Socialist Politics in Lusophone Africa
Summary and Keywords
From the 1950s through the 1970s, several liberation movements emerged in Lusophone Africa (Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, São Tomé and Príncipe, and the Cape Verde Islands) that fought for independence from Portugal. One of the most significant ideological frameworks that informed the political orientation of these movements was socialism. In Lusophone Africa, several liberation leaders gravitated toward the economic and political potentialities inherent in the discourses and practices of pan-Africanism and Afro-socialism. The liberation movements in Lusophone Africa that most identified with a socialist paradigm were the Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola (MPLA of Angola); Frente de Libertação de Moçambique (FRELIMO of Mozambique); Partido Africano da Independência da Guiné e Cabo Verde (PAIGC of Guinea-Bissau and the Cape Verde Islands); and Comité de Libertação de São Tomé e Príncipe (CLSTP—later, MLSTP—of São Tomé and Príncipe). These groups suffered the burden of Portuguese colonialism and actively fought for independence from colonial rule. Although several other liberation movements also emerged in the Lusophone colonies, these four movements most espoused the hallmarks of Afro-socialism to challenge Portuguese colonial rule. All four liberation movements maintained networks with international actors opposed to colonialism, as well as diplomatic connections with sympathetic socialist and communist nations. Most notable among these bases of support were the Conferência das Organizações Nacionalistas das Colónias Portuguesas (CONCP) and the governments of Tanzania, Egypt, Guinea, the People’s Republic of China, East Germany, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), and Cuba.
Portuguese Colonialism in Africa
The Portuguese presence on the African continent dates back to the age of European exploration and conquest during the 15th century. Portuguese explorers such as Prince Henry “the Navigator,” Vasco da Gama, Bartolomeu Dias, Diogo Cão, and Lourenço Marques (among others) sought a faster route to markets in Asia and sailed along Africa’s western and eastern coasts. These explorers and, later, Portuguese slave traders established contacts with various coastal Africans and exchanged trade goods from Europe, Asia, and the Americas. As the Atlantic slave trade became a central facet of the expanding Atlantic world system in the 16th century, Portuguese slave traders and various coastal Africans often engaged in violent contestations for power. The ubiquitous violence along the west African and, later, the east African coast also created the perfect set of conditions for acquiring more slaves as prisoners of war were easily sold away.
The Atlantic slave trade established the basis for Portugal’s long relationship with Africans living in coastal and island communities around the continent. Despite centuries of interaction between Africans, Portuguese traders, officials, and missionaries, the European slave traders and missionaries were fairly limited in terms of their domination over Africans. This was due, in part, to Portugal’s own limited financial, military, and political power but also reflected Africans’ abilities to resist and manipulate their relationships with the Portuguese.1
By the mid-19th century, the Portuguese presence in Africa was mostly limited to the immediate coastlines of Angola, Mozambique, and Guinea-Bissau, as well as to the islands of São Tomé and Príncipe and Cape Verde. During the European “Scramble for Africa” (1870s–1890s), Portugal claimed these places as colonies due to their long history of trade and political involvement. Nevertheless, Portugal’s hegemonic and historical claim to rule over these regions during the “scramble” was extremely tenuous. In an effort to “effectively occupy” its colonial claims, the Portuguese crown extended royal charters to companies that sought to turn a profit at the expense of local Africans who were viewed merely as a source of labor. Environmental and demographic challenges, however, often meant that Portuguese companies such as the Mozambique Company, the Zambesia Company, the Mozambique Sugar Company, and Diamang were often in arrears and found it very difficult to compel local Africans to work.2 The punitive and frequently violent approach of company and colonial officials to procure African labor commonly resulted in the flight of Africans from Portuguese colonies across neighboring colonial borders in search of temporary succor and short-term contract work.3
The First World War (1914–1918) and the decade of the 1920s was a period of limited colonial investment in the Lusophone colonies. Economic malaise and tumultuous political events in Portugal jeopardized the already limited power of Portuguese colonial authority within the African colonies. With the ascendancy of Dr. António de Oliveira Salazar and his right-wing corporatist Estado Novo (1932–1968), the Portuguese state took a renewed interest in exploiting the Lusophone colonies for resources to sustain the metropolitan economy. The apparent economic weakness of the Portuguese state was also evident in several lackluster colonial development schemes that focused on the production of cash crops such as cotton, sugar, cacao, coffee, diamonds, cashews, and rubber. To compel Africans to work, the colonial state enacted a series of coercive measures, which included various forms of taxation, strict quota systems, forced/punitive labor (chibalo) policies, and the possibility of exile as a form of punishment.4 The fascist Salazar/Caetano regime (1932–1974) brooked no nonsense from colonized Africans and espoused authoritarian tenets that relied on secret police (Polícia Internacional e de Defesa do Estado, or PIDE) to preserve Portugal’s control over the Lusophone African colonies.
During the Second World War (1939–1945), Portuguese neutrality and a spike in wartime commodities prices further justified Portugal’s continued form of extractive colonialism. The resources produced in the Lusophone colonies were meant to directly augment the metropolitan economy, which, in turn, also warranted further expenditures for colonial development. However, most post-war investment was specifically focused on construction in the colonial capitals, shipping harbors, and infrastructure such as schools and hospitals that predominantly benefited the white, Portuguese settler communities living in the Lusophone African colonies. Rural, predominantly black communities were woefully underdeveloped or neglected.
Post–World War II Pan-Africanism and Lusophone Africa
After decades of extractive Portuguese colonialism that began in earnest during the late 19th century, the mid-20th century saw two overarching global events that ushered in a wave of oppositional liberation movements throughout Africa. The Cold War and concurrent global decolonization struggles provided the ideological frameworks and moral impetus to challenge Portuguese colonial rule. By the 1950s, a growing sense of nationalism in nearly all African colonies offered a viable context for the emergence of continental pan-Africanism to challenge colonial rule. In response to the direct threat that independence would pose to the economic solvency of metropolitan Portugal, the Salazar regime engaged in a series of machinations to obfuscate the true nature of extractive Portuguese colonialism and justify continued control of the Lusophone colonies. The Portuguese constitution, for example, was amended in 1951 to argue that the Lusophone possessions in Africa were not “colonies” but were, rather, “overseas provinces”: territorial extensions of metropolitan Portugal itself that were merely located in distant locales overseas.5
These semantic and bureaucratic changes revealed the obstinance of the Salazar regime and did not fool the international community. Many of the colonized Africans in the Lusophone colonies developed counternarratives to Portuguese colonialism that were built upon disparate ideological visions for developing the future liberated countries after colonial rule ended. With the inevitable demands for African decolonization growing after World War II, several educated black and/or racially mixed Africans from the Lusophone colonies began to see themselves as part of the growing chorus of actors in the dramaturgy of pan-African liberation.
In addition to the moral and humanitarian justification for independence, the global zeitgeist of both the Cold War and shifts in the international balance of power offered the Lusophone nationalist movements fertile discursive frameworks to craft oppositional ideologies. Global events and alternative visions for socialist development provided an opportunity for the leftist-oriented Lusophone liberation movements to gain international allies as well as procure forms of lethal and non-lethal aid in their wars against imperialist Portugal.6 In this global milieux, Lusophone African liberation movements gained legitimacy and recognition from both “domestic” and foreign sympathizers for their respective struggles against Portugal.
