Do Not Disturb: The Story of a Political Murder and an African Regime Gone Bad by Michela Wrong (2021)

‘Paul Kagame is without doubt the most ruthless politician operating in Africa today.’
(US Ambassador to Uganda, Johnnie Carson, quoted on page 321)

‘The entire country is a spying machine.’
(exiled Rwandan economist David Himbara, quoted on page 422)

This is a major, comprehensive and blistering attack on a contemporary African regime.

In a nutshell, the West and the international community for many years regarded the Tutsi-dominated Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) as heroes for invading Rwanda and bringing to a halt the 1994 genocide of Tutsis being carried out by the psychopathic Rwandan government dominated by advocates of the extremist Hutu Power ideology.

Not only that, but the RPF and its leading figure – tall, ascetic intellectual Paul Kagame – were also praised for going on to invade eastern Congo where they 1) sorted out the problem of the massive refugee camps holding over 2 million Rwandans refugees where the Hutu genocidalists were regrouping, and then 2) pressing this invasion on to the capital of Congo, Kinshasa, where they overthrew the rotten old dictator, Mobutu Sese Seko in 1997.

In the years that followed the West, the UN and the international community fell over themselves to lavish aid on Rwanda and fête its intense, driven president, Kagame, who presided over a peaceful multi-ethnic government and promoted his intention of turning Rwanda into a highly educated, high-tech economy, ‘the Singapore of Africa’.

For many years Financial Times and Reuters journalist Michela Wrong went along with this version of events and this highly favourable view of Kagame, ignoring the rumours and scattered reports which threw doubt on this image. Now she realises she was completely wrong. She has completely changed her tune.

This book is a comprehensive rubbishing of the historical record of Rwandan Patriotic Front (the political wing), the Rwandan Patriotic Army (the military wing) and President Kagame himself. It’s what Sun editor Kelvin Mackenzie used to call a monstering, an exhaustive, scathing demolition of all the RPF’s claims; an indictment of its behaviour before, during and after the genocide; and a terrifying depiction of a paranoid, controlling, vindictive and murderous regime, which is still in power, still holding its population in a climate of fear, and extending the threat of assassination to exiles and dissidents around the world. Here are the key points.

Wrong’s indictment

The 1990 RPF invasion of Rwanda was naive and destructive. Having contributed up to a quarter of the rebel army which brought Marxist leader Yoweri Museveni to power in neighbouring Uganda in 1985, long-term Tutsi emigrants from Rwanda and children of the refugees from anti-Tutsi pogroms conceived the idea of invading Rwanda and reclaiming their heritage.

This was a mistake. The Rwanda they wanted to return to, the ones their parents told them about, no longer existed. Instead, the invasion revived all the paranoid fears of the Hutu majority (Hutus make up 85%, Tutsis 14% of Rwanda’s population) that these violent invaders wanted to return Rwanda to the bad old days when a Tutsi monarchy and aristocracy lorded it over a subjugated Hutu peasantry. This paranoia was egged on by media outlets including Radio Télévision Libre des Milles Collines which was to play such a key role during the actual genocide (p.228).

The conventional view is that the Tutsi exiles just wanted to reclaim their heritage. The revisionist view is that the RPF invasion wasn’t about reclaiming anything, they wanted to seize absolute power, which is why the invasion marked the start of a four-year civil war, throwing the entire country into a state of crisis and edginess.

In other words, far from invading to stop the genocide in 1994, the RPF invasion in 1990 created the hysterical paranoid environment in which the genocide could take place.

The RPF made lots of mistakes from the start. First off was something which remains a mystery to this day, which is the unexplained death of their most charismatic leader, Fred Rwigyema. Wrong considers the two main versions of his death, plus the numerous minor variations, in great detail, but doesn’t come to a definite conclusion (pages 207 to 213). A few weeks later two other RPF leaders, Peter Bayingana and Chris Bunyenyezi, were dead.

These unexplained deaths paved the way for the rise of Paul Kagame. Kagame was out of the country at the time, undertaking, of all things, a training course at Fort Leavenworth in the USA, so he is generally exonerated of these unexplained deaths, but they were very convenient, as was his swift elevation to strategic leader on his hurried return to the rebels base.

Anyway, these deaths were indicative of the failure of the RPF’s initial incursion into Rwanda. Not only did they meet stiff resistance from the Rwandan army but were dismayed to discover how much the ordinary Hutu peasants feared and disliked them.

The conventional story is that Kagame was a military genius who led the battered remnants of the RPF into the remote Virunga mountains where they regrouped and studied guerrilla tactics. Wrong’s debunking version is that most of these decisions were taken by people lower in command and that Kagame’s main contribution, then as right through to the present day, was to instil a regime of fear.

Ugandan journalist Sheila Kawamara, a frequent visitor to Mulindi (RPF headquarters), registered the staff changes taking place. ‘We heard about a policy of extermination of all the officers who had supported Fred. When you were with them you could sense this climate of fear. Those who were more ruthless rose through the ranks at that stage.’ (p.229)

Wrong goes out of her way to quote contemporaries, former members of the RPF, eye witnesses, who one and all testify that Kagame was a controlling, spiteful, sadistic man who used terror to control all around him.

In the revisionist version the holed-up-in-the-mountains phase is transformed from a glamorous Che Guevara idyll into a death camp where hundreds of new recruits would be taken off and killed in the middle of the night for the slightest reasons, sometimes simply because they spoke French which the Anglophone Ugandan Tutsis suspected. Wrong dwells on the way the kafuni or common farmer’s hoe was the weapon of choice used to kill suspects and undesirables.

When the RPF did come down out of the mountains in 1991 and fought their way through north Rwanda to within 50k of the capital, Kigali, it was not only the official Rwandan army they fought but many of the Hutu peasants whose land they passed through. Upset to discover the peasants didn’t welcome them with open arms, the Tutsi RPF got used to massacring entire Hutu villages if it was convenient. The accounts of massacres are disputed but no-one disputes that Hutu peasants retreated before the advancing PDF forces. Eventually as many as 950,000 people were uprooted by the RPF invasion and turned into internal refugees, 15% of the population (p.230).

The RPF’s advance, the civil war as a whole, was suspended by the Arusha Accords of August 1993 which gave the RPF representation in a new national government.

Then Wrong makes her biggest accusation, which is that it was the Kagame-led RPF, and not Hutu Power extremists in his own government, who shot down the plane carrying Hutu president Juvénal Habyarimana. This was the trigger for the genocide which followed and which commended within minutes of news of the plane crash.

The shooting down of the plane carrying the Hutu president was the trigger for the start of the genocide so it’s always been a deeply contested event. It’s the ‘Who Shot JFK?’ of Central Africa. Amid hundreds of theories, three main ones:

  1. White men did it, either Belgians, French or Americans. But why?
  2. Conventional explanation: Hutu Power hardliners within the government did it because they feared Habyarimana was giving too much away by signing the Arusha Accords, and had the extermination plans ready to go.
  3. Revisionist explanation: the RPF did it because they knew the elections demanded by the Arusha Accords would consolidate Habyarimana’s government in power, whereas chaos and confusion would allow them to continue their military conquest and seize power.

As you’d expect, Wrong leans heavily towards theory 3, assembling a raft of evidence but, more to her style, numerous interviewees who all claimed the RPF and Kagame planned it. Western investigators charged the RPF with it throughout the 2000s, for example in 2006 a French judge accused Kagame and his allies of then shooting down. Then in 2011 a leading RPF exile, Theogene Rudasingwa, from 2000 to 2004 Chief of Staff to Kagame, posted a frank admission of the RPF’s guilt on Facebook (p.375). In 2012 another former RPF top gun, General Kayumba, went public with the accusation. In 2013 ex-RPF intelligence officer Jean-Marie Micombero joined the chorus (p.376). In 2014 the BBC broadcast a documentary, Rwanda’s Untold Story, which contained the accusation.

So, again, Wrong’s pressing of RPF guilt is not exactly new, and nowhere does Wrong find a smoking gun. Like the controversy around JFK it will rumble on forever.

There’s no doubt that Hutu Power ideologues had a fully worked-out plan for exterminating the country’s Tutsi population in its entirety, and were responsible for passing orders and instructions for mass murder down through the chain of command to the remotest parishes. But Wrong’s accusation is that:

  1. the RPF invasion created the unstable, feverish atmosphere in which many, maybe most of the Hutu population felt threatened by a Tutsi takeover
  2. and that the RPF was responsible for downing the plane and so triggering the genocide

The conventional view is that the plane shooting and the abrupt start of the genocide triggered the RPF to restart their paused invasion and that they swept through the country in order to stop the genocide. Wrong counters that the actual route of the RPF was calculated not on the basis of saving Tutsi lives but purely with a view to securing power (p.242). The notion that the RPF heroically intervened to stop the genocide is treated as a joke by one of the RPF’s own diplomats (p.350).

The conventional view is that the RPF established law and order wherever they went and protected what Hutus remained, like the conquering allied forces established law and order in 1945. The revisionist view is that on the contrary, wherever they went the RPF massacred Hutu communities but that these massacres went unrecorded or unreported in the context of the wider holocaust.

The conventional view is that the RPF begged for outside help. The revisionist view is that when the UN discussed reinforcing its small demoralised force in Kigali the RPF objected, repeatedly claiming that all the Tutsis were dead and the genocide over. This was because they knew a major UN intervention would end up preserving the existing Hutu regime, albeit with new leadership, whereas the RPF was set on securing complete military control. In other words, senior RPF figures were prepared to let the killing go on and tens of thousands more Tutsis to die, if it meant securing power (p.243).

The conventional view is that once the RPF had secured control of the entire country, Kagame then established an enlightened government of national unity in Kigali, ensuring key posts went to Hutus to ensure balance and trust. The revisionist view is this was the case for a very limited period, 12 months at most, into 1995, before these Hutu ministers started being sacked or forced to quit, in all instances replaced not just by Tutsis but by Tutsis loyal to Kagame personally (p.251).

The conventional view is that this enlightened RPF government then begged the international community and the UN to do something about the Hutu genocidalists who had taken refuge in the huge Hutu refugee camps just across the border in eastern Congo, repeatedly asked the West to intervene but, eventually, being goaded beyond endurance by Hutu militias crossing the border and carrying out little village massacres, reluctantly invaded into eastern Congo, killing the genocidalists and shepherding the 2 million or so Hutu refugees back into their own country.

