Constitutional form and ideological content: The preambles of French-language constitutions in Africa by Martin Doornbos, Wim van Binsbergen and Gerti Hesseling, originally published 1984

Constitutional form and ideological content:

The preambles of French-language constitutions in Africa

by Martin Doornbos, Wim van Binsbergen and Gerti Hesseling (1984)

INTRODUCTION [1]

Conscious that only a genuine appeal will permit us to affirm our personality, realise our objectives, and contribute effectively to universal civilisation;

Moved by a desire to guarantee unity and territorial integrity, to assure the material well-being of each citizen and to create conditions favourable to the moral and spiritual growth of all Zairians;

Convinced that only mass mobilisation, under the aegis of the Popular Movement of the Revolution, will permit the Zairian people to guarantee its political, economic, social and cultural independence;

Convinced that only through African unity will the peoples of Africa be free of foreign domination;

Conscious of our responsibilities before God, our ancestors, Africa and the World;

The above text, taken from the revised constitution of Zaire as adopted on 15th February 1978, is a typical example of a preamble, such as form the introductory sections of many modern constitutions all over the world. The extent to which preambles constitute a recurrent feature in constitutional texts can be gauged from a study by Van Maarsenveen and Van der Tang (1978: 86): a computerised analysis of formal properties of such texts revealed that more than two thirds of all 142 constitutions actually in force in the mid-1970s contained introductory parts not unsimilar to the Zairian preamble cited here. A first, cursory inspection of such texts would, of course, reveal substantial variety in both form and content of constitutional preambles. Two points, however, are striking, and together they inform our present study. First, while some limited systematic attention has been paid, on the part of constitutional lawyers, political scientist and students of political ideology, to texts of this nature, their specifically ideological contents have so far remained unanalysed. Textbooks on constitutional structures and processes abound, and particularly Africa has seen a spate of constitutional productivity and innovation. Yet, few serious definitions of what constitutes a constitutional preamble are available in the literature, while sophisticated analyses of form, content, and function of constitutional preambles are even rarer, and largely confined to the American legal literature. This relative blind spot contrasts amazingly with the second point we would make: even the most superficial inspection of a constitutional preamble such as the Zairian one would suggest vast possibilities of research.

Thus, in the Zairian preamble the very source of legitimate authority is explicitly mentioned, rendering force of law to the whole constitution which is to follow; this suggest that preambles may have a crucial, legitimating function in the constitutional process. Moreover, the preamble locates the adoption of a new constitution at a dramatic moment in the history of the Zairian nation, when tremendous tasks of nation building, revolution, and the attainment of African Unity are at hand. Finally, the preamble sets the scene for the more specific institutions and rights that are to be set forth in the main body of the constitution, by making reference to such underlying, more general principles as the Universal Declaration of Rights of Man, the African personality, history, the world, the ancestors and God. In this respect, the preamble could be taken as a central formulation of a nation's identity, as an ideological text around which much of a nation's self-image revolves. Such texts fully deserve scholarly attention, even if their analysis poses major problems of definition, comparison, textual critique, and particularly make us wonder what the relationship is between such high-sounding idealist formulae, and the social, economic and political reality within which they have been generated, and subsequently operate.

The researcher addressing this problematic faces a widespread prejudice as to the social irrelevance of African constitutions in general and of their abstract, philosophical preambles in particular. After all, it is easy to point at the vast discrepancy between the lofty ideals and principles expounded in texts of this nature, and the often depressing reality of modern African states. Yet, rather than precluding research, value judgements should be postponed until such a time as detached research has had its way.

Since our subject lies somewhat outside the mainstream of contemporary constitutional law studies, our present study will necessarily be preliminary and exploratory. Our major problem has been to arrive at a methodology that is to guide our analysis.

Preambles form an integral part of constitutional texts, and any sophisticated analysis should take into account a whole body of theoretical literature in constitutional law, political science and history; also, we ought to consider actual constitutional procedures. We have decided to include references to such a more general background only sparingly (3),[3] so as to be able to focus our full attention on preambles themselves. After constructing a working definition of constitutional preambles, we shall examine the variations in form and content of African preambles. We shall base this exploratory study a very limited set of data, concentrating on independence or post-independence constitutions of states in Black Africa, and further bringing this down to only francophone states.

In the African case, there is a distinction to be made between the constitutional heritage of francophone and anglophone states.[4] It will be obvious that their respective constitutional arrangements are reflections of more general political-cultural differences between these two categories of states. In fact, one key difference concerns the use of preambles as such. In francophone Africa they have been in general use, whereas in anglophone Africa they were exceptional at the time of independence. At subsequent changes of regimes, and constitutions, preambles have however usually been introduced in the latter group of countries.

A casual look at francophone and anglophone constitutions will indeed reveal wide differences. A francophone constitution is shorter, but more important than that (though related with it), it is more of a political document than an anglophone constitution. The latter will read more like an administrative regulation; it is immediate, detailed law (e.g. it tends to spell out civil rights far more extensively than its francophone counterpart), and it has the appearance of a manual that one would consult when needed for a specific point. It looks solid and reliable. A francophone

constitution, in contrast, on the face of its appears to be more academic. It will look like one of the things that matter, that ought to be read and discussed. Clearly, then, a preamble is more fitting in the context of a francophone African constitution than of an anglophone one.

Beyond this, of course, is a more important matter: the place of a constitution in the political-cultural life of a country, or a group of countries within the same metropolitan tradition. To take again the French and British patterns, in France the supreme symbol of the regime is the Constitution; spiritually it is supposed to be at the centre of the political system, and it is supposed to be read, debated or to have political battles fought about it. Even the alterations and total replacements of such texts, one might argue, would seem to follow from this preoccupation. A preamble in the French tradition therefore, written in a vein of ‘We, The People Who Make the Constitution’, seems somehow more appropriate and self-evident, than in anglophone constitutions. In the latter, even if unconsciously, there has most likely been an overflow of British inclinations to formally place the crown at the centre of the political edifice. It seems quite possible that as a result of the exposure to British influences, anglophone African constitutions were also placed in a somewhat less central position, formally less conspicuous, and consequently less in need of an ornamental preamble than was the case for their francophone counterparts. Whatever the exact reasons, fact is that of all anglophone independence constitutions in Africa, only the Tanzanian one had a preamble.