The allure of socialist political and economic models of development represented for many Luso-Africans a viable alternative ideological framework to offset the deleterious social and economic effects of extractive Portuguese colonial capitalism. Leftist movements in the Lusophone colonies also drew inspiration from similar socialist approaches to postcolonial development already underway elsewhere in Africa during the 1950s and 1960s. Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, Gamal Abdel Nasser of Egypt, Ahmed Sékou Touré of Guinea, and Julius Nyerere of Tanzania all pursued socialist agendas for their newly liberated nations. These four African leaders, in addition to several others, provided a template for socialism to emerge in the national politics of independent African states. In the Lusophone colonies, the Portuguese colonial state under Salazar and, later, Marcello Caetano refused to decolonize and sought to prevent any liberation movements, regardless of ideology, from emerging as a threat to their control. Although many African liberation movements were, in general, in favor of non-alignment, the rhetoric of the fascist regime in Portugal accused these movements of actually serving the will of the communist bloc. The Portuguese government argued that Afro-socialism was merely a façade for communist infiltration in Africa and a threat to the capitalist world order.7 Despite these accusations, Afro-socialism was a genre of leftist theory that conceived of postcolonial African modernity and independence as a product of top-down, state-led development plans meant to augment the livelihood of ordinary citizens and unshackle the new governments from the trap of neocolonialism. Variants of Afro-socialism were influenced by specific social, economic, and cultural realities in the respective Lusophone colonies. However, the socialist visions of the Lusophone liberation movements prior to and upon independence generally included five significant ideological agendas: (1) single-party political centralization by the socialist postcolonial state; (2) the usurpation of power and influence away from local (read: rural) “chiefs” with the goal of achieving nationalist unity under the centralized party and state; (3) broader social egalitarianism; (4) the standardization of agricultural, educational and health care policies and practices; and (5) the minimization if not outright elimination of “traditional” ethnic identities and “obscurantist” cultural practices that were viewed as anathema to the modernist agendas of the socialist post-independence state(s). Beyond just the Lusophone countries in Africa, African nations that pursued Afro-socialism often fell under the leadership of (mostly) male leaders of single political parties who attempted to find salient characteristics between African cultural practices at the local level and hybridize them with new forms of socialist economic planning. As such, many “traditional” cultural values and practices that could not be co-opted by the state were shunned and actively condemned as antithetical to the state’s socialist agenda after independence.
Conferência das Organizações Nacionalistas das Colónias Portuguesas
Seen as a pathway for development, continental solidarity, and nation-building, Afro-socialism offered Lusophone liberation movements a discursive and ideological platform upon which to base their respective struggles against both the Portuguese military and the deleterious effects of decades of exploitation under Portugal’s resource-extractive colonialism. This embrace of socialism was also more broadly linked to international developments during the Cold War. Global polarization between the capitalist and communist nations opened space for the socialist Lusophone liberation movements to locate common ground in their respective struggles. After several earlier attempts in the late 1950s to form a coherent coordinating group between the Lusophone liberation movements, the Conferência das Organizações Nacionalistas das Colónias Portuguesas (CONCP) was established on April 18, 1961, in Casablanca, Morocco. The CONCP provided a means for the nascent socialist Lusophone liberation movements to meet in order to find common ideological ground to develop a discursive foundation and strategic collaboration for defeating Portuguese colonialism.
By the early 1960s, the newly liberated north African states of Morocco, Algeria, and Egypt often hosted such international meetings and offered space (especially Algeria) for military training to assist numerous sub-Saharan liberation movements in their fight against lingering colonialism.8 The conveners of CONCP included leaders from both the MPLA and PAIGC but shortly thereafter included members of FRELIMO and the earlier incarnation of the MLSTP, known as CLSTP. North African heads of state, such as Ben Bella, added political clout to CONCP by attending meetings. The legitimacy of the CONCP as an international organization was predicated on the clear solidarity between the socialist Lusophone liberation movements and the collaboration of north African host states to facilitate CONCP meetings. For example, the office of Permanent Secretariat of CONCP was located on Rue Paul Tirard in Rabat, Morocco, and frequently generated an “information bulletin” to highlight the achievements of the socialist liberation struggles to add organizational legitimacy to their collective cause of liberation from Portugal.9 There were “two fundamental principles” that formed the bases of CONCP’s purpose as a collective, international organization dedicated to defeating Portuguese colonialism in Africa: “on the one hand UNITY at the national level in each country; an [sic] on the other, unity at the level of the Portuguese colonies as a whole.”10 As an umbrella organization, the CONCP offered an international forum for the discursive and military efforts of the Lusophone liberation movements and a means to function in solidarity with each other to achieve the desired ends of independence from Portuguese colonial rule. By 1963, in tandem with pan-Africanism fostered by the Organization of African Unity (OAU), the CONCP advocated for Luso-African solidarity between liberation struggles, which, in turn, needed to find common ideological ground against the mutual enemy—Portugal.
The MPLA and the Struggle for Socialism in Angola
In the west-central African country of Angola, the Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola, hereafter MPLA) emerged in 1956 as one of several Angolan nationalist movements that challenged Portugal. The early members of MPLA were generally of mixed or black phenotypic identity, often held the rank of “assimilado,” and drew a large base of support from the Kimbundu people of northwestern Angola who lived proximate to the colonial capital of Luanda. One of the most influential early leaders of the MPLA was Agostinho Neto, who, like several other Lusophone nationalist leaders, associated with other students at the Casa dos Estudantes do Império (CEI) in Lisbon during the 1950s.11 Although located in the metropolitan capital, this school was an incubator for African nationalism as students shared ideas and their negative experiences living under Portuguese colonialism. Like other students from the other Lusophone African colonies who studied in Lisbon, Neto faced consistent harassment by the PIDE. For his overt anti-colonial statements and activism against Portuguese colonial state, Neto was frequently arrested and detained by the Salazar regime.
Upon returning to Angola, Neto and a colleague, Viriato da Cruz, amalgamated several underground leftist groups to form the MPLA in 1956. Despite constant harassment and infiltration by the PIDE, the MPLA’s socialist ideology germinated under the urbane leadership of Neto and other leftists in the movement. As hostilities toward the Portuguese colonial regime elevated to the level of violence by 1961–1962, especially in the Angolan capital of Luanda, the nascent MPLA was forced to operate mainly from the relative safety of urban Brazzaville in nearby Congo for several years during the early to mid-1960s. Small units of the MPLA’s armed wing, the Exército Popular de Libertação de Angola (EPLA), routinely infiltrated northern and, later, eastern Angola to attack the Portuguese, recruit supporters, access supplies, and undermine colonial infrastructure. As one of three nationalist movements operating in Angola during the 1960s and early 1970s, the MPLA was the only coherent leftist organization dedicated to developing and implementing a socialist anti-colonial ideology. In the context of Cold War politics, the MPLA received early support and military training from sympathetic anti-imperialist nations in Africa such as Algeria and, later, from the communist countries of Cuba and the USSR.