The revisionist view is that the RPF planned to invade Congo all along.

The revisionist view is that, in the process, the RPF themselves carried out numerous massacres of Hutu civilians, men, women and children. In fact some scholars estimate the total number killed at 300,000, well on the way to matching the 800,000 killed in the genocide.

The conventional view is that the RPF wanted the Hutu refugees to return to Rwanda and to their abandoned properties, guaranteeing them safety if they did so. The revisionist view is that in the meantime tens of thousands of Tutsi exiles returned to the country and seized vacant Hutu properties, farms and houses, urban businesses, thus feeding into the Hutu narratives of conquest and grievance (pages 260, 270, 285).

The conventional view is that the genocide was a one-off event with a datable beginning and ending (7 April to 15 July 1994). The revisionist view is that the genocide was just a kind of wild upsurge in an environment where ethnic killing had been going on as far back as the overthrow of the Tutsi monarchy in 1959, with the most recent surge starting not in April 1994 but with the initial invasion of the RPF in October 1990.

‘The troubles between Hutus and Tutsis didn’t start in 1994. The genocide was part of a process which began much much earlier.’ (Robert Higiro, quoted on p.269)

And continuing long after. The conventional view is that the RPF brought peace. The revisionist view is that massacres within Rwanda, and then in Congo, continued on after the genocide.

Wrong details important evidence suggesting an RPF policy of systematic violence and intimidation which carried on after the genocide, but which was hushed up or downplayed at the time:

  • the Gersony Report (pages 269 to 271)
  • the Kibeho massacre (p.273)

The conventional view is that the RPF pursuit of genocidalists who fled west slowly, reluctantly changed a temporary incursion into eastern Congo into a campaign to carry on west as far as the capital, Kinshasa, and overthrow rotten old Mobutu, installing a nice new democratic regime, much to the applause of the west.

The revisionist view is that the RPF invasion of Congo 1) continued to be marked by RPF massacres, now not only of defenceless Hutus but often of Congo civilians too, 2) overthrowing Mobutu had always been the core aim of Kagame (and his ally, Uganda’s Museveni). Gérard Prunier calls it the first imperialist invasion by one African country of another, a sentiment echoed here by Polish journalist, Hrvoje Hranski:

‘They were colonisers, pure and simple, but we were sympathetic.’ (quoted page 301)

On this reading it was not just an incursion to stabilise a border region but a deliberate attempt to establish colonial control over an entire country, to take over Congo via Kagame and Museveni’s puppet ruler, Laurent-Désiré Kabila. Wrong quotes her hero Patrick Karegeya as saying:

‘We weren’t looking for a rebel leader. We just needed someone to make the whole operation look Congolese.’ (p.297)

The RPF atrocities inside Rwanda were difficult to document in the chaos of the genocide, but there were many more witnesses to their behaviour in Congo. In 2010 the UN brought out a 550-page report which ‘detailed 617 separate incidents in which Hutu refugees were bludgeoned, macheted, bayoneted, shot or burned to death’ (p.300).

By 1998 Mobutu was overthrown, Kabila was installed as puppet ruler of Congo, the Hutu refugee camps had been emptied, and the prolonged security crisis was over. In February Kagame was elected RPF chairman, to go alongside his posts of Minister for War and Vice President.

The RPF regime claimed that relations only deteriorated with Kabila when he began reaching out to remnants of the Hutu regime and the Interahamwe. The revisionist view is that relations deteriorated when Kabila began ruling for himself and kicked his Rwandan advisers out of Congo. It was then that Rwanda and Uganda began planning a second invasion and only then that Kabila reached out to the genocidalists as a desperate resort.

In April 2000 Kagame arrived at the acme of power, being elected president (p.319). The Rwanda-Uganda alliance completely collapsed and the two armies fought a vicious urban battle in Kisingani. Kabila made the mistake of abandoning his child warriors, even ordering them to shoot fallen comrades. Thus it was an aggrieved former child soldier, Rashidi Kasereka, who shot him at point blank range in the presidential palace. Later, Wrong claims that Patrick freely admitted that Rwandan intelligence were behind the assassination (p.323).

By the time the Ugandans and Rwandans fell out, many of the journalists who’d been sympathetic to the RFP had fallen out of love with them. What had started as an attempt to hunt down the genocidalists had turned into a naked grab of land and resources. Wrong gives a fascinating account of Rwanda and Uganda’s blatant looting of Congo’s resources and then moving to the ‘active extraction’ phase i.e. controlling the mines, the extraction and export of precious minerals (p.328).

It was a great revelation and shock to the regime’s western supporters when a UN report revealed that this systematic looting and theft was carried out by a Rwandan state body called the Congo Desk (p.329). And guess who was in charge of the Congo Desk? The Zelig of central Africa, Patrick Karegeya.

When it was set up the RPF devised a solemn oath of loyalty which all members had to sear. By the end of the Second Congo War, this had mutated into a mafia with its oath of Omertà i.e., you talk, you die (p.331).

After the war

Kagame has been able to string along and play the international community and western donors (chief amongst whom is the UK) for several reasons:

  • the conventional view is that Kagame is a visionary New African Leader, committed to democracy and developing Rwanda into a modern, high education, hi-tech nation, ‘the Singapore of Africa’
  • western guilt about not doing enough to prevent the genocide, particularly afflicted Bill Clinton and Tony Blair

Clinton later delivered fulsome apologies for America’s failure to act quickly enough or acknowledge the killings amounted to a genocide.

The revisionist view is that throughout the post-genocide period and right up to the present day, Kagame, far from being a western-style democrat and visionary, was establishing a terrifying surveillance dictatorship.

Precisely how he did that is revealed by the central thread of the book, the life, career and murder of Colonel Patrick Karegeya.

Patrick Karegeya as central theme

This summary gives the impression that the book is a logical or chronological account of the historical events but it isn’t, at least not to start with. The first hundred pages are something completely different.

Wrong opens her narrative, and thereafter uses as a repeated reference point, the murder of Patrick Karegeya, former head of external intelligence in the RPF regime and, at one time, a key member of Kagame’s close-knit RPF elite. The idea is that Karegeya was murdered because he had become a critic, and then an outspoken critic, of Kagame and, in 2010, helped set up an alternative Rwandan political party, the Rwanda National Congress (RNC).

Karegeya was murdered on New Year’s Eve 2013 in a room at the Michelangelo Hotel in the Johannesberg suburb of Sandton. But Wrong doesn’t just give an extended description and forensic analysis of the days and weeks leading up to the murder, then of the crime scene and the probable cause of events. Three things:

1. Wrong interviews everyone who ever knew Patrick Karegeya – his wife, his mother, his children, his friends from school days, his colleagues in the RPF, and those who joined him in exile and set up the RNC. And not once, but repeatedly.* Their eye witness accounts of Karegeya’s life and personality and career are quoted very liberally on every page. In fact we learn that Wrong met and got friendly with and interviewed Karegeya on numerous occasions from 1994 till his death. There’s so much about him that the first hundred pages or so of this book amount to almost a biography of the man, but also, there’s so many memories of him at home with his family, at bars laughing and chatting, so many of which are Wrong’s own memories, that at many points it feels like a personal tribute.

This would probably be my main criticism of the book. What with the tearful testimony of his loving wife, his adoring daughters, his admiring colleagues and the often gushing testimony of lots of other journalists who met and liked Karageya, quite regularly the book is in danger of turning into a hagiography. I was struck when she described a 5-page personal statement he wrote out for his daughter’s application for US citizenship as ‘precious’ (p.304). What, like the Turin Shroud or the Rosetta Stone? The tone of voice often verges on the gushing:

  • Someone with a bigger ego might have staged a sustained sulk. Not Patrick. (p.352)
  • And so, mulish, steadfast, defiant, Patrick served out his sentence [in prison] (p.361)

When Patrick is reduced to shaking rage by a journalist accusing the RPF of shooting down Habyarimana’s plane, his anger is explained away because he is under pressure to nobble the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (p.369). When a journalist jokily asked why Kagame won the 2003 election with ‘only’ 95% of the vote and Patrick threatens to have a journalist killed next time he visits Rwanda, this is excused as a joke (p.348)

But the man was a killer. He was head of RPF intelligence all through the 1990 invasion and civil war, through the genocide. He was paid to deceive journalists and the international community about the RPF’s own massacres and their ulterior motives in invading Congo, paid to lie to the world’s press about the failed attempt to capture Congo with Rwandan troops flown into the Kitona airport near Kinshasa (p.312). He continued to justify the regime even as he knew it was committing mass murder, charming and schmoozing foreign journalists while more and more RPF comrades were assassinated, fled the country or were thrown in prison.

He was ‘implicated up to the hilt’ (p.342). He was a highly paid part of the killing machine, and was rewarded with a big house, lots of cars, a jetsetting lifestyle, plasma TV when they were an unheard-of luxury, his kids sent to private school in South Africa or America, his wife forgiving him his multiple sexual partners (‘all part of the job’), liked for his high-living and charm by even the most sceptical journalists. So while we read another tearful tribute from his loving wife, my criticism of the book would be that Wrong lets Karegeya off very lightly and regularly risks sentimentalising him.

2. Anyway, amid the great sea of blood which was 1990s Rwanda, why such extravagant focus on just one man, when well over a million men, women and children died in terror or misery as a direct result of the actions of the government of which he was a key member and which he assiduously defended for so long?

Because Wrong uses her super-detailed profile of Karegeya as a tool, as a way into exploring the world of fear and paranoia which political exiles from the Kagame regime work under. And once this is established, Karegeya’s entire career becomes a scaffold or structure on which to hang a historical account of the RPF, going right back to its roots in the Rwandan Tutsi emigre or refugee communities in Uganda in the 1980s.

Rhus, in Wrong’s hands, Patrick emerges as a kind of Zelig figure, popping up at all the right places. He was the lynchpin middle-man between Kagame’s government and all manner of outsiders, whether journalists or NGOs or UN leaders, or heads of intelligence from neighbouring countries. He played a key role in the First Congo War, accompanying the clumsy tactless Kabila everywhere, acting as his press and PR supervisor, the central liaison between Kabila and Kagame, as well as liaising with all the governments in the coalition which had invaded Congo (p.301).

