic bag to be shown
to Red Cross personnel as the Mile Two versions of Jawara's Tobaski dish!
Most of the 65 or so inmates of the wing suffered from dyssentry. The air in
the cells was dense with vapour from an amalgam of male sweat and the
colonial smell of Lifebuoy soap! Death was common in the main prison yard.
To discipline detainees, the warders would effect a transfer from the remand
to the main prisons, or vice versa. So one day, they brought in my friend
Rilwan Lowe who had by now become famous for kidnapping (or saving) Momodou
Musa Njai the Great. Within days Dumo, Ral (short for Rilwan) and I started
an underground campaign to organise a prison-wide hunger strike. Our
grievances: better food, more and longer breaks, more frequent visits by the
doctor, permission for visits by family members, and less congestion in the
cells. Most agreed that "koo nyanta kela le deh / warr na nyo def dara deh"
(something ought to be done) and many assured us that the idea was brave and
brilliant and they would strike. Only a handful said an outright no to a
hunger srtrike. We were convinced that Jawara was soon going to have a hot
potato in his hands.
And then the benachin arrived. To our shock only four of us (our trio and
Mustapha Barrow, alias S.I King, the bravest Gambian I know) stayed put in
our cell. With incredible glee our fellow cellmates were begging us to
collect our plates and give them the bonga ("chaalo/kobo") instead. As we
sat motionless, some of them went out ostensibly to collect mine and Dumo's
dishes on our behalf. Since we would not eat anyway, they figured, it would
be an unforgiveable waste to allow the food to be returned to the kitichen.
Dumo was furious. We charged the NCPians for betrayal. When I confronted
Kebba Bayo for not exercising solidarity with the cause, he blamed the whole
thing jovially, on my youth and obstinate strongheadedness; but as for Dumo
his very name meant trouble and that it was best that they have as little as
ever to do with him, and besides he was a political rival who worked with
CheYassin in his defunct NLP instead of joining their party; Rilwan on the
other hand was an unknown and mysterious quantity, an untypical "ndongo
Banjul" whom they do not know and who cannot be trusted! Most of the rest of
the population was almost hostile, bluntly telling us that what Kukoi did to
them was enough and that all they want was to quietly do their time and go
home, which infact will be very soon. (Under indefinite detention, people
survive by spreading rumours that The Man said that they would be released
soon. When they have to go to bed when that day passed without incident, a
more incredible credible-sounding fib hits the grapevine. By keeping hope
alive in this manner you survive years in the hole unnoticed). So our hunger
strike ended even before it began, and, wel,l we too took our rations the
following day.
By way of conclusion, the press, students and workers' organisations are all
products of an urban environment. Worker demands for shopfloor democracy
combined with education help urban dwellers become aware of political
processes. This is the reason why the pressure for democratic reforms in
Africa, to a considerable degree, had their roots in the cities. But where
there is no organisation of these forces, the obvious links with the plight
of rural dwellers become blurred; there is no commonality either of
interests or troubles, and a common enemy is difficult to define on a
national bases. There is a huge gap in levels of perception of everyday
issues and politcs between the cities and villages. During the First
Republic, student activists of The Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Foundation
attempted to bridge this gap by opening night schools both in urban and
rural areas to teach workers and peasants to read and write. This way,
workers and peasant do not only become acutely aware of their own
illiteracy; more importantly, they are then able to identify with, and feel
involved in the plight of these students whenever they fall victim to
government repression; say when a night school is closed because students
are imprisoned.
In such a climate social contradictions cannot be globally and uniformly
adressed. So there is a tendency for people to blame their troubles on
factors other than government policies. A tortured journalist from the
Independent is hardly mourned by the 70% who cannot read or write. Rather,
it is other journalists, readers, students, workers, and of course Gambia-l
activists who would make their feelings publicly known.
In Gambia, poltical parties are hopelessly equipped to carry the mantle for
the struggle for rights largely because the organisation of politcal
passions are based on matters other than constitutional rights and freedoms.
The key to mobilising support lies strongly on tradition, ethnic and
provincial considerations, and patron-client relations. PDOIS, more than any
other party has toiled for years to address issues related to democratic
rights, yet if voter statistics is anything to go by, we can safely say that
its success in a national context, is quite little. The struggle for rights,
Gambian voters seem to say, must be linked with the struggle for rice. I
will write about that in the next and final episode of this tale.
Wishing everyone A VERY HAPPY Eid....but especially Awa Sey, who is
celebrating the most memorable Eid of her life!
Cheers,
Sidibeh
Stockholm/Kartong
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