As the struggle against Portuguese colonialism in Angola took a decidedly international and increasingly violent turn by the mid-1960s, the MPLA faced attacks and subterfuge from other rival liberation movements. During the early years of the anti-colonial war in Angola, the Frente Nacional de Libertação de Angola (FNLA) offered Angolans an alternative, anti-communist ideology to the rival MPLA. Although the FNLA under its leader Holden Roberto maintained a powerful ally in Congo/Zaire under the leadership of Mobutu Sese Seko, this pro-Western liberation movement also made race a major factor in its decision to target and kill white Portuguese living in Angola. As such, the FNLA quickly lost Western support (via Zaire) and suffered from intense internal factionalism.
By 1966, in the wake of the FNLA’s troubles, a third rival movement of the MPLA, União Nacional para a Independência Total de Angola (UNITA) emerged under Jonas Savimbi, whose early ideological leanings were at first amorphous but decidedly anti-MPLA. Savimbi initially approached the People’s Republic of China, but quickly adopted an anti-communist platform that instead garnered support from apartheid South Africa and the United States. While the political and military stakes were increasing for the MPLA, the liberation movement also suffered from internal factionalism. As the EPLA actively fought and suffered a series of military setbacks against the Portuguese in eastern Angola, Daniel Chipenda—an MPLA militant—led the Eastern Revolt against Agostinho Neto in 1966. Internal disputes, personal rivalries, and political machinations hampered the unity of the MPLA for several years beyond Chipenda’s limited but direct challenge to Neto.
On April 25, 1974, the fascist Salazar/Caetano regime was toppled in a military coup d’état commonly known as the Carnation Revolution. Three simultaneous anti-colonial wars in the Lusophone African colonies (in Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau/Cape Verde Islands) had drained the treasury and sapped the morale of the Portuguese people after almost a decade-and-a-half of intense fighting with little end in sight. The transfer of power from colonial rule to independence in Angola was volatile with both the MPLA and UNITA positioned to make a claim to legitimacy via their international and domestic bases of support. Angola’s independence officially came on November 11, 1975 with the MPLA in control of Luanda and its environs and UNITA loosely in control over vast sections of the Angolan hinterland.
Tragically, the rivalry between both groups plunged Angola into a disastrous 27-year long civil war (1975–1992, 1993–2002). UNITA was backed primarily by South Africa and nominally by the United States. The MPLA received significant logistical and military support from Cuba and, to a lesser extent, the U.S.S.R. Angola was a Cold War “hot war” as both the MPLA (with its access to profits generated from offshore oil) and UNITA (with profits derived from smuggling diamonds out of eastern Angola) were seen as well-financed and well-armed proxies for Cold War tension to play out among the global “superpowers” and local regional powers such as the anti-communist South African apartheid regime. The financial and personal toil on the population from the Angolan civil war was devastating.
Socialism in Angola Under the MPLA
With independence in November 1975, and its subsequent war against UNITA, the MPLA could only tenuously claim the right to rule Angola. Agostinho Neto, who served as Angola’s first President, won a dubious and hasty election victory in 1975 from votes tallied almost exclusively within the MPLA stronghold of Luanda. With the MPLA’s legitimacy in question, Neto faced significant challenges. First, omnipresent armed resistance from UNITA and its South African ally coupled with internal political challenges within the MPLA, such as the attempted coup in May 1977 led by MPLA dissident Nito Alves and his supporters, further undermined the legitimacy of the MPLA and Agostinho Neto. For their part, the Cubans and Fidel Castro played an important role in propping-up the leftist government and, later, after Neto’s death in 1979, the regime of new MPLA leader José Eduardo dos Santos. Cuba’s military and civil contributions to the MPLA and its socialist agenda for Angola lasted from 1976–1991 and significantly undergirded the party in its quest toward a socialist victory. Despite the assistance of its Cuban allies, however, the MPLA struggled to fully implement its socialist vision for the nation.
At the heart of the MPLA’s struggle to implement a socialist development plan for Angola was the ongoing social and political destabilization of the country. Not only did decades of extractive Portuguese colonial rule rob the wealth of Angola and exploit ordinary Angolans, but the civil war between the MPLA and UNITA drained morale, perpetually threatened the legitimacy of both the Neto and dos Santos regime, and hindered the MPLA’s ability to adequately and evenly invest financial resources into national development schemes putatively meant to help the people. The MPLA stronghold was Luanda and, as such, the party appeared to put urban Angolans’ concerns over the plight of rural Angolans, many of whom, through their suffering, came to sympathize with UNITA. The MPLA’s socialist development plans were chronically underfunded and failed to deliver on the potential inherent in its revolutionary rhetoric of a modernist transformation of the country. Chronic food shortages, and a lack of consumer goods and basic necessitates exacerbated the difficulties for ordinary Angolans.12 Ubiquitous poverty and the explosion of the HIV-AIDS epidemic in southern Africa that raged by the late 1980s also prolonged the misery of the Angolan people. All of these factors highlighted how socialism and the MPLA failed to solve the profound structural and economic challenges that faced Angola and Angolans during the early postcolonial era.
Despite these overwhelming realities, the MPLA did attempt to make socialism a reality for Angola and Angolans during the 1980s. For the MPLA to implement policies predicated upon a socialist ideology and model of development, the Angolan government needed the help of thousands of Cuban civil servants and technicians. However beneficial the Cubans were in augmenting the MPLA’s socialist model of development, the day-to-day grind to meet the government’s vision fell on the backs of rural Angolans to produce cash crops for export (while neglecting subsistence food needs). The government naively envisaged the success of these programs through socialist educational reforms and pedagogy, which only reached the few Angolans fortunate enough to attend school, and in the few and far-between industrial facilities where “Manuel workers and employees . . . lacked a culture of employment and the political consciousness to go with it.”13
Socialism under the MPLA in Angola failed to live up to its revolutionary potential. Much of the blame for these shortcomings can certainly be pinned on the ongoing civil war with UNITA and the MPLA’s inheritance of Portugal’s lack of investment in infrastructure and institutions for civil society. However, an ideological commitment to unpopular top-down policies that seemed to only benefit the well-connected urban elites in Luanda, dampened the will and the confidence of the Angolan people whose lives, the MPLA promised, would improve under socialism. By the early 1990s, dramatic shifts in the international balance of power and increasing pressure to accept loan packages from the World Bank and IMF pressured many impoverished countries to accept “structural adjustment” that further dismantled one-party, socialist states. In Angola, the MPLA came to terms with the failures and shortcomings of its socialist visions and, instead, abandoned socialism for the new challenges of multi-party elections, market-based neo-liberalism, and globalization favored by Western states and lending institutions.14
Also, in 1991, the USSR collapsed and Cuba completely withdrew its military support for the MPLA. The end of the Cold War and the demise of apartheid in South Africa largely deprived both the MPLA and UNITA of their bases of international support. Both sides agreed to the provisions of the Bicesse Accords, and, at least temporarily, peace came to Angola.15 With Jonas Savimbi’s defeat in the presidential elections in 1992, Angola once again returned to civil war, but this time, without overt international backing, it was a war of attrition that nevertheless still ravaged the Angolan countryside and people. Savimbi was ambushed and killed in 2002, and with his assassination the long Angolan civil war finally ended.