Even from among francophone African constitutions, we shall only examine in detail a small sample of six. Such recurrent patterns as our analysis will reveal, shall therefore have to be checked in future research encompassing a wider data set. We shall conclude our explorations by examining these preambles' relations with the social, economic and political reality in which they function. What we hope to arrive at in this paper, is not so much a set of generalised conclusions but the beginning of a method and a body of hypotheses that may guide future research into a highly interested but neglected aspect of African constitutional and political processes.

DEFINITION

Before setting out on our analysis of African constitutional preambles, it is imperative that we have a clear definition at our disposal.

In many cases, our task is made easy by the fact that the legislator himself has already used the term 'preamble' for an introductory part of his constitution. In fact, a minimal definition of a constitutional preamble could be: 'Any introductory section that precedes the main body of a constitutional text'. Such a definition would also apply in those cases where the legislator has not called the introductory part a preamble.

However, it appears to be useful to add a number of criteria of function and content to this otherwise strictly formal criterion. Such an extension would be in line with current judicial usage. Thus, Picard et al. (1950: 431) define a preamble as:

‘en termes de legislation, partie preliminaire d'une loi, d'un arrete, d'un edit, etc., dans laquelle le legislateur expose ses intentions, ses vues, la necessite ou l'utilite du nouveau reglement’.

‘an introductory clause in a constitution, statue, or other legal instrument which states the intent of that instrument;

‘a prefatory statement or explanation or a finding of facts by the power making it, purporting to state the purpose, reason, or occasion for making the law to which it is prefixed’.

However, these definitions refer particularly to preambles of 'ordinary' statutes. Ordinary legislation is enacted in an established, and in principle well-defined, legal and political framework, which for routine legislative work can be and is taken for granted. Here the function of a preamble can, therefore, indeed be to indicate the circumstances and purposes which have led to the adoption of a particular statute. A constitution of a political entity such as the state, however, does not function within an established legal-political framework, but is meant to lay it down. Thus, even if a constitutional preamble conveys the intentions for

what follows (which is not necessarily the case), its significance and 'real' purpose would rather be to try and legitimise the constitution it introduces, and, through this constitution, the political framework which is being established.

This distinction between 'ordinary preamble' and 'constitutional preamble' should not be overestimated. The difference is only a gradual one. For any piece of legislation introduces a new legal phase, on a smaller or larger scale; and while the adoption of a new constitution marks a significant transition in the constitutional life of a state, such a constitution would derive part of its meaning from a considerable continuity in the political culture of that state: the existence of a substratum of constitutional rules and practices which define the nature and function of any constitution, including the one that is newly introduced.

What sort of an explanation of motives would one expect a legislator to give at the dramatic moment of a transition to a new constitutional period? First, an evocation of the historical conditions under which the new constitution is adopted: the attainment of independence, the national revolution, the return to civil rule, etc. Secondly, he would expound the guiding principles that underlie this new constitution, and that are particularly thrown in relief at this historical moment: after a period of colonial humiliation, a new constitution may be adopted in which racial equality and protection from state violence are stressed among other fundamental rights; after a period of economic decline and national divisiveness such principles as national reconstruction, development and unity are likely to be highlighted. References, however scanty, to these historical conditions and guiding principles can be found in the African preambles considered in this study, and we are inclined to view such references as crucial elements in any constitutional preamble. Preambles seek to convey, in a nutshell, the 'essence' of the nation. They do so through a blending of abstract and historical language, concerned with the roots of existence of the 'nation', the principles on which it is built and those which it intends to pursue, and, quite often, some national 'virtues'. The particular blend of 'history' and 'principles' (as indeed the specific selection of principles and the specific interpretation given to history) may depend, on the nature and style of the political regime and the leading ideology, —

but may on the other hand follow certain 'stylistic conventions in the writing of preambles' which may be similarly adopted in widely different circumstances under widely different regimes.

It is however not by reference to these principles and historical conditions that constitutions, or any ordinary piece of legislation, acquire force of law. For this, a proper enacting clause is often deemed necessary: a statement defining the ultimate source of legal authority (e.g. the people, God Almighty, etc.), as well as the very act by which this authority adopts the legislation in question: 'We, the...., herewith adopt...'. Or, in terms of Gifis's definition (1975: 69): 'the preamble of a statute, or that part which identifies the statute as a legislative act and authorises it as law.' Such enacting clauses frequently appear in ordinary legislation. In African constitutional preambles, however, the central source of authority is usually stated, but the act of proclaiming is often not explicitly referred to. The 1978 constitution of Zaire contains a full enacting clause, but many other constitutions do not (see below).

Incorporating these additional points into our minimal definition, we can now define a constitutional preamble as 'Any introductory section that precedes the main body of a constitutional text, and in which the legislator states the central source of authority, indicates (in greater or lesser detail) the historical conditions under which the new constitution is adopted, and finally propounds the guiding philosophical, ideological and legal principles that inform the specific legislation as contained in the main body of the constitution'.

Thus the part of the constitution that appears after the preamble would be the proper place to define such specific institutions, offices, the powers with which they are invested, procedures, incompatibilities etc. on which the concrete form and functioning of the state is based. However, not having read our article, legislators can hardly be expected to strictly adhere to the distinction between preamble and main text as argued here. The extent to which properly 'preambular' parts will in fact, in concrete constitutions, be confined to the preamble and not spill over into the main text remains to be assessed on the basis of the constitutional texts themselves. An obvious borderline case is formed by the fundamental rights, which by their nature give rise to such abstract, philosophical

formulations as would fit within our definition of the preamble, whereas their specific elaboration (e.g. liberty of religion, liberty of speech, secret of correspondence) would tend to feature in the main text. This would add an extra dimension to the division of labour between preamble and main text: not only may the preamble define principles and ideals as against the concrete structures and procedures that take up the main text; also does the preamble have a level of extreme generality which in the main text may be broken down into more specific partial formulations.

The fact however that preambular elements, in the context of fundamental rights or otherwise, may spill over into the main text, at the same time implies a caveat with regard to our present limitation to preambles alone. If our analysis of preambles, in the remainder of this paper, would reveal certain recurrent patterns, then as a next step we should examine the main constitutional texts and assess whether certain elements absent in the preamble might not yet be found there on second analysis.

