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Africa’s Oscars

African cinema is in a fix, yet at the top Burkinabé film festival, Katrina Manson finds no

Amid the dust and the donkey carts, there is a sign here in Ouagadougou, bright red against the night in swirling French neon: “40 years of cinema; 40 years of dreaming”.

It’s a dream worth savouring. As women balancing trays of lemons on their heads sashay through the streets and mopeds whirr about the dusty downtown, Burkina Faso – one of the world’s poorest countries – does not seem to be the most obvious home to the movies. But as the pan-African film festival Fespaco celebrates its 40th anniversary, the country whose name translates as the Land of Honourable Men is striving to create an Africa-wide film industry that represents the continent’s own people.

“Our African audiences really need our images,” says Gaston Kaboré, head judge at this year’s Fespaco, and a revered Burkinabé director whose film Buud Yam won the top prize in 1997. “They need stories that carry them, and they need us to give accounts of our own images and culture. We make our films for them.”

The breadth of films at Africa’s Oscars shows that the continent’s film-makers are doing just that. This year’s winner, Teza, charts the horrors of authoritarian rule under Ethiopia’s Mengistu Haile Mariam; the runner-up, Nothing But the Truth, reveals the dashed hopes of South Africa’s truth and reconciliation process. Mascarades, an Algerian comedy, came third.

“In the 1960s African films were preoccupied with designing the new political environment after colonialism,” says Keith Shiri, director of the UK film festival Africa at the Pictures. “But now there are so many other issues that films are tackling.” Whether a village love story set in Cameroon, corrupt civil servants plundering the state in Burkina Faso, gangsters doing bank jobs in Johannesburg, or diaspora returnees finding fault with Dakar, Fespaco’s films find many ways to speak to the continent.

“No one can carry Africa better than us,” says Gohou Michel, 42, a celebrated comedy actor from Côte d’Ivoire. He wears a gold chain with a golden map of Africa dangling at the end: “It’s a symbol of what I need to do.”

Yet cinema in Africa is in a fix, and lacking big backing, African show business could do with a few more conjuring tricks today. Burkina Faso might be home to striking monuments to the wonders of 35mm film – an upturned multi-coloured camera in the middle of a roundabout; the Fespaco headquarters, shaped like an enormous reel of film – but increasingly film-makers are turning to digital. Often they produce for the TV and DVD markets, for poor audiences that prefer to stay at home and watch telly, because it’s free and the regular soaps keep them company.

Despite prodigious piracy, DVDs are doing well in Africa. Nigeria’s “Nollywood” home movie industry produces more than 2,000 films a year and rakes in $450m annually, making it the world’s third-largest film industry after Hollywood and Bollywood. But cinema screens are closing at speed. In the arid northern town of Ouahigouya, the final two projectors stopped turning at the beginning of the year because producers refused to let their reels be shown on such clapped-out projectors. Michael Raeburn – whose film Triomf, about incest among Johannesburg’s poor white trash, was in this year’s official competition – said he only entered Fespaco because his French backers asked him to.

“Their projectors are tractors, lawnmowers,” he told me. “The last time I was in it they sent back my 35mm film ripped to shreds. I could hear the sound of celluloid cracking.”

Despite the nods to Cannes, with red carpets and nightly poolside hobnobbing, several festival screenings spluttered through sound and image failures. And as film-makers are increasingly backed into financial corners, donor money and foreign funding may pull one string too many. “Too strong a dependency on external financing is negative for the development of an indigenous African style,” says Kaboré. “You have to be sure that the centre of gravity is within our own camp, in terms of economics, culture and psychology.”

In his effort to secure big US financial backing, the South African director Zola Maseko capitulated and cast the American actor Taye Diggs in the lead role of his film Drum, the story of a black South African journalist’s fight against apartheid, which won Fespaco in 2005. “I sold out, I admit it,” Maseko told me this year, putting up his hands in surrender. “I spent ten years trying to raise the money for that film.” But he regretted the compromise: “I’ll never do that again.”

