First off, another disclaimer: Next Tuesday you will once again be deprived of my weekly post; I’m going on a rural visit. I don’t yet know where I’m going, as the program directors are scheduled to inform us of this three to four days before departure. Presumably, however, it will be somewhere rural, and, given that urban here means okay internet some of the time, I’m not counting on being able to connect with you, dear readers, in the far reaches of the rural.
Now that’s out of the way: this week’s post is in honor of the American elections today, about which I’m feeling rather bitter due to the fact that my absentee ballot, for which I mailed in a request months ago, has just arrived today, and, though I’m filling it out and mailing it off anyway, I doubt it’s going to be counted. Unfortunately, too, I am not going to be here during the Senegalese elections – though I think that my lack of Senegalese citizenship is an even more serious barrier to my voting potential. Also unfortunately, the 2012 elections are looking to be at serious risk of unconstitutionality. President Abdoulaye Wade, currently 84 years old, announced last year that he plans to run for a third term in office. This is problematic not only because he’s super old, but because the constitution clearly stipulates that a president can serve two terms only.
To Wade’s credit, there is at least a shot at a loophole here. In 2001, a year after Wade’s first victory in the presidential elections, a new constitution was adopted which, among other things, set presidential terms at five years as opposed to the seven that they had been previously. In 2008 the constitution was amended to return the term to seven years, to go into effect after Wade’s 2007-2012 term. The question, then, is whether or not Wade can be counted as having served two full terms after this one is finished. Based on conversations I’ve had and newspaper articles I’ve read, the general opinion seems to be that he has, and thus should not run again.
Indeed, the overall impression of Wade seems to be quite negative. I have yet to have someone tell me in person that they approve of him. Just a few days ago, the top article on the website of Le Quotidien announced yet another petition for his immediate resignation. Frustratingly, my Wolof comprehension is now coming to be such that I can often tell what people are talking about without really being able to understand what they’re saying, which is especially irritating when I really want to know what they think about Senegalese politics – but, based mostly on facial expressions and tones of voice, my host family isn’t happy with much of anything that he does (though I can’t report this with one hundred percent certainty given that my host father looks mildly disapproving almost all of the time even towards utensils and other objects unlikely to have caused him offense). There have been protests and riots, particularly in here in Dakar, about the frequent power cuts, and, having now experienced firsthand what it’s like to try to be productive while also not collapsing under the weight of the sun-soaked air during a few of those, I can see why. Then again, my area of Mermoz experiences fewer cuts than many other neighborhoods in the city – because there’s a military base nearby which has priority status. Indeed, electricity seems to be a much bigger political issue than a possible breach of the constitution – though I’ve also heard grumbling about Wade’s possible dynastic tendencies. He’s recently named his son, Karim Wade, to about half of the ministerial positions in the government, and seems poised to try to maneuver him into the next presidential slot after Wade Sr. gets to the age of 112 or so and decides to resign.
Senegalese civic history, in general, represents an odd mix of democratic successes and failures. There has been no serious political violence since the country gained its independence from French colonial rule in 1960. There have also, however, been only three presidents in that fifty-year period. The powers of the president are alarmingly extensive, including, among other things, the power to appoint 65 members of the 100-member Senate. Political parties other than the one in power were first allowed in 1976, when the first president Léopold Sédar Senghor created a rubric of three pre-designated parties to which the Senegalese political spectrum would have to conform, though in 1981 reforms allowed a more standard multiparty system. The second president, Abdou Diouf, gained his first term via a constitutional amendment written by Senghor that mandated the succession of the prime minister (also appointed by the president) to the presidency. Wade’s victory against Diouf, twenty years later, was the first win for an opposition party, and the overwhelmingly energetic popular campaign for Wade as well as Diouf’s peaceful concession were hailed as indicators of a highly developed democratic culture emerging in Senegal, and the country remains one of the only ones in Africa to have completed a smooth democratic transition of power. Since then, however, Wade’s presidency has been dominated by reports of human rights abuses and fiscal corruption. His victory in the 2007 elections was condemned by opposition parties as fraudulent, and led to boycotting of subsequent elections and a near halt of political dialogue.