Finally, it should be noted, when delineating preambles, that a preamble is not the only possible place to set forth guiding principles and to evoke the dramatic historical circumstances under which a constitution is enacted. Sometimes a separate 'preamble-like' declaration takes more or less the place of preamble of constitution (even if such a constitution has a preamble itself). This is a sense is the case with the Declaration of Human Rights in relation to the United Nations Charter and with the Declaration of Independence in regard to the American constitution.

METHOD

Having thus defined our central concept of the constitutional preamble, we shall now proceed to an inventory of formal properties and contents of such texts in the African case. This exercise amounts to a listing of possible features. Several features will be structured into clusters whenever they can be regarded as aspects of the same established topic in constitutional analysis. A considerable number of African constitutional texts have been produced since 1960. Most of these texts would seem to have a preamble in terms of our above definition, and these preambles show very considerable variation along a number of different dimensions. Therefore, we should

first decide on a methodological strategy that would allow us to handle this amount of data without drowning in vast quantities of subtle but perhaps irrelevant minor distinctions. This problem has been solved before, for the comparative analysis of constitutional texts in general. Van Maarsenveen & Van der Tang, in their computerised overview earlier referred to, managed to subsume the total field of formal properties and contents of constitutional texts in less than 200 different variables; accepting such loss of precision as any classification inevitably implies, they could reduce each individual constitution to a full set of scores on each of these variables. In our present analysis we shall adopt a similar procedure, but only with regard to preambles. Since we are engaged in exploration and are looking not only for methods of classification but also for strategies that would lead to the formulation of interesting hypotheses, it seems useful not to adopt Van Maarsenveen and Van der Tang's approach of looking at the total data universe in one go; instead we shall first analyse a very limited set of selected preambles. If this small set is carefully chosen so as to encompass representative and typical cases, we may expect that the variables of form and content as found in this pilot set, will cover most of the total field of variables underlying the universal data set.[5]

What would be relevant variables to distinguish when we try to subsume form and content of constitutional preambles? Van Maarsenveen and Van der Tang's approach does not solve this problem for us, for the specific attention they pay to preambles (1978: 86) is much too limited for our present purpose. Instead, broad clusters of variables have already been suggested in our own definition of preambles: first such formal properties as placement at the beginning of the constitutional text; then a cluster focusing on historical conditions; a further cluster dealing with the principles propounded in the preamble; and finally a cluster of variables dealing with the source of authority.

The various variables that are to make up these clusters, and their interrelatedness within each cluster, are moreover suggested by the present state of constitutional legal studies. Thus a discussion of general principles as found in constitutional preambles would necessarily have to reflect current thinking on the nature and types of fundamental rights, would take

into account the well-established distinction between classic fundamental rights (such as limit state intervention in the lives of individual citizens) and social fundamental rights exhorting the state to take care of specific aspects of life in the interest of individual citizens and of the nation as a whole. Likewise, constitutional law studies would suggest a number of variables dealing with general principles of justice, such as equality before the law, the nulla poena principle, etc.

The general notions suggested by the present state of constitutional scholarship, however, are unlikely to exhaust the total range of variables. In so far as preambles contain ideological statements concerning the nature of the state, the principal goals of the nation and of national development, we would like to add, to our array of variables, a number of items inspired more by political science and the analysis of political ideology, than by constitutional law studies.[6] Finally, the fact that we are dealing with African constitutions makes it likely that their preambles contain references to specifically African or Third-World problems of national identity, nation building, African unity and pan-Africanism, and propound specific national views on economic policy and economic development.

As we are involved in a first cataloguing exercise, the heterogeneous origin of these variables (deriving from various fields of scholarship, and from political and social thinking within Africa) should not bother us too much; important is to what extent the emerging array of variables is capable of covering all relevant aspects of form and content of our preambles.

Moreover, it is possible that we encounter, when reading preambular texts, features of form and content that, at first glance, would seem to escape any systematic classification in the light of constitutional, political science or Africanist scholarly literature; in such a case it would be better to formulate, ad hoc, a new variable than to drop it from our analysis at this early stage.

All these considerations lead to the very extensive list of variables presented in table III: 1. It is our contention that, together, these variables present a fairly complete description of the limited set of preambles that constitute our preliminary sample.

This set comprises the preambles of the following constitutions: Niger (1960), Cameroon (1972), Senegal (1960), Mali (1974), Zaire (1964) and Zaire (1978).[7] A number of loosely applied considerations inform this selection. First, we have decided to limit our initial analysis to French-language constitutions. Just like the various systems of civil law which have been grouped by Rene David (1973) into a limited number of 'families' sharing historical and ideological connections, constitutions also might be said to come in families. Thus the constitutions of the various Latin American countries have so much in common that they would appear to form one family as against, e.g. socialist constitutions (Eastern Europe, Cuba, etc.) or French-language ones (cf. Fitzgerald 1968; Triska 1968). African constitutions, particularly independence ones, have been formulated in an intellectual climate largely determine by the former metropole. Thus it is likely that constitutions in former French African countries constitute more or less one family as against former British ones. If our sample were to include constitutions from both the French and the English family, many of the differences we would find to exist between constitutions might just boil down to a general difference between French and British constitutional culture, and would therefore teach us very little about the nature and variation of preambles as such. Having decided on the French constitutional family in Africa, our specific choice of Niger, Cameroon, Senegal and Mali has been fairly arbitrary; however, there are some additional considerations. Within the French African constitutional family, a specific subfamily may be distinguished: the Entente countries (Niger, Togo, Upper Volta, Ivory Coast and Dahomey — now Benin), whose commitments, at the time of gaining independence, to close co-operation was reflected in the adoption of fairly similar independence constitutions. Inclusion of Niger in our sample covers this subfamily. Other additional considerations include the fact that Niger suspended its original 1960 constitution in 1974, that Cameroon saw a transition from federal to unitary state (we could not select the Cameroon 1961 federal constitution because it had no preamble); that the Mali 1974 constitution was adopted under a military regime; and that Senegal has known constitutional and political continuity ever since 1960.

However, we also decided to include a borderline case like Zaire: francophone, but in view of its Belgian colonial past not directly a member of the French constitutional family; the capricious constitutional history of modern Zaire would render it useful to include both the 1964 and the 1978 preamble (Durieux 1978: 859883; Lavroff 1976: 391400; Van der Linden 1975).