PAIGC and Socialism in Guinea-Bissau and the Cape Verde Islands
Despite the relatively small size (compared to Angola and Mozambique) and geographic separation between the west African countries of mainland Guinea-Bissau and the Cape Verde Islands, the socialist Partido Africano da Independência da Guiné e Cabo Verde (PAIGC) emerged as a unified liberation movement to oust the Portuguese. In addition to the geographic obstacles, the challenges of building a unified anti-colonial movement to cover both Portuguese colonies were significant due to historical, ethnic, and racial divisions between both colonies. The long history of slave trading along the west African coast, white Portuguese settlement, and miscegenation—especially in the Cape Verde Islands—created long-standing divisions between mainland and island Africans.
PAIGC and the Philosophy of Amílcar Cabral
To overcome these divisions, which were often exploited by the Portuguese colonizers, the nationalist PAIGC emerged under the formidable intellect and leadership of Amílcar Cabral. Born in colonial Guinea-Bissau (Portuguese Guinea) to Cape Verdean parents, Cabral was a dedicated nationalist and envisaged socialism as a panacea to centuries of extractive Portuguese colonialism and a means by which to counter ethnic divisions. As one of the foremost anti-colonial scholars and socialist ideologues, Cabral also studied agronomy and believed that people in both Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde could transform their economic fortunes after independence under socialism. While studying agronomy in Lisbon, Cabral also interacted with other educated Africans, such as Agostinho Neto (founder of the MPLA), at the Casa dos Estudantes do Império (CEI).16 Constant harassment from PIDE did not deter Cabral; instead, it bolstered his conviction to instigate a socialist revolution against Portugal. Upon his return to Guinea-Bissau, Cabral was also a (pre)dominant voice within the CONCP and found common ground upon which to embrace aspects of socialist development to challenge centuries of Portuguese extractive colonialism.
The PAIGC was organized under Cabral’s leadership in 1959 and, after procuring weapons via neighboring Ghana and Guinea, led an armed uprising against the Portuguese that began in 1962 in Cape Verde. Later, in 1963, the anti-colonial war intensified in Guinea-Bissau. For logistical and geographic reasons, the bulk of the anti-colonial war against the Portuguese occurred in Guinea-Bissau where Cabral and the PAIGC used neighboring rear bases in Touré’s Guinea and political connections to sympathetic pan-African leaders like Kwame Nkrumah to legitimize the cause of liberation. The PAIGC waged a guerrilla war and was relatively successful in liberating hinterland regions of Guinea-Bissau from Portuguese control. In the eastern part of Guinea-Bissau and along the northern border, PAIGC was able to infiltrate the colony and engage with the local population for the purposes of recruitment, political mobilization, and ideological experimentation with socialism.17 Although many of the bush schools and camps of the PAIGC that were meant to introduce the populace to socialism were attacked and undermined by the Portuguese military, their existence offered rural Guinea-Bissauans ostensible evidence of Cabral’s sincerity and vision of a socialist nation in the future.18 Cabral’s stature as a socialist intellectual and revolutionary fighter also earned the respect of various leaders of the communist bloc and Fidel Castro of Cuba.19
Although leftist in political orientation, Cabral recognized that orthodox Marxism would likely not solve the long history of economic and political exploitation of either the Cape Verdeans or the Guinea-Bissauans. At issue in Cabral’s mind was the realization that there had never been any true class development (in the Marxist conception) of either a bourgeoisie or working-class proletariat in Guinea-Bissau or Cape Verde during Portuguese colonial rule.20 Since most people in both Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau were peasant farmers who produced cash crops for the metropolitan economy, there was little evidence of a true working-class consciousness and solidarity with an ideological penchant for revolutionary mobilization. Amílcar Cabral and the PAIGC offered an alternative socialist paradigm as a means of political mobilization toward a socialist future, but to hasten a socialist working-class consciousness that could offset centuries of Portuguese exploitation was nearly impossible during the liberation struggle. In this way, socialist theory and, especially, orthodox Marxism—while ideologically attractive for its anti-imperialist and anti-capitalist tenets—would be very difficult to implement in practice after independence in Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde.21 Thus, in the liberated regions of rural Guinea-Bissau, Cabral and PAIGC cadres used the discursive logic and promises of a utopian socialist future for the people, but also hesitated to embrace Marxist orthodoxy in its entirety. Cultural mores and rural long-standing economic impoverishment meant that the rural population would need time to develop a more “modern” vision of themselves as part of a national identity and culture under the PAIGC’s future oversight.22
The PAIGC’s military successes over the Portuguese during the 1960s and early 1970s coincided with Portugal’s inability to defeat concurrent revolutionary movements in Angola and Mozambique. Despite the profound financial and human investment on the part of the Salazar/Caetano regime in attempting to defeat the Lusophone liberation movements in three geographically distant locales, the Portuguese did claim some significant victories over these groups. In the case of the PAIGC, the PIDE was most likely involved in the successful assassination of Amílcar Cabral on January 20, 1973, in neighboring Conakry, Guinea. This assassination, meant to “decapitate” the PAIGC as an organization, not only deprived the liberation movement of their venerable leader, it also eliminated one of the most important intellectuals in the broader, global anti-colonial struggle.
After the Carnation Revolution in April 1974, the Lusophone colonies attained their independence. Still reeling from the assassination of Amílcar Cabral, the PAIGC and the newly liberated countries of Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau were now under the leadership of his half-brother, Luís Cabral (1974–1980). In the nearly six years he was in office before a military coup d’état that toppled him in 1980, Luís Cabral attempted to achieve a socialist transformation of both Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau. However, although attempts were made to mobilize rural populations at the village and regional levels, corruption and a lack of financial solvency for the state in the immediate postcolonial era ended the hopes of PAIGC stalwarts for a socialist transformation. By 1981, Cape Verde separated from mainland Guinea-Bissau and was led by Aristides Pereira, who quickly formed the PAICV. Pereira recognized that a socialist transformation for the disparate islands of the archipelago was untenable given the limited financial capacities and infrastructural deficiencies of the islands. In Guinea-Bissau, after his coup against Luís Cabral, João Bernardo Vieira entrenched himself as party leader until the early 1990s, when the country transitioned toward multi-party elections and neoliberal globalization.
FRELIMO and the Struggle for Socialism in Mozambique
Founded on June 25, 1962, in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, FRELIMO was the primary liberation movement dedicated to fighting Portuguese colonialism in Mozambique. As a socialist liberation movement amalgamated from three previous groups that were organized along ethnic and regional affiliations (UNAMI, UDENAMO, and MANU), FRELIMO coalesced around a nationalist vision of unification at the behest of Julius Nyerere of Tanzania. The CONCP also encouraged a single liberation movement for Mozambique, and its secretary, Marcelino dos Santos, was a Mozambican who later joined FRELIMO as the liberation movement’s secretary for external affairs.