The problem, according to the political expert who came to talk to one of my classes, is lack of education. Currently, 80% of the Senegalese population has not attended school of any kind. Many of these people don’t understand the governmental system well enough to know when it’s being violated or how to change it. They are also highly influenced by marabouts, the leaders of the Muslim brotherhoods, and, because of their huge social influence, politicians regularly provide marabouts with benefits ranging from cars to houses to massive sums of money. Marabouts, particularly in the Mouride brotherhood, one of the two largest in Senegal, have the power to give unquestionable commandments to their followers, whether voters or the other politician with less cash. Joining the Mouride brotherhood comprises a symbolic suicide, making the disciple “comme cadavre entre les mains de celui qui le lave” – “like a corpse in the hands of the one who washes him.”
Another problem is poverty. Without an established culture of active citizenship and democracy, there is little to stand between people and the 10,000 francs cfa (about $20) that representatives of a candidate might offer in exchange for a vote. The quote I used for the title of this post – “mon fils, tu as l’armée et l’argent avec toi; organises les elections et tu les gagneras” – was attributed to Abdoulaye Wade.
“We have to make a choice,” another guest lecturer told us, “about what kind of country we want to be, whether democratic or dictatorial.” And, certainly, Senegal is not a dictatorship. There is a relatively free and extensive press; there are elections and parties interested in ensuring that the elections are fair. It’s also hard, though, to say that it is a real democracy, with so much corruption and, often, apathy – people identify more with their family, ethnic group, religion, or region than they do with the political state of Senegal. In today’s world, it would be hard for a country to be taken seriously if its leadership announced explicitly that it was not a democracy. Most countries in Africa are, ostensibly, democracies. But most people, I think, would agree that saying so isn’t enough to make it true. Then again, looking at politics in this country forces one to confront the fact that it isn’t all that easy to say what makes a democracy. I look at pictures of politicians resting their heads on the laps of marabouts and physically cringe. I was disgusted to learn that the massive house right outside the Suffolk campus equipped with several security guards – with whom I generally exchange salutations when I pass – belongs to a marabout with no paying job but clientelism. But when I look more coldly at the situation and try to separate its component parts, corruption from confrèrie, I have to ask: where is it written that a person may not express his or her political will by entrusting it to another? Sure, bribery is unacceptable. But is there by necessity something fundamentally anti-democratic about this total submission to another human being that seems to me at first glance to be obviously politically dangerous and, in fact, just plain disturbing? Does there always have to be a contradiction between being a disciple and being a citizen? I don’t know. My absentee voter instructions note in red ink that it is a violation of Michigan election law to attempt to influence an absent voter’s choice. So, am I not allowed to choose to let someone influence me if I think that person might be better qualified to decide? Does democracy mean that I can make my own decisions except when I want to decide to follow someone else’s guidance? The state of Michigan seems to think so, in stark contrast to mainstream thought here. Don’t get me wrong: if I’m militantly anything I may well be militantly individualist. This just might be another case where the lines are starting to look blurrier than I’d like the further I follow my mental tangents.
The situation, however, does look to be changing in Senegal. Whereas 80% of the population now has not received formal education, 95% of young people are now in school. I can see this generational shift even in my host family: my yaay couldn’t help me when I asked her how to spell a fairly basic word in French, whereas Aziz’ high school experience seems fairly similar to what one would see in the U.S., aside from the occasional “oh, we didn’t have class today – the teachers were on strike. I’m not really sure why.” Even Sokhna, when I asked her in between household chores what she wanted to be when she grew up, said she was thinking of becoming a doctor. By the time my generation comes into political power the electorate will be a different creature entirely. And views of education here are striking in their positivity. Not only adults but people of my own age are uniformly supportive of school. In my experience in the U.S., giving homework as an excuse to leave a social event is generally regarded as “lame.” Here, every time I’ve even fleetingly mentioned homework to my Senegalese peers the response has been something to the effect of “oh yes, homework always comes first,” with often an added statement that “it’s good to study.”
I don’t want to get too excited – people did, after all, in 2000. I don’t know if education will singlehandedly democratize Senegal. Certainly, poverty remains a huge problem and one that looks less likely to go away any time soon.
It’s absolutely true that the way people talk about the election in 2012 makes me very happy about my U.S. election today in 2010 – which is the closest I’m going to get to a shameless plug for people to go vote (though it this point it may rather be a shameless attempt to make those who didn’t feel remiss in their duties as citizens). My one little ballot may or may not be counted, but at least there are no armies, fiscal incentives, or religious leaders standing in the way of my opinion on millage renewal in Washtenaw County – only the speed of the post over the Atlantic.