For the clutch of film-makers still shooting for the big screen, the commitment to independent financing is growing. When, after years searching for backers, Raeburn was told to secure Meryl Streep for the lead to gain US backing, he finally gave up. He cut his budget tenfold, got a Zimbabwean accountant onside and made his film with unknowns, in the local Afrikaans.

For the right film, the audience is there. Cinema-goers sat two to a seat in support of local ­directors’ films during Fespaco. And when the Burkinabé director and satirist Aboubakar Diallo released his self-funded comedy Môgô-puissant a couple of years back – about a young village marabout who is so successful at seeing into the future that he becomes the president’s right-hand man – it broke all national box-office records, beating takings for the Bond film Casino Royale, which was out at the same time.

“It’s not the number of films we produce or the box-office takings that matter, it’s that cinema has really captured the spirit of the people,” says Hema Djakaria, director general of national cinematography in Burkina Faso, who refuses to let go of film. “Taking pleasure in a real night out, an event, is a special thing for the people here. Cinema is a school of life, and that has no price.”

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2009 issue of the New Statesman, Rise of the Geek

Photo: Getty Images
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A simple U-Turn may not be enough to get the Conservatives out of their tax credit mess

The Tories are in a mess over cuts to tax credits. But a mere U-Turn may not be enough to fix the problem. 

A spectre is haunting the Conservative party - the spectre of tax credit cuts. £4.4bn worth of cuts to the in-work benefits - which act as a top-up for lower-paid workers - will come into force in April 2016, the start of the next tax year - meaning around three million families will be £1,000 worse off. For most dual-earner families affected, that will be the equivalent of a one partner going without pay for an entire month.

The politics are obviously fairly toxic: as one Conservative MP remarked to me before the election, "show me 1,000 people in my constituency who would happily take a £1,000 pay cut, then we'll cut welfare". Small wonder that Boris Johnson is already making loud noises about the coming cuts, making his opposition to them a central plank of his 

Tory nerves were already jittery enough when the cuts were passed through the Commons - George Osborne had to personally reassure Conservative MPs that the cuts wouldn't result in the nightmarish picture being painted by Labour and the trades unions. Now that Johnson - and the Sun - have joined in the chorus of complaints.

There are a variety of ways the government could reverse or soften the cuts. The first is a straightforward U-Turn: but that would be politically embarrassing for Osborne, so it's highly unlikely. They could push back the implementation date - as one Conservative remarked - "whole industries have arranged their operations around tax credits now - we should give the care and hospitality sectors more time to prepare". Or they could adjust the taper rates - the point in your income  at which you start losing tax credits, taking away less from families. But the real problem for the Conservatives is that a mere U-Turn won't be enough to get them out of the mire. 

Why? Well, to offset the loss, Osborne announced the creation of a "national living wage", to be introduced at the same time as the cuts - of £7.20 an hour, up 50p from the current minimum wage.  In doing so, he effectively disbanded the Low Pay Commission -  the independent body that has been responsible for setting the national minimum wage since it was introduced by Tony Blair's government in 1998.  The LPC's board is made up of academics, trade unionists and employers - and their remit is to set a minimum wage that provides both a reasonable floor for workers without costing too many jobs.

Osborne's "living wage" fails at both counts. It is some way short of a genuine living wage - it is 70p short of where the living wage is today, and will likely be further off the pace by April 2016. But, as both business-owners and trade unionists increasingly fear, it is too high to operate as a legal minimum. (Remember that the campaign for a real Living Wage itself doesn't believe that the living wage should be the legal wage.) Trade union organisers from Usdaw - the shopworkers' union - and the GMB - which has a sizable presence in the hospitality sector -  both fear that the consequence of the wage hike will be reductions in jobs and hours as employers struggle to meet the new cost. Large shops and hotel chains will simply take the hit to their profit margins or raise prices a little. But smaller hotels and shops will cut back on hours and jobs. That will hit particularly hard in places like Cornwall, Devon, and Britain's coastal areas - all of which are, at the moment, overwhelmingly represented by Conservative MPs. 