3. It dawned on me that ‘Patrick’, as he is referred to pretty quickly and then throughout, has another key advantage for a journalist like Wrong. People were prepared to talk about him. Half way through the book it dawned on me that Patrick’s story gives Wrong far more access to events than if she had chosen the more conventional route of writing a biography of Kagame. Kagame doesn’t talk, his friends and family don’t talk, lots of people interviewed, even the ones who worked closely with him, said they never really knew what was going on in his head. By contrast, Patrick was famously outgoing, chatty, had hundreds of friends and acquaintances, all of whom were happy to go on the record for this book. Their collective memories and anecdotes are far more free and effective at building up a kind of collage history of the RPF then any attempt at a biography at the notoriously tight-lipped Kagame could ever have been.

In other words, the more the book progresses, the more you realise what a clever strategic move it was to make Patrick the star and use him to shed light on the entire regime and Rwandan history from the 1980s right up to the present day.

After the Second Congo War drew to an ignominious close in 2002, Wrong’s narrative reverts, for the book’s last 100 pages, to the approach of the first hundred i.e. using a detailed look at Patrick’s career, his growing misgivings, how he was sidelined by Kagame, with extensive quotes from friends, family, colleagues, journalists and commentators, to shed light on Kagame’s growing paranoia and vindictiveness, and the slow enmeshment of the regime in more and more assassinations, scandals and accusations.

* Interviewees

In fact the book is jam packed with interviewees, its main feature, as a text, is the number of quotes on every page. Wrong must have put in what feels like thousands of hours of interviewing and annotating, then careful selection and ordering of hundreds and hundreds of quotes. At one point Wrong lists the types of people she interviewed for this book, which extends far beyond the friends and family of Patrick Karegeya. She lists: ‘serving and dissident members of the RPF, Rwandan and western journalists, diplomats, intelligence officers and military attachés’ (p.341).

Mossad assassination technique

Karegeya not only defected from the RPF but, in exile, set up the RCN. The implication of the whole book is that this kind of thing is not permitted by the tightly-controlled and vengeful Kagame regime, so he was targeted and assassinated using methods perfected by the Israeli security service, Mossad.

What is this Mossad assassination technique? Have your target approached by someone they know and trust, in this case a friend of the family. Make appointment for drinks and a chat in their hotel room. Let in two strangers, one of whom holds everyone up at gunpoint, while the other injects the target with a quick-acting tranquiliser. Then one assassin holds a pillow or towel over the target’s face, while the other strangles him with rope. The point of all this is it is completely silent, causing no fuss or attention. Then quietly leave the room, careful to leave a ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the door, check out of your own hotel, drive to the nearest airport, and be far away by the time anyone realises anything is wrong (p.29).

Do not disturb. The book is named after the sign the killers hung on Karebeya’s hotel door. But is also a wider indictment of the wish of western donors, the international community and Rwanda’s supporters, even up to the present day, not to rock the boat, not to reveal uncomfortable truths, not to ask difficult questions, not to disturb.

One among many state-sponsored murders

General Kayumba Nyamwasa

Wrong gives a similarly detailed account of the attempted assassination of former General Kayumba Nyamwasa. Nyamwasa had been Chief of Staff of the Rwandan Army as well as head of Rwandan intelligence from 1998 to 2002 i.e. during the Second Congo War. He became increasingly critical of Kagame’s authoritarianism until he fled into exile in South Africa. Wrong describes the bungled attempt to shoot him in his car on 19 June 2010. This attack crystallised the General’s decision to join with Karagey and others to found the opposition Rwanda National Congress in December 2010 (p.69).

Seth Sendashonga

Wrong devotes an entire chapter to the career of moderate Hutu Seth Sendashonga, recruited into the RPF government with lots of promises of reconciliation, then witnessing the Tutsis takeover of everything, the scales falling from his eyes with the notorious massacre of unarmed Hutus at the Kibeho refugee camp. Soon afterwards he quit the government, then left Rwanda, going into exile. Two years later he was shot dead by assassins (p.277).

No other nation in Central or East Africa has witnessed an exodus of former insiders to rival Rwanda’s and their flight speaks volumes for an entire political class’s understanding of the regime’s capacity for violence. (p.277)

Other examples

  • Rwandan diplomat Alphonse Mbayire was recalled to Kigali and a month later a soldier with a grudge shot him twenty times
  • David Kiwanuka’s body was found in a car trunk in Nairobi, shot in the head (p.280)
  • Assiel Kabera, President Bizimungu’s adviser, assassinated (p.318)

Wikipedia:

She gives more examples and details of Rwanda’s policy of overseas assassination (p.432). Many more  opponents simply fled, becoming exiles like Patrick. The general name for the several escape routes from the country was ‘taking the subway‘ (p.318).

Wrong has two long sections devoted to detailed description of two separate assassination conspiracies where the middlemen hired to cosy up to the targets in preparation for hits admitted to the targets what was going on. This resulted in the targets taping the numerous phone calls from the minders back in Kigali to their agents in the field. Wrong explains the setups, introduces the characters, and quotes from the incriminating tapes, which in both cases were handed over to the local police as well as key western embassies, the FBI and so on (pages 395 to 401).

These cases amount to powerful evidence that the Kagame regime operates extensive assassination projects and teams to eliminate dissident and ex-RPF officials.

Buyer’s remorse

This book, then, is a case of buyer’s remorse, or an example of a western liberal fan of a third world political party, government and its leader, slowly coming to realise she’s been had.

The enthusiastic support of the West, and especially Western journalists, for an underdog rebel militia with a noble cause fighting a brutal stronger power reminds me of the decade I spent watching BBC and ITV journalists on location with the mujahideen in the remote mountains of Afghanistan, singing the praises of these plucky Davids fighting the Soviet Goliath. Only after the Soviets left and the country collapsed into a ruinous civil war from whose ashes arose the Taliban did those western journalists reconsider their decade of enthusiastic support for Islamic extremists.

Wrong has form here because her book about Eritrea’s long war for independence describes how western journalists such as herself were entranced by the commitment of the rebel Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF), young zealots who built an entire town in mountain caves, had daily education and self-criticism sessions in the best Maoist fashion.

Wrong says these western journalists wrote glowing accounts and counted themselves as ‘true believers’ in the cause. But, as so often happens, when the ELF zealots finally won independence and came to power, the intensity of their commitment and the harsh judgement of anyone in any way questioning the Party morphed into the paranoid dictatorship of ELF leader, Isaias Afwerki. Afwerki has been president of Eritrea for thirty years, during which he has turned it into one of the most repressive one-party states in the world, and all those ‘true believers’ and western supporters from back in the 80s…not so vocal now…

The moral of the story? It’s easy to be persuaded that one side in a foreign war, particularly if they’re the cool rebel underdogs, is standing up for justice and freedom, young and inspiring in their commitment and readiness to make the ultimate sacrifice etc. Wrong herself describes this psychological tendency as ‘the storyteller’s need to identify Good Guys and Bad Guys’ (p.299), the tendency I’ve ascribed to the influence of Hollywood movies on American foreign policy, especially in Afghanistan and Iraq.

But wars are never simple. War is always brutal. All sides in a war are compromised. The Good Guys-Bad Guys dichotomy comes from the Second World War when the Nazis unambiguously were Very Bad Guys. But most wars since haven’t had the same moral clarity. In general there are no Good Guys, just less absolutely appalling guys. That kind of childish moral simplicity has to be left behind in order to engage with the horrible, cynical complexities of the real world. The moral of the story is – don’t take sides in foreign wars. Gaza-Israel.

Disillusion with the RPF regime is not new

Disillusion may be new to Wrong but not to many other commentators.

  • In 2008 the Economist questioned received opinion about Kagame.
  • In 2010 the UN brought out a 550-page report which ‘detailed 617 separate incidents in which Hutu refugees were bludgeoned, macheted, bayoneted, shot or burned to death’ by the RPF (p.300).
  • A 2011 article by Human Rights Watch lays out the case against Kagame.
  • A 2012 article in the Guardian observed that America was having second thoughts about supporting the Kagame regime and predicted that Britain would, too.

The HRW article gives the tone of the revisionist, critical point of view. The author is phoned by a journalist enquiring into the UK’s ongoing support of the RPF regime in Rwanda, ‘a fragile country ruled by fear’:

We began by talking about the 2010 elections, in which President Paul Kagame was re-elected with 93% of the vote after three opposition parties had been excluded from the race; one opposition leader had been imprisoned; another opposition party member and an independent journalist were murdered; and a prominent government opponent narrowly escaped assassination in exile.

(Wrong describes the sinister and farcical events surrounding the same election on pages 67 to 68).

In other words, Wrong’s book isn’t a drastically new and stunning revision. Specialist reports and general opinion (of the specialists who care about the subject) have been heading in this direction for 15 years or more. What Wrong’s book does is pull together all the evidence, rewrite the history in the most damning way possible and, above all, use hundreds and hundreds of quotes from eye witnesses, from interviewees who were in at the formation of the RPF, of its successes in Uganda, its 1990 invasion, its role during and after the genocide, candid interviews with people who’ve worked closely with Paul Kagame and the regime’s other leading figures – to build up into an extraordinarily powerful, thorough and blistering indictment.

In the last hundred pages the comparison Wrong keeps reaching for is Stalin, a megalomaniac who spent all his time scheming, playing subordinates off against each other, organising random arrests, holding show trials, issuing random periods of imprisonment to anyone he even suspected of holding independent opinions, then demanding complete obeisance, ritual humiliation (pages 343 (Beria) and 356).

By the end of the book the reader is left thinking that Paul Kagame is the devil in human form:

The ultimate class freak has created a state in his own image: introverted, suspicious, unaccountable and a prey to sudden violence. (p.418)

The last few chapters

The last few chapters address more recent events:

Chapter 18: Do not disturb

Explains in detail why ‘the West’, ‘the international community’ and foreign donors continue to support and donate generously to Rwanda, despite the mountain of evidence about its wicked ways. 1) Residual guilt, even after all these years, about letting the genocide happen. 2) Generalised guilt of Western governments that the terrible plight of Africa continues to stem from the European colonial era (p.383).