Our emphasis on crucial historical conditions and lofty general principles as stressed above would suggest that we limit our sample to the preambles of the constitutions adopted by African countries at their attainment of independence. For it would be precisely at that point in their history that these aspects of preambles would be utilised to their full potential, marking the transition to a new society. If, however, we wish to capture both recurrent patterns in preambles and variation in patterns, we should not stop short at independence constitutions but also include, as we have done in our sample, constitutions of later vintage.

In table III: 1 the form and content of the six constitutions in our sample have been summarised according to the many variables listed in the first column. Before we proceed to discuss these variables systematically, a further methodological point should be made. In actual fact, table III: 1 boils down to an extensive comparison of constitutional texts, or parts thereof. But is such a comparison allowed? As long as we stick to textual comparison, nothing seems to be wrong with it — on the contrary, such textual comparison is a constitutional lawyer's stock-in-trade. It should however be clear that at this stage we are not comparing the actual judicial functioning of these various texts within their national legal and political context. While some sort of close reading would be adequate for a cross-nation comparison as in table III: 1, much more complex and dynamic empirical aspects of the constitutional and political process would have to be taken into account if we want to extend our comparison beyond the mere letter of the law, and proceed to an examination of the constitutional life of a nation. The various constitutional texts whose preambles are compared here, do not, strictly speaking, pertain to the same, nationally-defined, legal system; therefore, any pronouncement concerning their actual functioning on this basis would amount to comparing incomparable elements. At the same time, however, these texts, taken mainly from the French

constitutional family, largely share a common historical origin and, in their current functioning, may to a considerable extent remain under the influence of constitutional practice in the former metropole, France. Thus in Senegal (Hesseling 1982: 291) the interpretation of national constitutional law continues to take into account current French legal practice. While comparison of constitutional functioning should therefore be undertaken with the greatest circumspection, it would not be totally unjustified from a methodological and historical point of view. Back to the definition. Are the six preambles of table III: 1 actually to be considered preambles in terms of our definition? The fact that they are explicitly called preambles by the legislator may be convincing but from a methodological point of view would be rather immaterial since we have decided to adopt an analytical definition of our own making. The first four rows of table III: 1 sum up the definitional status of our six cases. All of them are introductory texts, evoking general principles and explicitly stating the source of constitutional authority. However, our one remaining criterion, the evocation of historical conditions attending the adoption of the constitution in question, presents more complex difficulties, which we shall discuss under that heading. As it is, the Niger (1960) and the Mali (1974) preambles do not even implicitly refer to the specific historical conditions under which the constitution has been adopted. Rather than altering our definition of preamble in this light, we would submit that here, for the first time, we come across examples of the African constitutions forming an exception to the regularities we seek to formulate in this study. Methodological purism would suggest that, if we stick to our definition, these two cases would not constitute true preambles. It would be better to rephrase our definition in such a way that the evocation of historical conditions becomes an optional but common feature, throwing in relief the capacity of preambles to mark crucial transitions in the constitutional and political life of a nation.

FORMAL PROPERTIES

At this point we leave the definitional realm (of properties whose presence is determined by logical deduction), and enter the field of specific empirical analysis, involving elements that, by virtue of some as yet unknown constellation of factors and conditions, may or may not be present according to some inductive statistical distribution. The first of such empirical finds is that the six texts we have defined to be preambles, turn out to be called such by their respective legislators; an obvious question for further research would be if this is also the case for the numerous other African preambles produced since 1960.

The next variable deals with the length of preambles. Among our six cases, the range of variation extends from less than 70 words (Niger) to as many as 670 words (Cameroon); the other four cluster at a number of just over a hundred words. Such massive differences in quantity are suggestive of real differences in content. In fact, the main underlying variable turns out to be: whether or not fundamental rights have been dealt with in detail in the preamble (as in the Cameroon case), or alternatively have been indicated in the most general terms in the preamble, and are only discussed in full in the main body of the constitution. Below we shall discuss that this is not a mere formal point but one directly related to the force of law of these fundamental rights.

HISTORICAL CONDITIONS

While in our introductory section we have argued that it would be proper for preambles to evoke the specific historical conditions under which the new constitution is adopted, examination of our sample reveals that such evocation tends to be rather cursory — if it appears at all. Of course, what we are looking for is more than a simple statement of the date on which the constitution was enacted. Although such a date forms a piece of historical information which most constitutional and other legislation tends to contain, here we aim at historical references of a grander nature, sketching such dramatic events as the transition to a new form of the state, the beginning of a new era, etc. In other words, the historical

evocation meant here does not take the form of an enacting clause. Likewise, it is not impossible that such historical explanations are given in other texts (e.g. declarations) accompanying the constitution; but in so far as these texts are not preambles in terms of our definition, they fall outside our present scope.

Historical references are altogether absent in the preambles of Niger (1960) and Mali (1974). In the Mali case, however, the phrase appears 'adopted by the constitutional referendum of June 2, 1974...', mentioning not only a date but also a historical condition (referendum under a military regime) which might be considered far from commonplace (Jouve 1974: 42; Lavroff 1975); the similarly with an enacting clause is however too close than that we would score Mali positively on this variable.

It is only implicitly, and on the basis of additional information concerning Cameroon's constitutional history, that the following phrase in that country's 1972 constitution can be interpreted as a reference to the historical transition from federal to unitary state — as effected by that very constitution: 'The people of Cameroon... solemnly declares that it constitutes one and the same nation'.[8]

The four positive cases are neither very spectacular. The historical conditions hinted at (rather than explicitly stated) may be the transition to a different form of the state as was the case in Senegal (1960) at the proclamation of full independence after the dissolution of the short-lived Mali federation — and this dissolution did constitute a real dramatic event (Gandolfi 1960: 881-906; Hesseling 1982: 141; Milcent 1965: 67ff; Sosolo 1981). A similar case forms the 1964 constitution of Zaire, whose first-ever formal constitution this was, after a Loi fondamentale of 1960 which had still been adopted by the Belgian parliament; finally, the relevant section of the constitution may indicate dangers confronting the nation and measures aimed at countering them (Cameroon, 1972; Zaire 1964, 1978).[9]

For a much more convincing example of the sort of historical evocation we have in mind here, we should look outside our sample. Here first comes to mind the Algerian independence constitution of 1963 — the only former African French colony to gain its independence through armed struggle, its preamble highlights this historical condition eloquently (Bensalah 1979: 92-93; Annuaire 1963: 852). A further example is the 1960 independence constitution of the Central African Republic:

Le peuple oubanguin proclame solennellement son attachement aux Droits de l'Homme, aux principes de la democratie et de la libre determination des peuples. Par son vote du 28 septembre 1958, il a librement adopte la Constitution de la Communaute fondee sur l'egalite et la solidarite des peuples qui la composent. Le 1er decembre 1958, par une libre et unanime decision des representants elus du peuple, l'OubanguiChari a choisi de se constituer en ‘Republique centrafricaine’, Etat membre de la Communaute. Enfin, le 13 aout 1960, la Republique centrafricaine proclamait son independance .... etc.’