Eduardo Mondlane and Early FRELIMO
The first president of FRELIMO was Dr. Eduardo Mondlane. A formidable speaker and devout Presbyterian who attended Swiss mission schools in southern Mozambique, Mondlane went on to obtain advanced academic degrees abroad.23 Mondlane briefly attended school in South Africa and Portugal, but due to consistent harassment by the PIDE, he eventually enrolled at Oberlin College in Ohio. Most notably, he was the first black African from Mozambique to earn a PhD (in sociology at Northwestern University), which he completed in 1959.24 While studying in the United States and actively speaking to church groups during his spare time, Mondlane met and later married Janet Rae Johnson, a white American woman, and the couple had three children: Eduardo, Nyeleti, and Chude.25 Eduardo Mondlane became increasingly enmeshed in the political debates about Portuguese colonialism in Mozambique and became a member of the UN Trusteeship Council representing Mozambique. With UN diplomatic credentials, Mondlane briefly returned to Mozambique and, eventually, give a speech at the UN to speak on behalf of the plight of colonized Mozambicans. All of this invoked the ire of the Portuguese, who used informants and PIDE agents to track and document Mondlane’s activities. By 1961, Mondlane’s high profile also attracted the interest of Julius Nyerere of Tanzania and other leaders of the nascent Lusophone liberation movements. It was evident to all these parties that Mondlane would be the most credible leader for the Mozambique Liberation Front—FRELIMO.
Shortly after the formation of FRELIMO, the liberation movement held its First Congress in Dar es Salaam from September 23 to 28, 1962. The outcome was a series of proclamations and organizational principles that oriented FRELIMO toward the left with an agenda that was diametrically opposed to Portuguese colonialism.26 Unity within the movement was a paramount goal but an elusive quest for FRELIMO. Despite Nyerere’s encouragement and willingness to aid FRELIMO, early leaders, including Eduardo Mondlane, Uria Simango, David Mabunda, Paulo Gumane, Matthew Mmole, and Marcelino dos Santos, came from diverse ethnic, class, racial, and regional backgrounds. Infighting and jealousy undermined the ideological development and internal cohesion of FRELIMO, and, after several months of tension, the liberation movement purged some members (such as Gumane) and reorganized along nationalistic lines under Mondlane’s leadership.
FRELIMO’s existence within Tanzania from its inception also shaped the movement’s eventual embrace of socialism. As Nyerere and TANU gradually espoused a socialist program for national economic development, under a policy later known as ujamaa, FRELIMO also gravitated toward the socialist left. The omnipresence of Tanzanian politics and discourse about socialism provided the archetype for FRELIMO to pursue a similar ideological framework. Factionalism within FRELIMO, which was particularly evident in personal disputes among its younger cadres, proved to be a significant burden on the liberation movement.
FRELIMO’s war against Portugal began on September 25, 1964, with a raid on a Portuguese administrative building in Chai, Cabo Delgado. Already three years after the start of hostilities in Angola, the Portuguese war machine was prepared to counterattack. The brutality and indiscriminate bombing of rural villages, roads, and bridges in the northern Mozambican districts of Cabo Delgado and Niassa forced tens of thousands of Mozambicans across the borders of Tanzania and Malawi (and, later, Zambia). Portuguese reprisals against FRELIMO’s guerrilla raids were devastating to the local population and infrastructure. Although Portugal was ultimately limited in its pursuit of FRELIMO guerrillas across Mozambique’s borders, the war was mostly relegated to northern Mozambique, far from the colonial capital Lourenço Marques in the extreme south of the colony. From 1964 to early 1968, the war in Mozambique descended into stalemate, with FRELIMO claiming occasional victories and the Portuguese responding with extreme violence to limit any gains.
One of the most prescient examples of FRELIMO’s early socialist-inspired development inside Tanzania was the construction and operation of their premier proto-state institution: o Instituto Moçambicano (the Mozambique Institute). Initially funded by a grant from the Ford Foundation in 1963, the Mozambique Institute was an integral part of FRELIMO’s legitimation as a liberation movement. The Mozambique Institute secondary school, in particular, represented the liberation movement’s early pragmatism and political savvy. Upon independence, Mozambique would need to have loyal educated cadres fill the vacancies opened up from exiting Portuguese in the civil service, educational, and technocratic fields. The Mozambique Institute was headed by Eduardo’s wife Janet Mondlane, employed several Mozambican staff and foreign teachers (some from the United States, Sweden, East Germany, and Czechoslovakia), and educated several hundred refugee Mozambican students who attended the secondary school in Dar es Salaam from 1963 to 1968. The intensification of the war by early 1968, however, meant that many young Mozambicans living as refugees in Tanzania, Zambia, or abroad were increasingly called into service by FRELIMO. The secondary students at the Mozambique Institute had a diverse range of opinions about both Janet and Eduardo Mondlane’s leadership and the ideological commitments of FRELIMO. During the evening of March 5, 1968, a fight between two students occurred, which resulted in the arrest (by Tanzanian police) of several staff and members of FRELIMO, as well as the closure of the Mozambique Institute secondary school for nearly two years.27 The underlying cause of the tension at the school reflected both the problematic ideological divisions within FRELIMO concerning Eduardo’s leadership and the intermittent presence of FRELIMO’s leaders at the school. The tensions among students at the school also exposed the vulnerability of the liberation movement to Portuguese infiltration and subterfuge. Some students felt strongly that Mondlane was not a true socialist revolutionary and that he and his wife Janet, an American, were too close the US government. The issues among the student body reflected the growing discord within FRELIMO. The inability to sufficiently monitor the students’ activities at the school and the subversive influences of individual teachers such as Father Mateus Gwenjere, whom some later accused of working for the Portuguese, contributed to the animosity between students and broader instability within the movement itself.