Above all 3) the Kagame regime has brought peace and stability to Rwanda, and its defenders, such as former DFID minister Andrew Mitchell, emphasise that this is the first requirement of any government and so how, in that part of the world, it is to be supported (compare and contrast South Sudan’s recent collapse into ruinous civil war).

On many of the metrics used by western governments and international institutions, the Kagame regime has been a remarkable success, notching up unprecedented economic growth lifting one million Rwandans out of poverty between 2008 and 2011, improvements in metrics in public health and education, support for gender issues (for example, in 2010 64% of Parliamentary MPs were women) and so on.

Diplomatically speaking, Kagame has successfully positioned himself as maybe Africa’s most high profile statesman. In 2014 Kigali hosted the African Development Bank’s annual general meeting. In 2016 the World Economic Forum chose it for an ‘African Davos’. The 2022 Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) was held in Kigali.

So the continued support of western donors is explained by the way they focus on these positive achievements. And so the World Bank has invested more than $4 billion in Rwanda since the genocide (p.430) and the British government has given the Rwandans £200 million without, so far, sending a single refugee there.

Chapter 19: Song of the stool pigeon

The chapter explaining the setups, introduces the characters, and quotes from the incriminating tape recordings made of senior figures in Rwandan intelligence recruiting then managing Rwandan emigres into assassinating outspoken critics in exile (pages 395 to 401). And the disappointing lack of response from western agencies and governments when presented with this evidence.

Chapter 20: The inquest

The long delay of the South African authorities in carrying out a proper investigation of or inquest on Patrick’s murder, the implication being they were leaned on by Rwanda. Progress only came when the case was taken up by campaigning lawyer Gerrie Nel of not-for-profit AfriForum leading to an inquest in 2019. Complex machinations amid which the South African state prosecutor justifies the decision not to prosecute those suspected of murdering Patrick because of the ties that exist between them and the Kigali regime (p.412). In August a verdict of death by strangulation i.e. murder, was returned.

The lost leader

The critics, obviously, say that all the achievements catalogued in chapter 18 (if they’re even true) could just as well have been achieved without the creation of a Stalin-level surveillance state and climate of fear based on arbitrary arrests, imprisonment and murder of political opponents.

You can see why so many of them still mourn the unexplained death of charismatic, caring Fred Rwigyema right back in 1990, the ‘lost leader’ that so many weave legends around. Wrong ends her book with a visit to her hero, Patrick’s, grave, but the very last paragraphs are a hymn to beautiful, innocent Fred, inexplicably dead before the civil war let alone the genocide took place, the lost leader so many dissident Rwandans mourn.

But that was 33 years ago, and we are where we are.

Thoughts

I know I should care about the minutiae of every one of the killings and assassinations, the tape recordings, precisely which RPF heavweight was implicated in which massacres or killings, but after a while it’s difficult to follow all the details. The overall impression is of a dazzling, long, immensely researched revelation of the RPF’s corruption and brutality.

But, when you put it like that, corruption and brutality, it sounds uncannily like most of the other African regimes I’ve been reading about for the last few years. Which African nation in the 60 years since independence has not had at least one murderous dictator, at least one civil war, elements of pogrom and massacre?

That’s a fairly trite thought but it leads onto a more interesting one which is how, stepping back, you can see how the uniqueness of the Rwandan genocide has dazzled many commentators and politicians into thinking Rwanda stands outside history, a special and unique case.

Wrong highlights (as does Prunier and other commentators) how lingering guilt about their inactivity during the genocide has led international bodies and western nations to give Kagame the benefit of the doubt despite the, by now, tsunami of evidence about the regime’s malfeasance.

Not unlike Israel, the Rwandan government has used the unspeakably horrific crime at the centre of its modern history to overawe commentators and silence critics (Wrong makes this point numerous times), to obscure the more everyday oppressions and dubious policies which are the stuff of most governments.

But considering the Rwandan genocide as a somehow one-off, unique, unparalleled and inexplicable mystery – as writers at the time like Fergal Keane and Philip Gourevitch did – removes it from history, erases the troubled history which led up to it; which, of course, explains it; and the continuum of  wars and further atrocities which has followed on from it. Focusing solely on the genocide in effect helps prop up a dictator and a terrifyingly repressive regime.

Overpopulation

A leitmotiv of the narrative is how packed, cramped and overpopulated Rwanda was and still is (pages 238, 293, 417). Wrong claims it was and is Africa’s most crowded country (p.239, 280). In an economy based on agriculture you either own enough land to make a living farming or you don’t. Every inch of fertile land is staked out and assigned so, in order to acquire more land you must dispossess someone else.

Decades of land shortage have reduced agriculture to a grim battle for survival. (p.417)

If you learn of an invasion by the enemy tribe that is driving people like you off the land, then your natural reaction will be to fear for yourself, your land, your family and, if ordered by the government and the local authorities, be prepared to kill in order to protect your own.

I wonder if, in a way, the overpopulation of Rwanda and the demented, pest-control killing of the genocide is an allegory of our species – or maybe a vision of its future, packed like rats into a limited space, driven by mounting crises into hysterical psychopathy, the mass murder of our neighbours, quickly, before they murder us.

Day after day I read in the liberal press hand-wringing articles about the apparently unstoppable rise of authoritarian regimes around the world (China, Russia, India, Brazil) and right-wing anti-immigrant parties across Europe (in Germany, Italy, France, Holland).

Liberal commentators are at a loss to explain these phenomena but I wonder if there’s a simple explanation. There are too many of us, us humans, and we are turning against ourselves like rats in dungeon.


Credit

Do Not Disturb: The Story of a Political Murder and an African Regime Gone Bad by Michela Wrong was published in March 2021 by Fourth Estate. References are to the 2022 4th Estate paperback edition.

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Designed in Cuba: Cold War Graphics @ the House of Illustration

Fidel Castro’s revolutionary 26th of July Movement and its allies defeated the military dictatorship of Cuban President Fulgencio Batista in January 1959. The new revolutionary government enacted a wide array of new domestic laws and policies, but Castro always saw the revolution in Cuba as just the beginning of the liberation of the oppressed masses in not just Latin America but war-torn Africa and around the world, wherever the poor and downtrodden were oppressed by colonial or neo-colonial masters.

OSPAAAL

And so the Organization of Solidarity with the People of Asia, Africa and Latin America (in Spanish the Organización de Solidaridad con los Pueblos de Asia, África y América Latina – abbreviated to OSPAAAL) was set up to fight globalisation, imperialism, neoliberalism and defend human rights, in Havana, in January 1966, after the Tricontinental Conference, a meeting of over 500 delegates and 200 observers from over 82 countries.

One of the first things the organisation did was establish a magazine to publicise its causes and titled Tricontinental. From 1966 into the 1990s more than fifty designers working in Havana produced hundreds of posters and editions of the magazine which expressed solidarity with the U.S.A.’s Black Panther Party, condemned apartheid in South Africa and the Vietnam War, and celebrated Latin America’s revolutionary icons, as well as criticising the ongoing existence of U.S. military bases in Guantanamo Bay, calling for the reunification of North and South Korea and many other radical causes.

The exhibition includes some 33 of the total of 50 or so artists and designers who worked for OSPAAAL, including leading lights such as Alfredo Rostgaard, Helena Serrano, Rafael Enríquez and Gladys Acosta Ávila.

Unlike artists in the Soviet bloc the OSPAAAL designers weren’t shackled by the deeply conservative doctrine of Socialist Realism, but were free to pick and choose from all the best streams of current art, including Pop Art and psychedelia. They also co-opted images and ideas from capitalist adverts into what they called ‘anti-ads’.

The plan was for the posters to be stapled into copies of Tricontinental, and so distributed around the world. Because the posters were intended to be internationalist they had to use strong primal languages or find inventive ways of conveying their message. If any writing was used it was generally in the three major languages of Spanish, English, French, and sometimes Arabic.

By the mid-1980s heavy trade embargos and sanctions imposed by American had created such shortages that it ultimately forced the organization out of production. By that time approximately 326 OSPAAAL posters had been produced.

Altogether it’s estimated that some nine million OPSAAAL posters were distributed around the developing world. At its peak the magazine had more than 100,000 subscribers, mostly students. At one time, it was common for posters from issues of Tricontinental to be put up on the walls of student community centres.

This exhibition brings together 170 works (100 posters and 70 magazines) produced by 33 OSPAAAL designers, created between 1965 and 1992, which are not only striking and dramatic art works in their own right but shed unexpected insights onto the long history of the Cold War.

The Mike Stanfield Collection

While originally distributed freely in editions of thousands, OSPAAAL posters and magazines are now rare and highly sought-after. The works in the exhibition are all drawn from a single UK private collection – The Mike Stanfield Collection, the largest collection of OSPAAAL material in the world, gathered by British collector Mike Stanfield over a 25-year period. Every work in the exhibition is drawn from his collection.

Posters

The poster designers used every trick in the toolbox of capitalist advertising plus a lot more they invented. The diversity and inventiveness of approaches is astonishing. Obviously the cause, the fundamental political aim of the posters, was deadly serious – but this didn’t stop them using scathing satire to make their points.

And above all they didn’t limit themselves to one aesthetic but seized an extraordinary freedom to experiment, with the result that you see everything from bold typography and photomontage to psychedelic colours and pop culture-inspired graphics, iconic modern imagery or ancient native objects pressed into service, silhouettes, psychedelic reverberating, cartoons and biting satire.

Cuba

The first edition of Tricontinental included an article by Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara and a folded poster by Alfredo Rostgard, thus inaugurating its two-pronged approach to radical propaganda: text for those who could read, stirring images for those who couldn’t.

Che Guevara (1969) © Alfredo G. Rostgaard, OSPAAAL. The Mike Stanfield Collection

It’s almost too obvious to point out but, in the Soviet bloc, the canon of revolutionary heroes from Marx through Lenin, Stalin on down, were all portrayed in real, or heroically socialist realist style. It takes a moment’s reflection to realise how utterly unlike that dull stifling tradition the OPSAAAL images are, freely taking from contemporary pop and op art and psychedelic art.