Needless to say that the Central African Republic preamble falls in our longer category, not because of an inclusion of fundamental rights (as mentioned before), but because of the elaborate evocation of historical conditions (Lavroff 1961a; Kalck 1971).

Incidentally, its litany of sacred dates suggests what appears to be a typically French disposition to numerical quasi-exactness. The French, more than any other society, have numbered their kings, their emperors, as well as their republics. Again, not unlike the number of their republics, dates and years take a special significance within the context of French history (e.g. 14 July, 18 May 1958, etc.). It is as if to the French the mere mentioning of a date gives concrete evidence and validation that something has taken place. It is also through the citation of dates that continuity of legitimation is suggested and established, whereas in other legal-cultural traditions the merits of the principles put forward, even if largely continuous with earlier formulations, may rather be phrased anew and independently from the latter.

It should however not be overlooked that the basis of these symbolic, almost mythical dates lies in the simple fact that in the French legal tradition, statutes and other pieces of legislation tend to be referred to by their date of enactment rather than by specific title. If a constitutional text refers to and builds upon earlier texts, such references by means

of dates may give a suggestion of historical evocation whereas in fact not a historical event is emphasised but the content of the legislation then adopted. This is particularly the case when reference is being made to such famous catalogues of fundamental rights as contained in the 1789 Declaration of Human Rights and the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights. To these catalogues, and more in general the fundamental rights that are in part subsumed in them, we shall now proceed in our overview of preambular content.

PRINCIPLES

Statements of principles predominate in the texts of African constitutional preambles. These principles can be divided into the following categories: fundamental rights, general principles of justice, statements concerning national identity and Pan-Africanism, a cluster of politico-ideological principles referring to the values underlying the state and the specific form of state organisation, and finally a cluster of principles summarising the economic ideology adopted by the country in question. These five clusters will now be discussed in the order in which they appear in table III:

1. Fundamental rights

Fundamental rights form a major topic in constitutional law in general and in the assessment of African states in particular. The performance of these states with respect to fundamental rights has been the subject of passionate international debate.[10] However, a general and theoretical discussion of this topic falls outside our present scope. For one thing, our study of constitutional preambles merely seeks to explore these texts, in an attempt to bring them within the orbit of systematic constitutional law studies — our present ambition is not to make a theoretical contribution to these studies as such. Moreover, since fundamental rights often appear in a special section of the main texts of African constitutions and not in their preambles, an exploration of these preambles is not the proper setting to analyse these rights systematically. What we shall do, however, is to

examine the placement of these fundamental rights in either the preamble or the main text, and seek to understand the principles underlying such placement. In view of the method which we adopted for our exploration (concentrating on form and content of a limited selection of African constitutions and their preambles), we must, at this initial stage, necessarily limit our analysis to such fundamental rights as have been explicitly formulated in these six selected constitutions. In the following discussion we do not wish to imply that these six constitutions do, in fact, encompass the total scope of possible fundamental rights as could be included in a constitution. At a later stage, in a follow-up study, this limited selection of fundamental rights could be confronted with such famous systematic catalogues of fundamental rights as the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen of the French Revolution (1789); the Bill of Rights, or the first eight amendments to the United States Constitution creating individual rights (1791); the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948; and finally the constitutions of the Fourth and Fifth French Republic, which had great influence on French-language African constitutions (Kliesch 1967). Our present problem is not to understand how our six African constitutions arrived at their particular combination of fundamental rights, but simply, what this combination is, and why they are placed either in the preamble, or in the main text, or in both.

Which specific classic and social fundamental rights were incorporated in each of our six African constitution is clear from table III:

1. Examination of the table reveals a number of interesting patterns. First, constitutions differ considerably as to their explicit attention to fundamental rights. An extreme case is Niger (1960), whose constitution hardly mentions any specific fundamental rights at all, with the exception of 'political rights in general' (subsumed by the reference to the famous 1789 and 1948 texts), and some implicit reference to 'freedom of association and assembly'. As said before Niger belongs to the Entente subfamily of African French-language constitutions, and also the other members of this group (not included in our sample) refrain from specific enumeration of fundamental rights but instead refer to the 1789 and 1948 declarations. Niger stands in strong contrast with such countries as Cameroon and Zaire, whose constitutions are very explicit and remarkably complete in their

enumeration of fundamental rights. Cameroon and Zaire, moreover, are each other's opposites in that Cameroon places almost all its fundamental rights in the preamble, whereas Zaire (both in the 1964 constitution and in the 1978 one) discusses them in the main body of the constitution. A middle position is occupied by Senegal, whose constitution covers, in terms of fundamental rights, virtually the same, extensive, grounds as Cameroon and Zaire, but with more of a balanced distribution of fundamental rights over preamble and main text. This may reflect the typical situation of preambles of intermediate length. A similar balance is found in the Mali constitution, which however is more limited as far as the number of different fundamental rights is concerned.

A striking feature of the Senegalese treatment of fundamental rights is that considerable overlap and repetition occur between preamble and main text: 'political rights in general', 'freedom of religion', 'freedom of trade unions' and 'right to property' explicitly appear in both sections of the constitutional text; in addition 'freedom of movement', 'freedom of expression', 'freedom of association and assembly', and 'right to work' are doubled in more implicit ways. A similar redundancy can be detected to a lesser extent in the constitutions of Mali (four repetitions, of which one implicit), and Zaire 1978 (one repetition: 'right to personal growth').

Looking at the total set of fundamental rights as present in our sample (and with all due reservation in view of the fact that ours is an ad hoc selection, still to be confronted with more general catalogues of human rights), it is interesting to note that all six constitutions contain some provision with regard to 'political rights in general' — which seems hardly surprising since the regulation of political processes is a main objective of constitutions (Finer 1979:15).