The problem for the Conservatives is this: it's easy to work out a way of reversing the cuts to tax credits. It's not easy to see how Osborne could find a non-embarrassing way out of his erzatz living wage, which fails both as a market-friendly minimum and as a genuine living wage. A mere U-Turn may not be enough.

Stephen Bush is editor of the Staggers, the New Statesman’s political blog.

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What Jeremy Corbyn can learn from Orwell

Corbyn’s ideas may echo George Orwell’s – but they’d need Orwell’s Britain to work. It’s time Corbyn accepted the British as they are today.

All Labour Party leaderships since 1900 have offered themselves as “new”, but Tony Blair’s succession in 1994 triggered a break with the past so ruthless that the Labour leadership virtually declared war on the party. Now it is party members’ turn and they, for now at any rate, think that real Labour is Jeremy.

To Keir Hardie, real Labour had been a trade union lobby expounding Fellowship. To the Webbs, real Labour was “common ownership” by the best means available. Sidney’s Clause Four (adopted 1918) left open what that might be. In the 1920s, the Christian Socialist R H Tawney stitched Equality into the banner, but during the Depression young intellectuals such as Evan Durbin and Hugh Gaitskell designated Planning as Labour’s modern mission. After the Second World War, Clement Attlee followed the miners (and the London Passenger Transport Board) into Nationalisation. Harold Wilson tried to inject Science and Technology into the mix but everything after that was an attempt to move Labour away from state-regulated markets and in the direction of market-regulated states.

What made the recent leadership contest so alarming was how broken was the intellectual tradition. None of the candidates made anything of a long history of thinking about the relationship between socialism and what the people want. Yvette Cooper wanted to go over the numbers; only they were the wrong numbers. Andy Burnham twisted and turned. Liz Kendall based her bid on two words: “Have me.” Only Jeremy Corbyn seemed to have any kind of Labour narrative to tell and, of course, ever the ­rebel, he was not responsible for any of it. His conference address in Brighton was little more than the notes of a street-corner campaigner to a small crowd.

Given the paucity of thinking, and this being an English party for now, it is only a matter of time before George Orwell is brought in to see how Jeremy measures up. In fact, it’s happened already. Rafael Behr in the Guardian and Nick Cohen in the Spectator both see him as the kind of hard-left intellectual Orwell dreaded, while Charles Cooke in the National Review and Jason Cowley in the New Statesman joined unlikely fashion forces to take a side-look at Jeremy’s dreadful dress sense – to Orwell, a sure sign of a socialist. Cooke thought he looked like a “burned-out geography teacher at a third-rate comprehensive”. Cowley thought he looked like a red-brick university sociology lecturer circa 1978. Fair enough. He does. But there is more. Being a middle-class teetotal vegetarian bicycling socialistic feministic atheistic metropolitan anti-racist republican nice guy, with allotment and “squashily pacifist” leanings to match, clearly puts him in the land of the cranks as described by Orwell in The Road to Wigan Pier (1937) – one of “that dreary tribe of high-minded women and sandal-wearers and bearded fruit-juice drinkers who come flocking towards the smell of ‘progress’ like bluebottles to a dead cat”. And though Corbyn, as “a fully fledged, fully bearded, unabashed socialist” (Huffington Post), might make all true Orwellians twitch, he really made their day when he refused to sing the National Anthem. Orwell cited precisely that (see “The Lion and the Unicorn”, 1941) as an example of the distance between left-wing intellectuals and the people. It seemed that, by standing there, mouth shut, Comrade Corbyn didn’t just cut his wrists, he lay down full length in the coffin and pulled the lid shut.