Africa

The designers were tasked with distilling complex anti-colonial conflicts down into simple but striking images, symbols which would require little or no explanation. This image of African women in traditional costume and carrying their babies in baby-carriers is made vivid and powerful by the addition of the semi-automatic rifles slung over their other shoulders.

The all-consuming nature of the struggle, the need to balance ordinary life with the struggle, the empowered role of women in the struggle, and the lack of facial features indicating that these are just two out of millions and millions anonymous fighters across the continent, are all brilliantly conveyed.

After Emory Douglas (1968) © Lízaro Abreu Padron, OSPAAAL. The Mike Stanfield Collection

Apartheid

Apartheid was a sore on the conscience of the world throughout the 1960s, 70s and 80s. Many of the OPSAAAL posters were simple images of oppression. This is unusual in being a more narrative image, with its four pictures showing the progressive, and inevitable, collapse of the repressive regime. Note the use of the four cardinal languages, Spanish, English, French and Arabic.

Day of Solidarity with the Struggle of the People of South Africa (1974) Olivio Martinez Viera, OSPAAAL. The Mike Stanfield Collection

Asia

The Vietnam War came to symbolise neo-imperialist Western super-violence against nationalist independence struggles and crystallised America’s reputation as the great enemy of freedom for many Third World countries.

This clever poster shows the word Saigon slowly morphing from being dominated by the Stars and Stripes to bearing the flag of the communist North, suggesting that the rebels would win in the end. As they did.

Saigon, International Week of Solidarity with Vietnam (1970) © Rene Mederos Pazos, OSPAAAL. The Mike Stanfield Collection

Anti-America

Cuba is just 90 miles from the American mainland.

From the moment Castro’s revolution succeeded, the Americans tried to overthrow it. In 1961 they launched the embarrassing Bay of Pigs invasion which ended in humiliation, but continued making intermittent attempts to assassinate Castro, as well as imposing crippling sanctions on its tiny neighbour.

In response Cuba helped to focus the world’s attention on America as the heartland of neo-colonial oppression. Some of the most powerful images in the exhibition distort and subvert imagery and symbols central to American culture, such as the Great Seal, the Bald Eagle, the Statue of Liberty or, as here, Uncle Sam himself, zapped by the power of the World Revolution.

World Solidarity with the Cuban Revolution (1980) © Victor Manuel Navarrete, OSPAAAL. The Mike Stanfield Collection

Using native cultural heritage

As a way into contemporary liberation struggles in Latin America, Asia or the Far East, some OPSAAAL designers had the idea of taking traditional indigenous artefacts and giving them a modern spin, mostly putting a machine gun in their hands. Some of these aboriginal peoples also represented the very first resisters to the colonial oppression which their distant descendants were now fighting against.

This approach tapped into nationalist feelings in the respective countries, and also made contemporary protesters feel, or realise, that they were in fact part of a long, long lineage of resistance and protest. The ten or so images which used old imagery like this were among my favourites.

Guatemala (1968) © Olivio Martinez Viera, OSPAAAL. The Mike Stanfield Collection

Magazine covers

To some extent the designers’ style was dictated by a shortage of materials, including good quality paper and printing ink, embargoed by the United States. This encouraged the designers to eschew subtlety in shade and contour and favour high-contrast photography and large areas of clearly defined colour. Tricontinental’s often starkly simple covers were printed in four colours by offset lithography.

Anti-America

Although little Cuba suffered badly from American sanctions, during the 60s and 70s there were many radical American supporters of the revolution. The San Francisco-based People’s Press published a North American edition if Tricontinental, and images created by Emory Douglas for the Black Panther Party newspaper were adapted for use by OPSAAAL.

There are posters here supporting the imprisoned black activist Angela Carter, as well as memorials for various black radicals shot or imprisoned in America. But in a way, it was the imaginative symbols of American oppression which make the most impact.

Tricontinental magazine 33

Anti-apartheid

Apartheid was in force in South Africa from 1948 to 1994. It was only the most extreme version of institutionalised white racism, which also included the segregation laws in America, so vehemently protested by the Civil Rights Movement.

For me the OPSAAAL posters and Tricontinental cover art are at their best when they embody a really strong design idea, as in this simple but scathing image, a piece of Pop Art collage used to withering effect.

Tricontinental 76

Thoughts

1. Taken together they make up a fascinating review of visual styles and approaches available to political poster makers in the late 60s and 70s. In many ways the magazine covers are even more inventive and biting than the posters. Lots and lots of them have a really strong visual and intellectual impact, like the image – blown up, here, into a wall-sized hanging – of an American astronaut reaching out to the moon while standing on the backs of two prone African Americans.

2. It’s a reminder of just how much conflict there was around in the world in the 1970s when I grew up, with military dictatorships running most of South America, with colonialist regimes and apartheid South Africa still repressing millions of Africans, while millions of others were caught up in brutal civil wars, and then topping everything the nightmare of Vietnam which was promptly followed by the living hell of the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia.

When you factor in that half of Europe was under Communist tyranny and there was an endless diet of scares about whether this or that incident might trigger World War Three, the world I grew up in seemed a much more violent and dangerous place than it does today.

3. This is embodied in the way there are so many guns in the posters. Almost all the native artefacts-updated ones simply put guns in the hands of tribal gods. In the last room in particular, almost every poster seemed to feature a man or woman or sometimes an inanimate object, holding a sub-machinegun. Stepping back from the rights and wrongs of the causes, the final room in particular gave me a claustrophobic sense of violence and fighting going on in every part of the world.

That’s maybe the main feeling the exhibition gave to me, but other visitors will find their own threads and meanings. Above all I defy you not to be thrilled by the sheer inventiveness and exuberance of so many of the works on display.

Installation view of Designed in Cuba at the House of Illustration. Photo by Paul Grover

And it’s worth pointing out that the curators of the exhibition flew to Cuba specially to interview the surviving OPSAAAL designers and that the exhibition includes the resulting video, in which leading designers such as Alfredo Rostgaard, Rafael Enríquez and Gladys Acosta Ávila explain at length their motivation and approach, the design ideas and technical constraints, which lay behind the Tricontinental phenomenon.

This is another brilliantly conceived and beautifully laid out exhibition from the House of Illustration.


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Urban Impulses: Latin American Photography 1959 to 2016 @ the Photographers’ Gallery

The history of Latin America has fascinated observers as much as it has mystified them. There is something apparently alien about the continent, an exoticism that derives perhaps from it having once been perceived as a ‘new world’, although there survive monuments and relics of ancient societies whose cultures remain poorly understood by us even today. This elusiveness – hinting simultaneously at a former state of grace and some original corruption – has rendered interpretation of Latin American history peculiarly vulnerable to speculation and myth-making.
(Edwin Williamson in the introduction to his Penguin History of Latin America, 1990 revised 2009)

Urban Impulses

This is an epic exhibition, if not quite in scale, then certainly in scope. Across four rooms and two floors, the Photographers’ Gallery is showcasing some 200 works by 73 photographers from all across Latin America.

They use a wide range of techniques and approaches to chronicle every aspect of the continent’s violent politics and conflicts, its transition from a predominantly rural to a mostly urban population, its music and fiestas and cultures and traditions, its signs and streetlife, its nightclubs and dancehalls.

Most of the photographers are represented by only one or two images and so as you move from photo to photo, you are presented with a blizzard of names and biographies, not to mention a bewildering variety of countries and decades, which I found it quite challenging to get a handle on.

Cuba in the 1950s was very different from Nicaragua in the 1980s, and different again from Mexico now.

(N.B. In this review the texts in italics are copied from the thorough and very useful free handout which accompanies the exhibition.)

Calle Alameda, Santiago, 1983 by Álvaro Hoppe © Álvaro Hoppe. Courtesy of the artist

The history of Chilean photography over the past thirty years is above all that of a rupture, or a ‘tectonic shift’ caused by the military coup of 1973. Until that time, democracy had allowed the history of the medium to evolve without major disruption, but what happened in September 1973 created a generation of photographers committed to documenting the urban tragedy that subsequently emerged on the streets of Santiago during the 1970s and 80s.

As I wandered among this cornucopia of images and histories and countries and events, it struck me that there are many ways to group and arrange it – by subject matter, grouping together themes such as politics, street activism, street scenes, commercialisation, religion and, of course, every curators’ favourite topics, gender and identity.

Or you could divide them up by technique – grouping together black-and-white photos (most of them are, in fact, in black and white), colour photos, montages, collages, photojournalism, photocopies, and art works made of photos chopped up and attached to canvases. The curators back up the visitor’s sense of an impressive diversity of medium and approach:

Here a hybrid iconography emerges where photography exists in tandem with other media of mass circulation such as graphics, photo-copying and print media, often involving the marking, cutting and defacement of images where the notion of appearance and disappearance exist in tandem.

Take this striking artwork which features a collage of commercial adverts cut with urgent news photos, and then treated and painted over.

Equis (1985) by Herbert Rodríguez © Herbert Rodríguez. Courtesy of the artist

Rodriguez denounces the injustices suffered by the populations of the Andean and Amazonian regions, dominated by a process of gradual urbanisation, and, more generally, the exploitation of one part of Peruvian society by another. The approach is experimental, the materials – often salvaged from public spaces – are banal, and the collage technique allows them to be gathered together and reordered in different ways.

Another approach would be to zero in on a handful of the most famous photographers who won international reputations during the period and seek them out first – such greats as Alberto Korda from Cuba who created the iconic images of Che Guevara, or Graciela Iturbide (b.1942) from Mexico, or Sergio Larrain from Chile.

Again you could group the photographers by country because many of the photos are political, in the broadest sense, and require a knowledge of the political history of the country in question, for example the military dictatorships in Chile or Argentina.

In fact I realised I needed to stop and remind myself just what countries actually make up ‘Latin America’. Upon looking into it I discovered there’s a surprising amount of ambiguity about defining and framing the geography.

The term ‘Latin America’ can be taken to refer solely to ‘South America’, or to also include the many nations of Central America and the Caribbean. (Cuba always gets included, despite not being in South or Central America.)