Likewise, our six constitutions pay much more attention to classic fundamental rights than to social ones; at this stage of our analysis we should not attempt to explain this pattern, but two possible explanations would seem to suggest themselves. First, classic fundamental rights have a much longer history in constitutional law — the first constitutional document in which such rights were formulated goes back to as early a date as 1215 (the English Magna Carta) (Bos 1976). Secondly, the massive economic constraints to which contemporary African states are subjected, would

preclude the explicit adoption of social fundamental rights stipulating expensive tasks for the state to perform: general employment, educational facilities etc. The relative emphasis, however, on such classic fundamental rights as 'freedom of expression', 'freedom of religion' and 'freedom of association and assembly', stipulating non-interference without great direct expenditure for the state treasury, might in principle engender ideological and political challenges to the state, whose control may in the long run prove to be far more costly than any facilities created on the basis of social fundamental rights. One obvious solution from this dilemma would be to make light with the classic fundamental rights as stated in the constitution — but an analysis along such lines would already take us to the discussion of constitutional preambles in their social and political context, and would have to wait till a follow-up study is made. Here, let it suffice to say that fundamental rights in African constitutional preambles are not always and not exclusively weighed against their economic payoff.[11] A case in point is Senegal, whose human-rights record is comparatively clean despite its great economic problems. This country, whose first president has enjoyed a reputation as a poet and philosopher, has even managed to introduce among the fundamental rights in its preamble 'des libertes philosophiques' — an item which one would seek in vain in the fundamental rights catalogues of the economically more developed countries in the world.

If fundamental rights appear now in the preamble, now in the main text of a constitution, we would like to understand what governs this placement. Constitutions are written by people (constitutional assemblies, often assisted by scholarly advisors, and sometimes dominated by prominent political personalities). One way of answering our question would be to trace the manifest and hidden motives of these legislators. Here however sources are normally scarce or even non-existent. The minutes of constitutional committee meetings are usually secret — if they were ever made at all. The best we can do is try and reconstruct possible motives, on the basis of our own examination of the resulting patterns as manifest in the published constitutional texts.

We have started out with the preconception that the preamble would be more general, the main text more specific and detailed. As far as the

placement of fundamental rights in either preamble or main text is concerned, the variation in our limited sample shows already that (contrary to our preconception) there is little in the nature of fundamental rights nor in that of preambles which would dictate a particular placement. In this respect the constitution of Senegal is most instructive, for here we see a balanced distribution between both parts of the text. In this connexion, one should note again the strong reliance of most francophone independence constitutions on French models and styles. For both options of placement there are French precedents. The constitution of the Fourth Republic has a lengthy social rights preamble, whereas the constitution of the Fifth Republic has not. So in a sense the metropolitan French tradition offered incentives for either.

But would this suggest that the placement is completely arbitrary? Abstracting from the specific African cases, one could see the placement of fundamental rights as the resultants of two irreducible and possibly conflicting factors. From a logical or philosophical point of view, one would like to place those constitutional elements first which would be considered to be of eminent importance. It can be argued that fundamental rights are more essential even than the part of the constitution which deal with the formal framework of the state; a kind of Bill of Rights which will retain its validity whatever changes in the state structure are adopted. This logical, perhaps even stylistic point should not be over-stressed; fundamental rights are, of course, eminently important, but one could hardly maintain that legislators who opt to deal with them at length in the main body of a constitution, take them in any sense less seriously than their colleagues who place them in the preamble. A second factor, therefore, would appear to be much more decisive: the extent to which a constitutional preamble has, or has not, legal force. In the history of French constitutional law, preambles have for a long time been considered to have a less binding force than the main body of a constitution.[12] Under such circumstances, a legislator taking fundamental rights seriously would place them in the main text, whereas they would be 'banned' to the preamble in the case when their implementation would be deemed an unwelcome and unnecessary burden to the state. It will appear, of course, as if this idea is in direct opposition to the point just made, namely of fundamental

rights provisions being so fundamental that they should not be part of the constitution but ought to precede it. However, it may well be that here is one of those rare cases where one might eat the pie and still have it. These two contrasting views could coincide as long as there is a general ambiguity concerning the legal force of preambles.

We are not in a position to suggest that the legislators of the six constitutions in our sample were guided by either the logical, or the judicial consideration mentioned here, when they decided to adopt a particular placement of fundamental rights in the constitutions they drafted. What is more important here is that the ambiguity has often been resolved, in favour of an unequivocal legal force of the preamble and such fundamental rights as it may contain. On the one hand, a 1971 constitutional verdict in France [13] has placed the legal force of the constitutional preamble at the same level as that of the main body of the constitution; francophone African countries are likely to take this French decision into account when reviewing national constitutional cases. A more direct and final solution of the ambiguity is created when in the constitution a special clause is incorporated to the effect of explicitly rendering legal force to the preamble. In our sample, a case in point is the constitution of Cameroon, whose preamble ends: 'The state guarantees to all citizens of either sex the rights and freedoms set out in the preamble of the Constitution'. A similar clause is found in the Chad constitution of 1962. This constitution replaced the earlier one of 1960. It adopted a different placement of fundamental rights, but while putting them in the preamble asserted their legal force explicitly.

Further research of actual constitutional practices, jurisprudence etc. could assess the extent to which fundamental rights as propounded in African constitutional preambles would have legal force also in those cases where such clauses as the above are absent, and where the current French constitutional views are not closely followed.

General principles of justice

Closely associated with the fundamental human rights are the 'general principles of justice', stating and specifying the state of law prevailing

in a country. A well-known catalogue of such principles is to be found in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights; it contains such items as the nulla poena principle, the restriction that the law can never be applied retrospectively (art. 11), the principle that everyone is equal before the law (art. 7), that everyone has the right to a fair trial (art. 10), etc. Subscription to these general principles of law is, in the view propounded by the United Nations, the hallmark of every civilised nation; therefore, all countries that have been accepted as members of this international body implicitly are taken to subscribe to these principles.[14] Some countries, however, have included, in their constitutions, explicit statements to this effect. Among the six constitutions in our sample, this is most clearly the case with Cameroon, whose preamble sums up some of the most crucial principles of justice (cf. table III: 1). Less complete explicit statements are to be found in the preambles of Mali (1974) and Zaire (1964), whereas no specific mention of general principles of justice is made in the preambles of Zaire (1978) and Senegal (1960) nor in the very short preamble of Niger (1960) — although, again, this topic can be considered to be implicitly covered by the reference to the 1789 en 1948 texts. Since all African states, by virtue of their membership of the United Nations, implicitly subscribe to these general principles of justice, a further analysis of this point would seem to be of limited value.