For many in FRELIMO, what was needed by the summer of 1968 was a clear articulation and adoption of a firmly socialist ideological framework and a thorough purge of dissenters.28 As such, in order to shore up its fight against Portugal and its own existence in the face of subversion, FRELIMO transitioned from a pragmatic revolutionary movement fighting against Portuguese colonialism to a more hardline, authoritarian liberation movement by 1968. Drawing inspiration from Julius Nyerere’s Afro-socialist Arusha Declaration of 1967 and, further to the left, aspects of the more hard-line Afro-Marxist paradigms of the PAIGC and the MPLA, FRELIMO’s leaders held a Second Party Congress in July 1968 to clarify its own socialist ideological paradigm.29
At the Second Party Congress, FRELIMO leaders articulated a set of socialist principles that borrowed heavily from the example embraced by Julius Nyerere and TANU in the Arusha Declaration. In Tanzania, the TANU government moved to implement a set of agricultural schemes and collective villages as part of its policy of ujamaa.30 FRELIMO’s leaders understood that the liberation front had a stalwart ally in Julius Nyerere and a majority of other Tanzanian leaders, thus as TANU adopted a resolute Afro-socialist agenda, so did FRELIMO. Despite attempts to root out dissent within FRELIMO, tensions and disagreements within the organization continued to undermine the quest for unity. On February 3, 1969, while staying at a colleague’s house in Dar es Salaam, Eduardo Mondlane was assassinated by a parcel bomb. Although debates continue about who killed Mondlane, many believe it was the work of the Portuguese PIDE. Regardless, FRELIMO lost its first president to assassination, and other members of the hierarchy, most notably Samora Machel and Uria Simango, jockeyed to assume the leadership mantle. From 1969 to 1974, purges and accusations within FRELIMO led to divisive factionalism and alignment with various ideological visions for the future country.31
Samora Machel and (Afro)-Marxism in Mozambique
In the wake of Eduardo Mondlane’s assassination, Samora Moises Machel became the next leader of FRELIMO in 1970, and by the time of the Carnation Revolution in Portugal in April 1974, he had taken the liberation movement further to the ideological left. Machel’s vision for Mozambique’s future borrowed heavily from discourses and practices based on Marxist-Leninism and a more Soviet-style development model.32 Machel’s vision for Mozambique’s political and economic future differed from earlier pragmatic approaches of implementing aspects of socialist practices elsewhere during FRELIMO’s existence as a liberation movement. Most notably, during its Third Party Congress in 1977 and under Machel’s presidency, FRELIMO formally adopted a range of Soviet-style, top-down development schemes such as collective farming and industrial models of production and education that were meant to align workers’ contributions to the overall development of the state and society. Despite these attempts to implement Machel’s visions for the postcolonial development of Mozambique, many structural and international problems hampered FRELIMO’s socialist paradigm for the country. Rural Mozambicans generally resisted and resented collective farming and interpreted these efforts as similar to Portuguese agricultural schemes during colonization.33 For example, agricultural collectives required Mozambican farmers, who had long suffered under the Portuguese chibalo system, to work on the production of cash crops such as cashews, often away from their homesteads and families.34
Although the socialist vision of FRELIMO was meant to improve the lives of all Mozambicans, a disproportionate number of rural agricultural producers were women. Under Portuguese colonial rule, Mozambican men’s migration to South Africa, Tanganyika, Southern Rhodesia, and Malawi for other forms of work put enormous pressure on women as both domestic and agrarian producers. Little changed for Mozambican women under Machel’s Marxist agenda for the liberated country.35 With the intention of improving the lives of Mozambican women under a Marxian/socialist vision of equality, FRELIMO created the Organização da Mulher Moçambicana (OMM) in 1973. By 1977, the OMM was an important organization within the FRELIMO regime, but despite the promises of socialist egalitarianism in rural production, women continued to endure the brunt of agricultural and domestic production, as well as the responsibilities of familial reproduction.
Purges of political rivals and accused colonial sympathizers highlighted Machel’s increasing authoritarian rule and further limited the appeal of the state’s Marxist agenda for Mozambique.36 This fact, coupled with the instability and violence of the Rhodesian- and South African–backed anti-FRELIMO insurgent group RENAMO (Mozambican National Resistance), devastated the rural communities of Mozambique into the 1980s. The extreme violence of the RENAMO insurgency against FRELIMO rendered rural and urban socialist projects in Mozambique nearly impossible to implement. Years of socialist experimentation in Tanzania and “liberated zones” in the country’s northern provinces of Cabo Delgado and Niassa created a sense of hope for nationwide development. Despite the charisma and ideological fortitude of Samora Machel and his supporters within FRELIMO, the fledgling existence of FRELIMO as the single-party government of Mozambique fell short of socialist expectations. The Mozambican civil war (1976–1992) between FRELIMO and RENAMO further drained precious state resources, demoralized the rural Mozambican population, and resulted in significant environmental and social destruction.
In 1983, FRELIMO held a Fourth Party Congress to start the process of transforming the Mozambican agricultural sector “away from a bold strategy of socialist collectivization towards a more market oriented agricultural strategy based on capitalist and peasant family agriculture.”37 As violence engulfed rural Mozambique and socialist states in other Lusophone countries also faced profound structural and developmental deficiencies, enthusiasm for socialist modes of development waned throughout the country during the mid-1980s. To alleviate the atrocities inflicted upon the Mozambican populace by war and secure the economic solvency of Mozambique, Samora Machel compromised with South Africa in 1984 in an agreement known as the Nkomati Accord.38 On paper, Machel agreed to stop offering a friendly border to the ANC in exchange for apartheid South Africa’s cessation of support from RENAMO. On October 19, 1986, Samora Machel was returning from talks in Zambia on matters pertaining to Zaire when his plane was shot down over South African airspace. Controversy remains over who was responsible for Machel’s assassination, but after his death FRELIMO’s leaders continued to pursue profound structural changes that slowly undid Machel’s earlier socialist programs. Marxism was abandoned as a development strategy, and by the end of the Mozambican civil war in 1992 and transition of RENAMO into a rival political party, FRELIMO had—like many former socialist organizations—embraced multi-party democracy and neoliberal globalization.
The CLSTP and Visions of Socialism in São Tomé and Príncipe
Located off the west African coast in the Bight of Biafra, the tiny islands of São Tomé and Príncipe were firmly under Portuguese colonial occupation during the wars of liberation. Both islands had long served as a place for slave production and transfer across the Atlantic along “middle passage” routes.39 Later, during Portuguese colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, African inhabitants of both islands worked under brutal, quasi-enslaved, conditions producing cocoa, the islands’ major cash crop.40 The long history of a small white Portuguese presence on both islands led over time to miscegenation and a fairly significant creole population.41 The creole forros undermined the absolute supremacy of white Portuguese rule, and after a violent crackdown in 1953 known as the Batepá Massacre, calls for liberation grew.
When the clarion call for liberation from Portuguese colonialism intensified in the late 1950s, a few exiled São Tomeans joined their Lusophone brethren in embracing a socialist vision for the future liberated islands. However, unlike their mainland comrades, who literally had more room to operate, the São Tomean socialist liberation movement called the Comité de Libertação de São Tomé and Príncipe (CLSTP) formed in exile and posed little direct threat to the entrenched Portuguese police and military presence on the islands.
Founded by Miguel Trovoada and briefly based in both Accra and Libreville, the CLSTP existed as one of the Luso-African socialist liberation struggles recognized by CONCP. After 1972, the CLSTP changed its name (and acronym) to the MLSTP (Movimento de Libertação de São Tomé e Príncipe) and moved its new base of operation to Equatorial Guinea. It was not until after official independence on July 12, 1975, that São Tomé and Príncipe, led by the MLSTP, embarked on a path toward socialist development.42 Keeping in step with the other Lusophone counties, “the MLSTP followed the examples of its sister nationalist parties from the Portuguese-speaking countries and opted to organise state and society according to Soviet-style socialism.”43 Despite the allure of socialism as a cure for centuries of Portuguese exploitation, factionalism within the MLSTP and personal rivalries undermined socialist policies meant to alleviate poverty on the islands. Additionally, “white flight” from the islands resulted in a loss of technocratic and highly skilled labor that further entrenched long-standing social tensions between forros and black Africans.
By the 1980s, socialism failed to deliver on either short-term or long-term goals, and politics in the island nation reflected a neo-patrimonial clientelism.44 Socialist development necessitated governmental nationalization of all modes of production, which, according to Gerhard Seibert, “allowed the ruling elite to monopolise access to land, jobs, and other resources . . . in order to maintain political control and attract followers.”45 The MLSTP’s heavy hand on the economy and overt neo-patrimonialism meant that most São Tomeans continued to languish in poverty. Like the other Lusophone liberation movements in Guinea-Bissau, Cape Verde, Mozambique, and Angola that pursued socialism as a means to offset Portuguese colonial capitalism, once in control of the state, the promises of socialist development mostly failed to deliver for the people.