Nations of South America by population

  1. Brazil
  2. Colombia
  3. Argentina
  4. Peru
  5. Venezuela
  6. Chile
  7. Ecuador
  8. Bolivia
  9. Paraguay
  10. Uruguay
  11. Guyana

We know these nations all have one big thing in common which is that they were colonised by Spain or Portugal in the 16th century, and administered for centuries as key parts of their empires. So they speak the ‘Latin’ languages of Spanish and Portuguese, and hence the umbrella term ‘Latin’ America – as opposed to ‘Anglo’ America, settled by English speakers in the later 17th and 18th centuries.

Flying low, Mexico City, 1989 by Pablo Ortiz Monasterio © Pablo Ortiz Monasterio. Courtesy of the artist

Mexico is a post-apocalyptic city. It has refused to accept the many declarations of its death. it survived the devastating earthquake of 1985, and has withstood overpopulation and pollution beyond the assumed threshold of human tolerance. The country has attempted to enter the twenty-first century without yet having solved the problems of the sixteenth. – Mexican poet, essayist, novelist and short story writer José Emilio Pacheco Berny

To my surprise there’s debate about whether Mexico should be included in Central America, with lots of people, including many Mexicans, considering themselves part of North America. Incorrectly, I have included Mexico in this list of Central American nations.

Nations of Central America by population

  1. (Mexico)
  2. Guatemala
  3. Honduras
  4. El Salvador
  5. Nicaragua
  6. Costa Rica
  7. Panama
  8. Belize

Maybe the curators should have included a map, a big map, to help remind us of the precise location of all these places. (But then I’m biased. I love maps.)

Most of these nations gained their independence in stormy conflicts against the colonial powers in the early 19th century only to find themselves saddled with legacies of huge inequality and grinding rural poverty.

It was the enduring legacy of these inequalities which led to the revolutions, counter-revolutions, and military coups of the twentieth century. I well remember the era of military dictatorships in Argentina (1976 to 1983), Brazil (1964 to 1985), Chile (1973 to 1990), and Paraguay (1954 t o1989). Back in the 1970s we associated Latin America (and Greece and Spain and Portugal) with semi-fascist military dictatorships such as the notorious rule of General Pinochet of Chile. In one sense, then, many of these images from the 1970s felt nostalgic to me.

Pinochet, 1987 by Fernando Bedoya © Fernando Bedoya. Courtesy of the artist

Fernano Bedoya is a key figure in the artistic activism of Peru and Argentina, involved notably in the latter country in the Madres de Plaza de Mayo, a group formed by mothers of young men who went missing during the military dictatorship. An irreverent artist, he plays with mass production – photography, screen printing, photocopying – and employs a hybrid iconography strongly influenced by pop culture. Committed to the democratisation of art, he has worked with several artists’ collective on participative projects with a distinctly political focus.

The nations of Latin America all have ethnically diverse societies, beginning with the fact that the native peoples of most of the colonised countries lived on, working as serfs or slaves for their European overlords, sometimes interbreeding with them, a racial mix which was then added to by large-scale importation of African slaves from the 16th to the 19th centuries, and then by migration from other, non-Iberian European countries – mostly in the 19th century.

This much most of them have in common. But each of the countries has its own geography and history and ethnic mix and traditions, which are hard to capture in such a variegated display. That’s the problem talking about this ‘region’, it’s so big and encompasses such a confusing diversity of peoples and places that it’s too easy to fall back on casual stereotypes – machismo, military dictatorships, Che Guevara guerillas, remote villages up the Amazon, the destruction of the rainforest, oh and a collection of cheesy dances that your grandparents used to like – the foxtrot, the tango, the cha-cha-cha.

In fact three or four of the photographers here are represented by pics they’ve taken of more or less the same scene, namely unglamorous, middle-aged couples from back in the day, dancing in (presumably hot and sweaty) dance halls. It’s a recurring topic.

Untitled, from the series Tango (1988) by Paz Errázuriz © Paz Errázuriz. Courtesy of the artist

‘The tango image of Paz Errázuriz, without words, music or movement, frozen at one of those key moments when the dance danced by the dancers comes into its own, affirming the authenticity of the representation of a representation.’ – Chilean poet, playwright, and novelist Enrique Lihn

In fact all this pondering and wondering how to make sense of the profusion of countries and images and artists which I spent some time trying to group or arrange, has already been partly done by the curators themselves. They have divided the exhibition up into just two big parts (one on each of the two floors across which the show is presented), and titled them Shouts and Pop-ular.

1. Shouts

To quote the curators:

Shouts considers photography’s role not only in documenting identities and presences, but also to explore absences: in the face of kidnappings and forced disappearances carried out by authoritarian regimes, photography has been a weapon against silence. Public spaces and the city walls have also played an important role: when pen and paper, laws and rights, courts and judges have failed to obtain justice, the walls of the cities have taken on a life of their own. And photographers have portrayed these walls, covered with the slogans and cries of protest of those demanding political, social, and economic recognition, and reflecting the anger and cynicism, the hopes and frustrations of the cities’ residents.

Thus a raft of images depicting street protests, street fighting, street riots, protesters fighting cops. This is one of the rare colour photos in the show.

The Battle of the Plaza de Mayo, Buenos Aires, 20 December 2001 by Eduardo Longoni © Eduardo Longoni. Courtesy of the artist

Longoni documented in colour the disturbances that took place in 2001 in response to the economic crisis and the measures taken by the government of Fernando de la Rúa, which limited cash withdrawals from the banks to 250 pesos a week. The Argentinians, with humour and irony, soon found a name for the policy: the corralito (the diminutive form of the Spanish word for ‘corraling’, which also designates, in popular Argentine Spanish, a tollders’ playground.) On 19 December 2001 a state of emergency was announced. On 20 december, early in the evening, President Fernando de la Rúa resigned. The suppression of the disturbances had taken a toll of thirty-eight deaths all over the country, including seven in Buenos Aires.

2. Pop-ular

To quote the curators:

In Pop-ular, artists’ mine the tropes of mass media and their manifestation in public spaces. Since the 1960s, as Latin America has undergone rapid development, advertising images have diversified and multiplied, marked by the rapid transition to a consumer society. The first widespread use of colour photography was in advertising, and the richness of pop culture imagery, often associated with commerce and advertising, marks the visual identity of the Latin American metropolis. Signs, patterns and typographies, often created by self-taught hands, confer on the display windows an almost innocent beauty.

Thus there are quite a few photos depicting the most obvious aspect of a consumer society, shop windows, featuring shop window mannequins, or surreal subversions of them like the shapely, naked, young woman posing amid mannequins by Jorge Vall.

This all feels very retro since, as we know, the era of physical shops is on the decline.

Leticia and Stanislas Poniatowski

This is the place to point out that the selection hasn’t been made from all the photographs taken by all 73 of these photographers from their entire careers. That would be an epic, maybe impossible, task.

No, this selection has been made from the large, but finite, collection of Leticia and Stanislas Poniatowski, who collected original prints throughout the period in question. 

Maybe this explains why, when I tried to link to some of these images, I couldn’t find any of them on the internet. Maybe they are very tightly controlled – although I did find plenty of other images by many of these photographers. As usual an exhibition like this makes a good starting point to go off on explorations of your own. But the fact that this is a selection from a selection explains some things.

Fifteenth Birthday Party in Ciudad Neza, Mexico City, Mixtecos Norte/Sur series (1989) by Eniac Martínez © Eniac Martínez. Courtesy of the artist

Produced for the Instituto Nacional Indigenista, the series Mixtecos Norte/Sur consists of photographs taken in Oaxaca and along the US-Mexico border. ‘It is the story of Mixtec indigenous people who leave their increasingly unproductive lands in the state of Oaxaca to enter the industrialised world of the United States.’ A girl’s fifteenth birthday party is a cultural milestone, not only in Mexico but all over Latin America. It involves a highly codified celebration, often accompanied by a religious ceremony, at which friends and relatives are given a lavish demonstration of the host’s generosity.

Alongside the street scenes and riots and cops and sex workers there was also a stream of images various different photographers had taken of the eerie beauty of details of Latino urban architecture – the pattern of cobbles in the street, or stripped posters on peeling walls.

Several photographers had captured the distinctive patters of tiles or brickwork to be found in local buildings, some of which harked back, maybe, to ancient Mayan or pre-Colombian sensibilities. For example, the attractive suite of photos by Pablo López Luz entitled Neo Inca.

Neo Inca LVIII, Pisac, Perú, 2016 by Pablo López Luz © Pablo López Luz. Courtesy of the artist

In the localities near Andean tourist destinations, Pablo López Luz photographs the doorways and facades of buildings and houses, adorned with the stucco relief work of Inca walls. The visual repertory drawn up in this way reflects the local taste for Inca motifs and shows how these have been grafted onto the urban context and brought up to date.

The photographers

So who exactly are the 73 photographers represented here? I’m glad you asked:

