A Day In The Life Of An African Dictator - 'Execution Day' Hoorahs And Hoopla, The Jewel In The Crown

 Alphonse Makosso known in his central African country as 'The Leopard' had ruled undisputed for thirty years, time which had passed all too quickly, he mused as he prepared for the elections coming up next months.  Of course they posed no problems for the big man, since he had long since controlled all levers of power.  He had appointed himself Chief of Staff of the army and Chief Executive of the state, and ruled his impoverished nation with an iron hand. 

Dissenters were few and far between since all had either been hanged in the public square or had escaped to Togo with the help of a small revolutionary militia with good intent but few arms.  Elections were to satisfy Western donors and nothing more.  Makosso made sure to win by a significant but not overwhelming margin in order to demonstrate his popularity and to deflect criticism of cronyism and electoral fraud. 

Makosso lived in luxury above the city and overlooking one of Africa's largest and most beautiful lakes.  In the evenings he could hear the sounds of hippos, the cries of the African loon, and the splash of hunting crocodiles.  It was a palatial estate covering a thousand acres of cleared forest land, well-fortified with a moat and high-walled parapets.  When he infrequently travelled the 10km to his government offices, all traffic came to a standstill in the city for an hour before his passage, and the assembled crowd, each of whom was paid in rice and manioc to stand and cheer the President, danced and sang as his cavalcade went by. 

 

He was in town for today was the day of public execution, this time for ten traitorous insurrectionists to pay with their lives before a firing squad.  The President varied his executions to maintain the element of surprise and interest in the governed.  Today was firing squad, the month before beheadings, and before that hanging.  Many in the crowd said the men to be killed were lucky because their end was summary and brief.  

Others had been tortured by burying them, all but their heads which were doused with honey, in the hot sand at midday.  By mid-afternoon, stung and bitten, eaten alive by the thousands of insects that came out of the surrounding jungle for a feast, they were pulled out, beaten, and hung by their feet until they died a slow death. 

European donor nations knew quite well what was going on in the regime of The Leopard, but did nothing thanks to the billions of dollars worth of rare earths beneath the eastern jungle.  These elements were essential to the operation of cell phones and computers and were found in few other places other than the rich mines of the President's country.  So, not only were Western leaders quiet about the President's brutal, autocratic regime, they poured millions in foreign assistance into his coffers, all of which was transferred to his personal accounts in Switzerland - a small price to pay for the mineral wealth that only the President's country provided. 

Makosso welcomed the advisors and consultants that came with foreign aid.  They were a benign, idealistic, and ambitious lot who cared for the poor and marginalized but whose projects amounted to nothing since allocated funds were siphoned off before they got anywhere near a village.  As much as these line workers complained, their higher-ups did nothing, under orders by their home ministries to let things be. 

On Execution Day - always declared a public holiday by the President, all foreigners were given an all-day, all expenses paid pass to Shangri-la, the seaside resort built for exclusive tourism and foreign dignitaries.  It was as luxurious as the Presidential palace, complete with Olympic-size swimming pools, well-stocked bars, lobsters and Belon oysters flown in daily from France, the best South African wines, and beautiful mulatto girls available for guests' pleasure.  No foreigner refused the invitation, in part because of she sumptuous days ahead, but also for fear of reprisal and expulsion if they did not comply. 

 

So the executions were witnessed only by citizens and a few renegade undercover foreigners whose dispatches to their home countries were interdicted and they put in a remote jungle prison.  Again, the foreign diplomatic corps knew exactly what was happening, but kept their own counsel, treated Makosso with respect, and served out their terms quietly. 

Makosso of course was not alone in the autocratic rule of his mineral-rich fiefdom.  Every other African country with the raw materials necessary for the West's economic engines was no different.  Sweet deals were made, diplomats kept quiet, presidential Swiss accounts were filled to overflowing, and not one shovelful of dirt was ever turned in the public interest. 

The big man of a neighboring country admired Makosso's political panache, especially his flair for elaborate public executions.  Never since the days of Robespierre, the Terror, and the guillotine, had so many heads fallen in great, celebratory displays of patriotism and revolutionary spirit.  The big man did Makosso one better when he, with great dramatic flair, fired up onlookers with martial music, tribal dances, twenty-one gun salutes, fireworks, festoons, banners, and free toddy. 

With each drop of the hangman's rope, with each volley from the firing squad the crowd cheered and the band played. 'Death to all traitors to the Fatherland', they chanted.  'Blood for the people'.  The big man was a genius, a reincarnation not only of Robespierre but the high priests of Mesoamerica who orchestrated human sacrifice as the apotheosis of tribal and religious passion.  

A rivalry sprang up among the many nations under autocratic rule.  Every big man from Addis Ababa to Harare followed suit, and the blood-letting and raucous paganism became the byword for the continent. 

Diplomats and politicians in America, with one of the world's largest African diaspora were nonplussed and buggered by all this.  For years American progressives had pledged to return the black man to his rightful place atop the human pyramid, so endowed was he with tribal wisdom, environmental respect, and primal sensibilities.  Yet here was a whole continent not only under misrule but barbarism.  Over sixty years of independence had resulted in nothing but a further descent into poverty, social indifference, and ever-widening political corruption. 

Yet, the American economy would collapse without Angolan and Nigerian oil, Congolese Scandium, Rwandan Yttrium, and Burundian Lanthanum.  Geopolitically the Horn of Africa is key to international shipping, so a blind eye is turned to the endemic corruption and continuous civil disorder there. 

As much as American administrations look for an African success story, none are to be found.  From north to south, east to west, the continent is mired in underdevelopment, misrule, endemic corruption, tribalism, and blatant authoritarianism. 

The 'Execution Days' of President-for-Life Makosso and his neighboring big men are big, outrageous, bombastic, in-your-face expressions of the untouchability of African dictatorial regimes.  America talks the talk about the wisdom and nobility of the African, ignores the rot and putrefaction, takes the rare earths and oil, and shuts up.