Trouble is, this line of attack not only misrepresents the Labour leader, it misrepresents Orwell. For the great man was not as unflinchingly straight and true as some people think. It is impossible, for instance, to think of Orwell singing “God Save the King”, because he, too, was one of that “dreary tribe” of London lefties, and even when he joined Labour he remained ever the rebel. As for Corbyn, for a start, he is not badly dressed. He just doesn’t look like Chuka or Tristram. He may look like a threadbare schoolteacher, but Orwell was one twice over. Orwell was never a vegetarian or a teetotaller, but, like Corbyn, neither was he interested in fancy food (or drink), he kept an allotment, drove a motorbike, bicycled, cared about the poor, cared about the environment, loathed the empire, came close to pacifism at one point, and opposed war with Germany well past the time when it was reasonable to do so.

In Orwell’s thinking about socialism, for too long his main reference point was the London Marxist left. Not only did he make speeches in favour of revolutions, he took part in one with a gun in his hand. Orwell was far more interested, as Corbyn has been far more interested, in speaking truth to power than in holding office. His loyalty was to the movement, or at least the idea of the movement, not to MPs or the front bench, which he rarely mentioned. There is nothing in Corbyn’s position that would have shocked Orwell and, should they have met, there’d have been much to talk about: belief in public ownership and non-economic values, confidence in the state’s ability to make life better, progressive taxation, national health, state education, social care, anti-socially useless banking, anti-colonialism and a whole lot of other anti-isms besides. It’s hard to be sure what Orwell’s position would have been on Trident and immigration. Not Corbyn’s, I suspect. He was not as alert to feminism as he might have been but equally, few men try to write novels from a woman’s point of view and all Orwellians recognise that Julia is the dark hero of Nineteen Eighty-Four. In truth they are both austere types, not in it for themselves and not on anyone else’s expense account either. Corbyn won the leadership because this shone through from the very beginning. He came across as unaffected and straightforward – much as Orwell tried to be in his writing.

Except, as powerfully expressed in these pages by John Gray, Corbyn’s politics were made for another world. What sort of world would he need? First off, he’d need a regulated labour market: regulated by the state in partnership with a labour movement sensitive to what people wanted and experienced in trying to provide it. He would also need capital controls, a manufacturing base capable of building the new investment with Keynesian payback, an efficient and motivated Inland Revenue, a widespread public-service ethos that sees the country as an asset, not a market, and an overwhelming democratic mandate to get things done. In other words, Corbyn needs Orwell’s Britain – not this one – and at the very least, if he can’t have that, he needs the freedom to act that the European Commission forbids.

There’s another problem. Orwell did not trust left-wing intellectuals and spent half his life trying to work out their motivations as a class who spoke for the people, went in search of the people, and praised the people, but did not know them or believe in them. True, Corbyn says he wants to be open and inclusive, but we know he can’t possibly mean it when he says it will be the party, not him or the PLP, that will decide policy, just as we knew it couldn’t possibly be true when he said he’d turn PMQs into the People’s Question Time. Jeremy hasn’t changed his mind in forty years, appears to have great difficulty (unlike Tony Benn) in fusing socialism to national identity or experience (Hardie, Ben Okri and Maya Angelou were bolted on to his Brighton speech) and seems to think that not being happy with what you are given somehow captures the historic essence of socialism (rather than its opposite).

Granted, not thinking outside the ­circle is an inherent fault of the sectarian left but some of our most prominent left-wing journalists have it, too. Working-class support for nationalisation? Good. Right answer! Working-class opposition to benefit scroungers and further mass immigration? Bad. Wrong answer! Would you like to try again? In his essay “In Defence of Comrade Zilliacus” (1947) Orwell reckoned that left-wing intellectuals saw only what they wanted to see. For all their talk of representing the people, they hated the masses. “What they are frightened of is the prevailing opinion within their own group . . . there is always an orthodoxy, a parrot-cry . . .”

The game is hard and he may go down in a welter of knives, yet Corbyn still has time. He may go on making the same speech – on the benefits of apple pie to apple growers – but at some point he will have to drop the wish-list and get on the side of the British people as they are, and live with that, and build into it. Only the nation state can even begin to do the things he wants to do. The quicker he gets that, the quicker we can see if the latest incarnation of new Labour has a future.

Robert Colls is the author of “George Orwell: English Rebel” (Oxford University Press)

This article first appeared in the 08 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin vs Isis