National identity, and Pan-Africanism

In addition to such legal principles as discussed above, the ideological content of preambles is likely to include statements concerning the specific social context in which the political order established by the constitution is to function. What are the specific features of the nation that is going to be the carrier of that order? What factors, historical, cultural and otherwise, bind the people within the national boundaries so as to form a nation? What are the relations between that nation and the outside world?[15] In modern Africa, these questions are usually subsumed under the overall heading of 'unity'. First, national unity, not as a source of legitimation for the state and its institutions nor as a firm point of

departure for the internal political process within the country, but as a problematic desideratum whose attainment (against the odds of arbitrary boundaries imposed by colonial metropoles ,[16] extreme ethnic and linguistic diversity,[17] and underdeveloped infrastructure of communications) is to be furthered by whatever means including constitutional provisions. And secondly African unity, the ultimate realisation of the Pan-Africanist dreams of DuBois, Nkrumah and other leaders of the period around Independence. In potential, these two forms of unity stand in a strained relation towards each other: the assertion of national unity, based on some historical, cultural and political identity, to some extent implies a retreat within the national boundaries, and dissociation from whatever lies beyond them. But one could also view national unity as a necessary steppingstone on which to build towards continental unity — particular if the latter is to materialise in the form as advocated by the organisation of African Unity, i.e. in full respect of the integrity of existing national territorial boundaries (Chukwura 1975: 5681).

A clear illustration of the fact that, in the modern African context, national unity is a goal rather than a reality (and as such constitutes one of the principles guiding the legislator when drafting the constitution) is to be found in the Cameroon 1972 preamble — which expresses the transition from federal to unitary state as one particular way of handling the problem of national diversity and integration:

Proud of its cultural and linguistic diversity, a feature of its national personality which it is helping (...) to enrich but profoundly aware of the imperative need to achieve complete unity, solemnly declares that it constitutes one and the same Nation...’

In the face of the enormous problems posed by ethnicity, regionalism etc. in modern African countries, this passage could be read as a bold frontal attack on sub-national loyalties, acknowledging rather than dissimulating the current weak state of nationhood (Bayart 1979; Joseph 1979; Prouset 1974).

Other African constitutions tend to be rather more reticent on this point. With the exception of Zaire, none of the other texts in our sample deal with the problem in their preambles; the main texts of Senegal (1960) (art I.4), Niger (1960) (art. I.6), and Mali (1974) (art. I.6), however, prohibit ethnic propaganda, stressing the negative side of national diversity and trying to repress it.

A position not unlike Cameroon's is taken in the Zairian constitutions; the constitutional histories of these two countries moreover display marked parallels: the transition from federal to united republic, and the early repression of secessionist tendencies.[18] Already in 1964, the Zairian preamble not only mentioned national diversity and emphasised the necessity of national unity (going at great length, in the main text, to describe the extant territorial subdivision and their prerogatives), but also stressed the conservation of Zairian values — obviously in the hope that these would form a basis for nationhood. This attempt at what could be called cultural mobilisation was much further developed in the 1978 Zairian preamble (quoted at the beginning of this paper), where the political philosophy of Mobutism is presented as a national ideology propounding a return to traditional authenticity, in which national values, ancestors, the African personality are all invoked as fundaments of national unity (MacGaffey 1982: 87105). This allegedly authentic cultural basis is to provide legitimacy not only for the constitution, but also for the political party that claims to be its only guardian and the focus of all authority within the state. To the extent to which this cultural basis is in fact a neo-traditional invention involving the manipulation of isolated historical forms selected so as to take on new functions in a new socio-political environment, the 1978 Zairian preamble hardly solves the problem of legitimation of the state and the contribution, but rather obscures it by making it subservient to the actual power exercised by the Popular Movement of the Revolution, and its leader (Kamitatu-Massamba 1971; 1977).

A cursory inspection of African constitutions outside our sample would confirm the impression that these texts tend to be remarkably taciturn on what seems to be, after all, one of the most pressing problems of modern African states: national unity. Nor do expressions of downright nationalism prevail in these texts.

In this respect there is a rather remarkable contrast between francophone African preambles, and those of Eastern European socialist states which likewise came to be established after World War II. A priori one might have imagined that the preambles of francophone African states, as symbolic expressions of a nationalist struggle against colonial rule, would have extolled the particular features of nationhood, the nationalist movement and other aspects of national identity.[19] At the same time, one might have assumed that preambles of socialist constitutions would not be concerned with such topics as nationality and national history (which from a Marxist point of view might easily be dismissed as mystifications); rather, one might have expected them to deal with international working-class solidarity and other doctrines of alleged universal validity. In actual fact the respective preambles lay largely, however, at opposite ends from these assumptions. To be sure, socialist preambles do make mention of the working classes, and other points of socialist ideology and theory. Likewise, francophone African independence preambles did refer to, for instance, 'le peuple senegalais'. However, in Eastern European preambles, the struggle against capitalism and imperialism has usually been mentioned within a very specific national context. In generally lengthy, declaration-type preambles the national dimensions of the socio-political context tended to assume a dominant position, inter alia acting as parameters within which the transition towards socialism was seen to take place. Moreover, each particular revolutionary history in Eastern Europe has in principle been treated as a unique and isolated case, notwithstanding the tribute paid at times to the co-operation of the Red Army and the leadership of the Soviet Union (which country incidentally is exceptional in having a constitution without preamble).[20]

Returning to the African scene, we should perhaps not have expected to find strong evocations of national identity and nationalism. Especially in francophone Africa there was, towards the end of the colonial era, little as yet distinctly national to be found in the states created at Independence by a partition of French West Africa and of French Equatorial Africa. Among the local elite, strong orientations to French metropolitan culture prevailed. However, this point should not be exaggerated. The colonial administrative divisions did, after all, already long before independence

create separate units within a wider political and administrative arena, and between these units (the later francophone nation-states) competition for scare resources had already begun to create an awareness of distinct identity — as is e.g. clear from the fact that independence movements and their leaders had a certain local focus, on either Senegal, Ivory Coast, Mali; it is particularly the allegiance to a local constituency that precluded the realisation of Pan-African dreams at Independence.[21]

African unity turns out to be a major concern in African preambles, both within and outside our sample. It should be recalled that the first African constitutions were drafted at a time (around 1960) when African unity was very much en vogue. A decisive date in this respect was 1963, when the Organisation of African Unity was founded. Although little was achieved, in subsequent years, towards the realisation of a viable political and economic African unity across the continent, the ideal obviously continued to appeal to African legislators; in our sample, the 1972 constitution of Cameroon and the 1978 constitution of Zaire bear witness to this.