  • Carlos Aguirre (b.1948, Mexico)
  • Luiz Alphonsus (b.1948, Brazil)
  • Édgar Álvarez (b.1947, Colombia)
  • Yolanda Andrade (b.1950, Mexico)
  • Jaime Ardila (b.1942, Colombia)
  • Ever Astudillo (1948 to 192015, Colombia)
  • Álvaro Barrios (b. 1945, Colombia)
  • Juan Enrique Bedoya (b.1966, Peru)
  • Fernando Bedoya (1952, Peru)
  • Enrique Bostelmann (1939 to 2003, Mexico)
  • Bill Caro (b.1949, Peru)
  • Anselmo Carrera (1950 to 2016, Peru)
  • Jesús Reyes Cordero (b.1956, Mexico)
  • Armando Cristeto (b.1957, Mexico)
  • François Dolmetsch (b.1940, UK/Colombia)
  • Felipe Ehrenberg (1943 to 2017, Mexico)
  • Virginia Errázuriz (b.1941, Chile)
  • Paz Errázuriz (b.1944, Chile)
  • María Elvira Escallón (b.1954, Colombia)
  • José Alberto Figueroa (b.1946, Cuba)
  • Fernell Franco (1942 to 2006, Colombia)
  • RenéFreire (b.1952, Mexico)
  • Carlos Gallardo (b.1954, Chile)
  • Héctor García (1923 to 2012, Mexico)
  • Paolo Gasparini (b.1934, Venezuela)
  • Lourdes Grobet (b.1940, Mexico)
  • Billy Hare (b.1946, Peru)
  • Alejandro Hoppe (b.1961, Chile)
  • Alvaro Hoppe (b.1956, Chile)
  • Helen Hughes (b.1948, USA/Chile)
  • Graciela Iturbide (b.1942, Mexico)
  • Beatriz Jaramillo (b.1955, Colombia)
  • Mario García Joya (nee Mayito, b.1938, Cuba)
  • Alberto Korda (1928 to 2001, Cuba)
  • Sergio Larrain (1931 to 2012, Chile)
  • Adriana Lestido (b.1955, Argentina)
  • Diego Levy (b.1973, Argentina)
  • Eduardo Longoni (b.1959, Argentina)
  • Marcos López (b.1958, Argentina)
  • Héctor López (b.1955, Chile)
  • Pablo López Luz (b.1979, Mexico)
  • Ayrton de Magalhães (1954 to 2017, Brazil)
  • Eniac Martínez (b.1959, Mexico)
  • Agustín Martínez Castro (1950 to 1992, Mexico)
  • Sebastián Mejía (b.1982, Colombia)
  • Ernesto Molina (b.1952, Mexico)
  • Luis Molina-Pantin (b.1969, Venezuela)
  • Pablo Ortiz Monasterio (b.1952, Mexico)
  • Mario Cravo Neto (1947 to 2009, Brazil)
  • Viki Ospina (b.1948, Colombia)
  • Adolfo Patiño (1954 to 2005, Mexico)
  • Claudio Pérez (b.1957, Chile)
  • Ataúlfo Pérez Aznar (b.1955, Argentina)
  • Jaime Razuri (b.1956, Peru)
  • Santiago Rebolledo (b.1951, Colombia)
  • Miguel Rio Branco (b.1946, Brazil)
  • Herbert Rodríguez (b.1959, Peru)
  • Miguel Ángel Rojas (b.1946, Colombia)
  • Jesús Ruiz Durand (b.1940, Peru)
  • Osvaldo Salerno (b.1952, Paraguay)
  • Francisco Smythe (1952 to 1998, Chile)
  • Carlos Somonte (b.1956, Mexico)
  • Milagros de la Torre (b.1965, Peru)
  • Nicolás Torres (b.1957, Peru)
  • Juan Travnik (b.1950, Argentina)
  • Sergio Trujillo (b.1947, Colombia)
  • Jorge Vall (b.1949, Venezuela)
  • Pedro Valtierra (b.1955, Mexico)
  • JoséLuis Venegas (b.1944, Mexico)
  • Leonora Vicuña (b.1952, Chile)
  • Jaime Villaseca (b.1949, Chile)
  • Enrique Zamudio (b.1955, Chile)
  • Helen Zout (b.1957, Argentina)
  • Facundo de Zuviría (b.1954, Argentina)

And where would any exhibition of modern photography be without images of transvestites and transgender sex workers?

From 10 to 11 p.m., Mexico City (1985) by Agustín Martínez Castro © Agustín Martínez Castro Estate. Courtesy of the artist’s estate

In the photographs of Agustín Martínez Castro, the city is embodied in the anonymous inhabitants of its nights. The photographer is one o the most sensitive and profound chroniclers of the world of transvestism. Far removed from all sense of visual pathos, Martínez Castro offers an dmirable photo essay on private life, understood as a realm of intimacy, which is celebrated here, and on the stripping away of that intimacy, which is denounced. – Art historian, curator, and editor Roberto Tejada

Summary

If I’m honest, I didn’t like many of the photos in this exhibition. There are lots of them, and I suppose there’s lots of variety, but somehow I found the sheer number, and the hopping from one country to another, and from one decade to another, diluted and lessened their impact.

Hardly any of them have the standout lyricism and compositional genius of the thirteen prints by Manuel Álvarez Bravo which are currently on display down in the basement of the same building. Each one of those took my breath away.

And after reading and rereading the handout which includes almost every photo in the show, I realised that I was bored. There’s certainly an impressive range of technical diversity – many collages and montages and artistic treatments of photographic images, incorporating them into multi-media artworks. And ten or fifteen of the images did really stand out.

But almost all of these photos are images taken on the street. They almost all have a scrappy, hand-held quality. There isn’t a single one composed in a studio, and not a single one of a landscape, to give two types of photo which are completely absent. It’s shabby, urban sprawl everywhere you look.

Rough street people in rundown looking slums and dodgy neighbourhoods. Scary street punks, one or two convicts in prison. And plenty of scenes of cops and soldiers policing the street, and riots, and people getting beaten up. Grim-faced soldiers. Grim-faced dictators. Grim-faced revolutionaries. Grim-faced prostitutes. Grim-faced hoodlums, tearful mothers protesting against the disappearance of their sons, photomontages commemorating people killed in riots, tattooed gang members.

Untitled (Aquileo Valtierra González), Prisoners series, Mexico (1997) by Carlos Somonte © Carlos Somonte. Courtesy of the artist

Again I was reminded that the whole exhibition is taken from the private collection of Leticia and Stanislas Poniatowski. In other words – far from being a representative survey of all Latin American photography, this is a selection from a selection. A personal selection. A personal view of the politics and history of this continent and this era.

After a while it dawned on me that what was oppressing me was there was no joy or happiness in any of the photos. Surely someone, somewhere, in all these 20 or so countries, in the long period between 1959 and 2016, surely someone, somewhere, smiled. Maybe even laughed. Looked at the blue sky, the river, the trees and the exotic flowers in the botanical garden, and was happy? Is Copacabana beach not in Latin America? And hundreds of sun-kissed Caribbean beaches? Have there been no tourists in Latin America, no beaches and parties?

Not in these photos. Not in this exhibition. Glum and grim and earnest and embattled everywhere you look.

Curators

The exhibition is curated by María Wills and Alexis Fabry.

Demographics

The exhibition is divided between two rooms on floor 3 of the Photographers’ Gallery, and two rooms on the floor below. I visited about noon on a Wednesday. On one floor there were four teenage girl visitors. On the floor below there was just one middle-aged woman. That was it.

Shame. This exhibition deserves more visitors than that.


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The Seventies Unplugged by Gerard DeGroot (2010)

This is a popular history of an unpopular decade. It doesn’t attempt to be a comprehensive overview but instead looks at the years from 1970 to 1979 through 50 representative stories, told in short sections – hence the sub-title ‘A kaleidoscopic look at a violent decade‘.

It’s a light, easy read, like a sequence of interesting magazine articles. DeGroot has an appealingly open, lucid style. He tells his stories quickly and effectively and doesn’t hold back on frequently pungent comments.

The three opening stories each in their way epitomise the end of the utopian dreams of pop culture of the 1960s:

  • the Charlie Manson killings (overnight hippies became scary)
  • the death of Jimi Hendrix (after four short years of amazing success and innovation, Hendrix admitted to feeling played out, with nowhere new to take his music)
  • the marriage of Mick Jagger to Bianca Pérez-Mora Macias (the street-fighting man turns into a leading member of the jet set, hobnobbing with Princess Margaret in Antibes etc)

These eye-catching and rather tired items are obviously aimed at a baby boomer, pop and rock audience and I wondered whether it would all be at this level…

70s terrorism

But it gets more meaty as soon as DeGroot begins an analysis of what he considers the 1970s’ distinguishing feature: political violence. In almost every industrialised country small groups of Marxists, visionaries or misfits coalesced around the idea that the ‘system’ was in crisis, and all it needed was a nudge, just one or two violent events, to push it over into complete collapse and to provoke the Glorious Revolution. They included:

  • The Angry Brigade (UK) – bombed the fashionable boutique BIBA on May Day 1971 and went on to carry out 25 bombings between 1970 and 1972.
  • The Weather Underground (US) 1969-77, carry out various violent attacks, while living on the run.
  • The Baader-Meinhof Gang / Red Army Faction carried out a series of violent bombings, shootings and assassinations across Germany, peaking in its May Offensive of 1972.
  • ETA – between 1973 and 1982 responsible for 371 deaths, 542 injuries, 50 kidnappings and hundreds of other explosions in their quest for independence for Spain’s Basque country.
  • The dire events of Bloody Sunday when British paratroopers shot dead 13 unarmed protesters, a decisive recruiting sergeant for the IRA, which embarked on a 20-year campaign of bombings and shootings, euphemistically referred to as The Troubles leavnig some 3,500 dead and nearly 50,000 injured.
  • Palestinian terrorists (the Black September Organisation) kidnapped then murdered 11 Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics in September 1972.
  • The May 1978 murder of former Italian Prime Minister, Aldo Moro, by the Red Brigades. During the 1970s Italy suffered over 8,000 terrorist incidents, kidnappings, bombings and shootings.

These Marxist groups:

  • concluded that, after the failure of the student movements and the May 1968 events in France, non-violent revolution was doomed to failure; therefore, only violence could overthrow the system
  • modelled themselves on Third World liberation movements, on Mao’s peasant philosophy or Che Guevara’s jungle notes – neither remotely relevant to advanced industrialised nations
  • were disgusted with the shallowness of Western consumerist society, they thought violent spectacles would ‘awaken’ a proletariat drugged with fashion and pop music, awaken them to the true reality of their servitude and exploitation and prompt the Revolution:
    • partly because it would make the people realise the system is not all-encompassing, does not have all the answers, is not monolithic, is in fact very vulnerable
    • partly because violent acts would goad the authorities to violent counter-measures which would radicalise the population, forcing them to choose – Reaction or Revolution
  • also thought that violent action would purify its protagonists, liberating them from their petit bourgeois hang-ups, transforming them into ‘new men and women’ ie lots of the terrorists were seeking escape from very personal problems

BUT, as DeGroot so cogently puts it – after detailed analyses of these movements – they all discovered the same bitter truth: that political violence only works in the context of a general social revolt (p.29). Terrorist violence can catalyse and focus a broad movement of unrest, but it cannot bring that movement into being. A few bombings are no replacement for the hard work of creating large-scale political movements.

The terrorists thought a few bombs and assassinations would provide the vital catalyst needed to ‘smash the system’, the dashing example of a few leather-jacketed desperadoes with machine guns would be all that the deluded proletariat required to wake them from their consumerist slumber, rise up and throw off their chains.