Discussion of the Literature
For the former Lusophone colonies in Africa, independence in 1975 ushered in a period of socialist development schemes that failed to live up to the expectations of the people and party officials. Scholarly interest in socialism in Africa remains an important topic, especially with 40-, 50-, and soon 60-year anniversaries commemorating the founding of the MPLA, FRELIMO, PAIGC, and MLSTP. The speeches, poems, and books written by Agostinho Neto,46 Eduardo Mondlane, Samora Machel, and Amílcar Cabral, for example, remain important primary sources that offer insight into the mentalities and strategies of these leaders for the socialist development and liberation of their respective nations. Scholars and journalists interested in African liberation movements were often influenced by the political and social zeitgeist during the 1960s and 1970s. Scholars who focused on the plight of Lusophone Africa under Portuguese colonial rule and wrote with an activist bent include Allen Isaacman and Barbara Isaacman47 and Patrick Chabal. These scholars wrote books that excoriated Portuguese imperialism, found hope in historical examples of resistance, and were drawn to the allure of socialism to rectify the evils of colonialism. A foundational text that explored the possibilities of socialist transformations across Africa was the edited volume on socialism in Africa by William H. Friedland and Carl G. Rosberg Jr.48 Published shortly after independence in Ghana, Tanzania, Egypt, and Senegal and during the advent of the Lusophone liberation struggles, this book set out to explore the options, choices, and limitations of socialist development in Africa.
The Cold War is also an important context that informed the adoption and eventual demise of socialism in Lusophone Africa. In particular, two significant tomes by Piero Gleijeses49 explore the involvement of Cuba in Angola, and southern Africa more broadly. Elizabeth Schmidt50 and William Minter also address how the Cold War and other international contexts shaped politics and social developments in Lusophone Africa. How socialism dovetailed with pan-African nationalism is also the subject of interest as well, as Eric Morier-Genoud51 has demonstrated in an edited volume on the topic.
During the 1980s and 1990s, socialism in Lusophone Africa waned under lackluster economic development schemes, civil war, international intrigue, and neo-patrimonialism. The demise of the Soviet Union, Cuba’s withdrawal from Angola, and social unrest in the Communist bloc and China further exacerbated the plight of people in Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, Cape Verde, and São Tomé and Príncipe. Similar to many other African nations, the decades of the 1980s and 1990s saw economies collapse and society languish in poverty and violence. The shortcomings of socialism were all too apparent, and many states accepted neoliberal “structural adjustment” from Western lending institutions and governments. The search for answers to what went wrong with socialism and the new opportunities for personal enrichment or party gain by African political elites in the age of neoliberalism are covered in books by scholars and journalists such as James H. Mittelman,52 Patrick Chabal, Joseph Hanlon, William Finnegan, Inge Tvedten, Tony Hodges, M. Anne Pitcher, and Gerhard Seibert.
Analyses have also evaluated socialism’s impact on women, families, and rural communities. Rural and urban life was dramatically affected by top-down state policies and the inability of state actors to ameliorate the suffering of ordinary people through socialist policy, especially during war. Kathleen E. Sheldon,53 Jeanne Marie Penvenne, and Joshua B. Forrest offer important insights into the lives of Mozambican women and rural communities in Guinea-Bissau, respectively.
In addition to the original, paper versions of primary sources housed in the National Archives of Portugal, Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, Cape Verde Islands, and São Tomé and Príncipe, there are several online mediums that contain digitalized sources as well. A fantastic online repository for materials related to CONCP, Guinea-Bissau, Cape Verde, and São Tomé and Príncipe is Casa Comum, which has thousands of primary sources related to the history of these countries. It is also worth pursuing the documents housed in the ALUKA Project, which can be accessed through JSTOR. It contains a special digitalized collection of primary sources entitled “Struggles for Freedom: Southern Africa.” Additionally, for Mozambique, Colin Darch has compiled a wonderful set of digitalized sources at Mozambique History Net.
Cabral, Amílcar. Unity and Struggle: Speeches and Writings (2nd ed.). Pretoria: Unisa Press, University of South Africa, 2008.Find this resource:
Chabal, Patrick. Amílcar Cabral: Revolutionary Leadership and People’s War. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1983.Find this resource:
Chabal, Patrick, David Birmingham, Joshua Forrest, and Malyn Newitt. A History of Postcolonial Lusophone Africa. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002.Find this resource:
Cruz, Carlos Benigno de, ed. São Tomé e Príncipe: Do Colonialismo á Independência. Lisbon, Portugal: Morães Editores, 1975.Find this resource:
Forrest, Joshua B. Lineages of State Fragility: Rural Civil Society in Guinea-Bissau. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2003.Find this resource:
Friedland, William H., and Carl G. Rosberg, eds. African Socialism. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1964.Find this resource:
Gleijeses, Piero. Conflicting Missions: Havana, Washington, and Africa, 1959–1976. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2002.Find this resource:
Isaacman, Allen, and Barbara Isaacman. Mozambique: From Colonialism to Revolution, 1900–1982. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1983.Find this resource:
MacQueen, Norrie. The Decolonization of Portuguese Africa: Metropolitan Revolution and the Dissolution of Empire. London: Longman, 1997.Find this resource:
Martins, Helder. Casa dos Estudantes do Império: Subsídios para a História do seu periodo mais decisivo, 1953–1961. Lisbon, Portugal: Caminho, 2017.Find this resource:
Mondlane, Eduardo. The Struggle for Mozambique. London: Zed Books, 1983.Find this resource:
Morier-Genoud, Eric, ed. Sure Road? Nationalisms in Angola, Guinea-Bissau, and Mozambique. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2012.Find this resource:
Ottaway, David, and Marina Ottaway. Afrocommunism. New York: Africana, 1981.Find this resource:
Seibert, Gerhard. Comrades, Clients and Cousins: Colonialism, Socialism and Democratization in São Tomé and Príncipe (2nd ed.). Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2006.Find this resource:
Sheldon, Kathleen E. Pounders of Grain: A History of Women, Work, and Politics in Mozambique. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2002.Find this resource:
(1.) Walter Hawthorne. Planting Rice and Harvesting Slaves: Transformations Along the Guinea-Bissau Coast, 1400–1900 (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2003), 55–82.
(2.) Eric Allina, Slavery by Any Other Name: African Life Under Company Rule in Colonial Mozambique (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2012); Todd Cleveland, Diamonds in the Rough: Corporate Paternalism and African Professionalism on the Mines of Colonial Angola, 1917–1975 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2015); and Leroy Vail and Landeg White, Capitalism and Colonialism in Mozambique (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1980).
(3.) Patrick Harries, Work, Culture, and Identity: Migrant Laborers in Mozambique and South Africa, c. 1860–1910 (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1994).
(4.) Allen Isaacman and Barbara Isaacman, Mozambique: From Colonialism to Revolution, 1900–1982 (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1983); and Zachary Kagan-Guthrie, “Repression and Migration: Forced Labour Exile of Mozambicans to São Tomé, 1948–1955,” Journal of Southern African Studies 37, no. 3 (2011): 449–462.
