Hallo "ndoo" sidibe and everybody,

I think it is very actual to send your brilliant paper to readers again. i just find myself asking why the politicians are not telling there suporters to demonstrate with the journalists then i remember reading this more than one year ago.
Thank u dr. jaiteh for putiing me on so fast.
here goes from february 2002:

greetings from asiss j


From:         Momodou S Sidibeh <[log in to unmask]>


Subject:      The Fisherman's Tale (1)



Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"




"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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