But the great mass of the people didn’t share the terrorists’ millenarian delusions and so these gangs ended up simply creating fear, killing and maiming people, in Ireland, Italy, Germany and Spain, for no gain at all.

  • The terrorists were not personally transformed; more often than not they felt guilt – it is quite moving to read the clips from the interviews and memoirs of surviving gang members which DeGroot liberally quotes – some obstinate millenarians to the end, but quite a few overcome with regret and remorse for their actions.
  • The proletariat did NOT suddenly wake from their slumber and realise the police state was its oppressor, quite the reverse: the people turned to the police state to protect them from what seemed (and often was) arbitrary and pointless acts of violence.
  • Worst of all, the gangs found themselves trapped on a treadmill of violence, for a terrorist organisation cannot go ‘soft’ or it loses its raison d’etre: ‘an organisation defined by terror needs to kill in order to keep mediocrity at bay.’ (p.155) Often they kept on killing long after realising it was pointless.

It’s 40 years later and none of the terrorist groups listed above achieved their goals. The opposite. They wanted to provoke a reaction from the Right and they did. Along with the broader political and cultural movements of the Left, they did provoke a profound counter-response from the Right, epitomised (in the Anglo-Saxon countries) by the elections of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher, leading to and/or reflecting a profound and permanent shift to the right in all the economically advanced countries.


State terror

All that said, terrorist violence was dwarfed by state violence during the period.

  • I had never read an account of the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971: ie West Pakistan sending its army into East Pakistan/Bangladesh with the explicit purpose of slaughtering as many civilians as it could. It beggars belief that the head of the Pakistan Army said, If we kill three million the rest will do whatever we want. In the event, well over a million Bangladeshis were murdered. 10 million fled to India, before Mrs Gandhi was forced to intervene to put an end to the massacres, and out of this abattoir emerged the new nation of Bangladesh.
  • On 11 September 1973 in Chile General Pinochet overthrew the communist government of Salvador Allende, who was strafed by planes from his own air force inside the presidential palace, before committing suicide. Pinochet’s dictatorship (1973-90) was characterised by suspension of human rights with thousands being murdered, and hundreds of thousands imprisoned and tortured.
  • The Vietnam War dragged on and on, the Americans incapable of ‘winning’ but the North Vietnamese not strong enough to ‘win’. Anywhere between 1.5 and 3 million died, hundreds of thousands in America’s savage bombing campaigns. Nixon finally withdrew all US forces in 1974, leaving the South to collapse into chaos and corruption before being overrun and conquered by the communist North in 1975, leaving scars which haunt America to this day. And Vietnam.
  • Up to 500,000 people were murdered during the brutal eight-year rule of Ugandan dictator, Idi Amin (1971-79).
  • The brutal military dictatorship of the Colonels in Greece lasted from 1967 to 1974, supported by America while it suppressed democracy, human rights and a free press. The dictatorship only ended when it supported the military coup of Nikos Sampson on Cyprus, designed to unite the island with mainland Greece but which prompted the disastrous invasion of the north of the island by the Turkish Army, leading to the partition of Cyprus which continues to this day.
  • Between 1975 and 1979 the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia (which the Khmers renamed Kampuchea) murdered some 2 million of its own citizens, a quarter of the country’s population, in its demented drive to return the country to pre-industrial, pre-western peasant purity.
  • The June 16 Soweto uprising in 1976 saw tens of thousands of black South African schoolchildren protesting against Afrikaans, the language of their white oppressors, being made the compulsory language of education. The apartheid authorities responded by unleashing their dogs and shooting into the crowds, killing 176 and wounding around 1,000. When anti-apartheid campaigner Steve Biko was murdered in the custody of the SA police, a crime which galvanised opinion in South Africa and abroad, leading to the book and film about his life, and an intensification of sanctions against South Africa.

Social issues

Racism Vast subject. DeGroot concentrates on the UK and mentions Enoch Powell’s River of Blood speech in April 1968. I hadn’t realised Powell remained quite so popular for quite so long afterwards, well into the 1970s he polled as the most popular British politician, and DeGroot points out the regrettable rise of racism in the 1970s, from David Bowie and Eric Clapton to the founding of the National Front (est. 1967), which prompted the response of Rock Against Racism (est. 1976) and the Anti-Nazi League (est. 1977). A lot of marching, chanting and street fighting.

Drugs Year on year, heroin killed more young Americans than the war in Vietnam. Marijuana use had become widespread by the mid-1970s, with one estimate that 40% of teens smoked it at least once a month. DeGroot’s article describes the way all the government agencies overlooked the fact that cocaine was becoming the big issue: because it was predominantly a white middle-class drug, it was neglected until it was too late, until the later 1970s when they woke up to the fact that Colombian cartels had set up a massive production and supply infrastructure and were dealing in billions of dollars. ‘While Reagan strutted, Americans snorted’ (p.271)

Feminism Another vast subject, which DeGroot illuminates with snapshots, generating oblique insights from some of the peripheral stories in this huge social movement:

  • The high profile ‘Battle of the Sexes’ tennis match between the 55-year-old former world number one and male chauvinist, Bobby Riggs, and 29-year-old women’s number one Billie Jean King. King won and to this day meets women who were young at the time, and who tell her that her example made them determined not to be put off by men, but to go for their dreams.
  • I had never heard of Marabel Morgan and her hugely bestselling book, Total Woman, which takes a devoutly Christian basis for arguing that the path to married bliss is for a woman to completely submit herself to her husband’s wishes. DeGroot makes the far-reaching point that the weak spot in feminism is that a lot of women don’t want to be high-powered executives or politicians, but are reasonably happy becoming mothers and housewives. Moreover, feminists who routinely describe being a mother as some kind of slavery, seriously undervalue the importance, and creativity, and fulfilment to be gained from motherhood.

The silent majority

This leads nicely into his consideration of the rise of the ‘silent majority’ and then the Moral Majority. The phrase ‘the silent majority’ had been around since the 19th century (when it referred to the legions of the dead). It was Richard Nixon’s use of it in a speech in 1969 that prompted newspaper and magazine articles and its widespread popularisation. Nixon was trying to rally support from everyone fed up with student protests, campus unrest, long-haired layabouts, the spread of drugs, revolutionary violence and the rest of it.

The Moral Majority was founded as a movement as late as 1979, from various right-wing Christian fundamentalist organisations. If you’re young or left-wing it’s easy to assume your beliefs will triumph because they’re self-evidently right. I found this section of DeGroot’s book particularly interesting as a reminder (it is after all only a few short, but thought-provoking articles, not a book-length analysis) of the power and numerical supremacy of the people who didn’t want a violent revolution, didn’t want the overthrow of existing gender roles, didn’t want the destruction of business in the name of some dope-smoking utopia, who largely enjoyed and benefited from capitalism, from a stable society, an effective police force, the rule of law and notions of property which allowed them to save up to own their own home, a large fridge-freezer and two cars.


Science and technology

Space race I was galvanised when I read JG Ballard’s remark, decades ago, that the Space Age only lasted a few years, from the moon landing (Apollo 11, July 20 1969) to the final Apollo mission (Apollo 17, December 1972). As a teenager besotted with science fiction, I assumed space exploration would go on forever, the Moon, Mars, and then other solar systems! DeGroot’s account rams home the notion that it was all a delusion. He is critical of NASA’s insistence on manned space flights which cost hugely more than unmanned missions. The retirement of the Space Shuttle in 2011 was another nail in the coffin into which fantasies of interplanetary flight have been laid.

Environment Through the prisms of the dioxin disaster at Seveso and the major nuclear incident at Three Mile Island, DeGroot makes the point that environmentalism (along with feminism, anti-racism and gay rights) was one of the big causes of the 1970s, virtually non-existent at the start of the decade, enshrined in law across most industrialised countries by the end.


The economy and industry

This is the big, big gap in this book: it’s entertaining enough to read articles about Mohammed Ali or Billie Jean King or the early computer game, Pong – but it’s a major omission in a history of the 1970s not to have sections about the 1973 oil crisis, the resulting three-day week, the extraordinarily high level of strikes throughout the decade, leading up to what many people thought was the actual collapse of society in the Winter of Discontent (1978/79) and, beneath it all, the slow relentless shift in western nations from being heavily-industrialised, heavily-unionised economies to becoming post-industrial, service economies.

Big shame that DeGroot didn’t bring to these heavyweight topics the combination of deftly-chosen anecdote with pithy analysis which he applies to other, far less important, subjects.


The end of the world

I grew up in the 1970s, into awareness that the world could be destroyed at any moment, the world and all life forms on it, destroyed many times over if the old men with their fingers on the button made a mistake. DeGroot goes into detail about the effectiveness of the doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction and the sequence of meetings and agreements between America and the USSR – the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks and Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaties – which were reported with breathless excitement throughout the decade.

What he doesn’t convey is the moral climate this created, or rather the immoral climate, of living in a world where you, all your loved ones, and everything you held dear could, potentially, at any moment, be turned to glowing dust.

The threat of complete global destruction provided the grim backdrop against which a steady stream of horrific news about dictators and tyrants, about massacres and holocausts, was garishly lit by the smaller-scale murders and bombings of the IRA or ETA, all creating a climate of violence and futility. Mix in the oil crises of 1973 and 1978, the widespread and endless strikes, the high unemployment and the fundamental economic crises which afflicted all Western countries throughout the 70s, and you have a decade of despair.


Music of anger

My biggest disagreement with DeGroot is about the significance of punk rock (1976-78). For a start, he mixes up the American and British versions, which reflect completely different societies, mentioning Blondie and the Clash in the same breath. The British version was genuinely nihilistic and despairing. Television or the Ramones always had the redemptive glamour of coming from New York; the English bands always knew they came from Bolton or Bromley, but turned their origins in dead-end, derelict post-industrial shitholes into something to be angry or depressed, but always honest about.

Like so many wise elders at the time, DeGroot loftily points out how musically inept most of the self-taught punk bands were – as if rock music should only be produced by classically-trained musicians. He completely fails to see that the music, the look and the attitude were the angry and entirely logical result of growing up into the violently hopeless society which our parents had created and which, ironically, he has done such a good job of portraying in his long, readable, and often desperately depressing book.

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