(6.) Elizabeth Schmidt, Foreign Intervention in Africa: From the Cold War to the War on Terror (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 79–101.
(7.) Franco Nogueira, The United Nations and Portugal: A Study of Anti-Colonialism (London: Tandem, 1964).
(8.) Jeffrey James Byrne, Mecca of Revolution: Algeria, Decolonization, and the Third World Order (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016).
(9.) O Arquivo Nacional da Torre do Tombo, PT-TT-SCCIM-A-20-7-1m101, “Information Bulletin,” Conference of Nationalist Organizations from Portuguese Colonies, C.O.N.C.P., no. 5 (November 1962), cover page.
(10.) O Arquivo, “Information Bulletin,” 3.
(11.) Helder Martins, Casa dos Estudantes do Império: Subsídios para a História do seu período mais decisivo, 1953–1961 (Lisbon, Portugal: Caminho, 2017); and Daniel Kaiser, “‘Makers of Bonds and Ties’: Transnational Socialisation and National Liberation in Mozambique,” Journal of Southern African Studies 43, no. 1 (2017): 29–48.
(12.) Christine Hatzky, Cubans in Angola: South-South Cooperation and Transfer of Knowledge, 1976–1991 (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 2012), 124.
(13.) Hatzky, Cubans in Angola, 123.
(14.) Patrick Chabal and Nuno Vidal, eds., Angola: The Weight of History (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008).
(16.) Martins, Casa dos Estudantes do Império.
(18.) Chabal, “Party, State, and Socialism,” 191.
(19.) Fidel Castro, “At the Closing Session of the Tricontinental Congress,” speech, Havana’s Chaplin Theater, June 15, 1966.
(21.) Olúfẹ́mi Táíwó, “Cabral,” in A Companion to the Philosophers, ed. Robert L. Arrington (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2001), 8–10.
(22.) Chabal, “Party, State, and Socilism,” 195–196; see also Joshua B. Forrest. Lineages of State Fragility: Rural Civil Society in Guinea-Bissau (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2003).
(23.) José Manuel Duarte de Jesus, Eduardo Mondlane: Um Homem a Abatar (Coimbra, Portugal: Almedina, 2010); and Robert Faris Liberating Mission in Mozambique: Faith and Revolution in the Life of Eduardo Mondlane (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2014).
(24.) Eduardo Mondlane, “Role Conflict, Reference Group and Race” (PhD diss., Northwestern University, 1959).
(25.) Nadja Manghezi, O Meu Coração está nas Mãos de um Negro: Uma História da Vida de Janet Mondlane (Maputo, Mozambique: Centro de Estudos Africanos, Universidade de Eduardo Mondlane, 1999).
(26.) “1st Congress—Dar es Salaam 23–28 September 1962—Documents”, The ALUKA Project, Mozambique Liberation Documents Collection.
(27.) Michael G. Panzer, “The Pedagogy of Revolution: Youth, Generational Conflict, and Education in the Development of Mozambican Nationalism and the State, 1962–1970,” Journal of Southern African Studies 35, no. 4 (December 2009): 803–820.
(29.) “O Segundo congress da FRELIMO: discourso official de Comité Central,” The ALUKA Project, Chilcote Collection.
(30.) Priya Lal, African Socialism in Postcolonial Tanzania: Between the Village and the World (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015).
(31.) Barnabé Lucas Ncomo, Uria Simango: Um Homem, Uma Causa (Maputo: Edições Novafrica, Central Impressora e Editora de Maputo, SARL, 2003); and Antonio Disse Zengazenga. Memórias de um rebelde: Uma vida pela Independência e Democracia em Moçambique (Creatspace, 2013).
(32.) Thomas H. Henriksen, “Marxism and Mozambique,” African Affairs 77, no. 309 (October 1978): 441–462; and David Ottaway and Marina Ottaway, Afrocommunism (New York: Africana, 1981).
(33.) Merle Bowen, State Against the Peasantry: Rural Struggles in Colonial and Postcolonial Mozambique (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2000).
(34.) Jeanne Marie Penvenne, Women, Migration, and the Cashew Economy in Southern Mozambique, 1945–1975 (Suffolk, UK: James Currey/Boydell and Brewer, 2015).
(36.) Benedito Luís Machava, “State Discourse on Internal Security and the Politics of Punishment in Post-Independence Mozambique, 1975–1983”, Journal of Southern African Studies 37, no. 3 (2011): 593–609.
(37.) Otto Roesch, “Rural Mozambique Since the Frelimo Party Fourth Congress: The Situation in the Baixo Limpopo,” Review of African Political Economy no. 41 (September 1988): 73–91.
(39.) Linda M. Heywood and John K. Thornton, Central Africans, Atlantic Creoles, and the Foundation of the Americas, 1585–1660 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 9.
(40.) Catherine Higgs, Chocolate Islands: Cocoa, Slavery, and Colonial Africa (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2012).
(44.) Seibert, Comrades, Clients, Cousins; and “São Tomé and Príncipe,” 298–302.
(45.) Seibert, “São Tomé and Príncipe,” 301.
(46.) Agostinho Neto, Sagrada Esperança (Lisbon, Portugal: Sá da Costa, 1975); Mondlane, The Struggle for Mozambique; Barry Munslow, ed., Samora Machel: An African Revolutionary, Selected Speeches and Writings (New York: Zed Books, 1986); and Cabral, Unity and Struggle.
(47.) Allen F. Isaacman, The Tradition of Resistance in Mozambique: Anti-colonial Activity in the Zambesi Valley, 1850–1921 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976); Isaacman and Isaacman, Mozambique: from Colonialism to Revolution; and Patrick Chabal, Amílcar Cabral: Revolutionary Leadership and People’s War (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1983).
(49.) Piero Gleijeses, Conflicting Missions: Havana, Washington, and Africa, 1959–1976 (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2002); and Gleijeses, Visions of Freedom: Havana, Washington, and Pretoria and the Struggle for Southern Africa, 1976–1991 (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2013).
(50.) Schmidt, Foreign Intervention in Africa; and William Minter, Apartheid’s Contras: An Inquiry into the Roots of War in Angola and Mozambique (London: Zed Books, 1994).
(52.) James H. Mittelman, Underdevelopment and the Transition to Socialism: Mozambique and Tanzania (New York: Academic Press, 1981); Patrick Chabal, Power in Africa: An Essay in Political Interpretation (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992); Joseph Hanlon, Mozambique: The Revolution under Fire (London: Zed Books, 1984); William Finnegan, A Complicated War: The Harrowing of Mozambique (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); Inge Tvedten, Angola: Struggle for Peace and Reconstruction (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997); Tony Hodges, Angola from Afro-Stalinism to Petro-Diamond Capitalism (Oxford: James Currey, 2001); M. Anne Pitcher, Transforming Mozambique: The Politics of Privatization, 1975–2000 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002); and Seibert, Comrades, Clients, Cousins.
(53.) Sheldon, Pounders of Grain; Penvenne, Women, Migration, and the Cashew Economy in Southern Mozambique; and Forrest, Lineages of State Fragility.