Outside our sample, a truly dedicated position as far as African unity is concerned, is clear from the Mali (1960) preamble:

‘Le peuple malien, conscient des imperatifs historiques, moraux et materiels qui unissent les Etats d'Afrique, soucieux de realiser l'unite politique, economique et sociale indispensable a l'affirmation de la personnalite africaine, affirme sa determination de poursuivre son oeuvre en vue de la realisation de l'unite africaine’.

‘Il (le peuple de Guinee) soutient sans reserve toute politique tendant a la creation des Etat-Unis d'Afrique, a la sauvegarde, a la consolidation de la paix dans le monde’.

The Mali preamble is reminiscent of that of Senegal(1960); both speak of 'des imperatifs historiques', etc. uniting African countries. Somewhat ironically though, Senegal and Mali happened, for a couple of months in 1960, to be united in the Mali federation — hence perhaps their still rather parallel preambles; but in their case, it appeared that 'des

imperatifs historiques' far from leading to further unification drove the two partners apart (cf.. Hesseling 1982).

The declarations of Guinea and Mali in favour of African unity were strengthened still by the constitutional provisions which both included with respect to the possibility of abolishing national sovereignty. Guinee and Mali appear to have been the only francophone African states to adopt this provision. The respective articles were identical:

‘La Republique peut conclure avec tout Etat africain des accords d'association ou de communaute, comprenant abandon partiel ou total de souverainete en vue de realiser l'unite africaine’.

The preamble of the Senegal constitution showed traces of regret about a lost opportunity to unite francophone West Africa, and also a determination to keep trying:

‘Le peuple senegalais, soucieux de preparer la voie de l'unite des Etats de l'Afrique et d'assurer les perspectives que comporte cette unite; Conscient de la necessite d'une unite politique, culturelle, economique et sociale, indispensable a l'affirmation de la personnalite africaine; Conscient des imperatifs historiques, moraux et materiels qui unissent les Etats de l'Ouest africain’.[22]

The last sentence, however, introduces an alternative to Pan-African unity a la Nkrumah: the formation, at a less than continental scale, of regional interstatal forms of co-operation, for the sake of customs, monetary structures, scientific exchange, communications etc. Their success has been rather more substantial than that of Pan-Africanist attempts, although here, too, the post-Independence period has seen some significant disappointments.[23]

Politico-ideological position

While statements of national identity, such as have been discussed in the preceding paragraph, serve to define the nation which is to be the carrier of the political order set out in the constitution, one could well imagine

that the specific form which this order is to take, is subjected to further philosophical or ideological reflection (Copans 1978; Goulbourne 1978). If a constitutional preamble is the place to propound underlying principles, one would expect to find here statements as to the democratic nature of the state, matters of sovereignty and independence, the weight that is to be given to religious authority in the affairs of the state, etc.

Inspection of our sample in this light reveals again the arbitrary nature of the distinction between preamble and main text. No constitutional text could do without at least a summary treatment of the politico-ideological position from which the legislator departs. However, much of this position turns out to be expounded not in preambles, but in the main body of the text, and particularly in a first title of the constitution. The Mali (1974) preamble does not even hint at a politico-ideological position, although such matters as democracy, the secular nature of the state, and its sovereignty, are in fact discussed elsewhere in the constitution. A similar situation applies in the case of Zaire (1964). In the other cases the preamble may be more explicit as to politico-ideological position, but also there we find that these principles are more extensively dealt with outside the preamble. In this respect, the preamble seems to fall short, somehow, of fulfilling the function of statement of underlying principles which we have ideal-typically assigned to it. Again, African legislators appear to have gone ahead and drafted their constitutions without having first consulted our present argument.

With the exception of Mali (1974) and Zaire (1964), all preambles in our sample do in fact contain some discussion of politico-ideological principles. In only one case (Niger 1960) this includes an explicit affirmation of the principles of democracy — which principles however, once again, do appear in the main texts of four other constitutions in our sample.

Only one constitution, that of Zaire (1978), emphasises the conservation of universal values in general. In a continent where kinship relations have been acknowledged to remain such an important principle in the organisation of social life, it is hardly to be surprised that constitutions contain, as part of their ideological content, statements to this effect; the family is presented as the basis of society in four constitutions in

our sample, in two cases (Cameroon 1972 and Zaire 1964) in the preamble and in the other two cases in the main text.

More fundamental in a constitutional text, which defines the nature of the national political order, is of course the explicit reference to sovereignty, which is present in all our six sample texts; however, only one of them (Cameroon 1972) finds the preamble the suitable place to expound this principle, the others again placing it in the beginning of the main text. Within the historical context of twentieth-century Africa, the attainment of independence from a former metropole is a crucial element in the sovereign nature of the state; in this respect it is remarkable that Mali (1974) and Zaire (1964) nowhere, in their constitutions, explicitly refer to their national independence, and limit themselves to a more general statement of sovereignty. In the Zairian case, this state of affairs was altered fourteen years later, when the 1978 preamble came to include a very explicit reference to national independence, not only at the political level, but also socially, economically and culturally. This reflects the fact that it is particularly the ideological dimension of constitutional texts which has received extensive elaboration in the 1978 Zairian constitution, under the aegis of Mobutism.

The limited extent, in general, to which constitutional preambles are being used by African legislators in order to deal with matters of political ideology, is reflected in the fact that the preambles in our sample hardly contain specific statements as to the form and organisation of the states they refer to. These matters are almost exclusively dealt with in the main bodies of the constitutions, and then often at considerable length. Two interesting exceptions are Mali (1974), which, in its preamble, defines the form of the state as being that of a Republic; and Zaire (1978), where both the preamble and the main text deal at length with the one national political party. By and large the Zaire (1978) constitution is an exceptional case, not so much because of its emphasis on its one-party system [24] (which is also found in the other countries in our sample, with the exception of Senegal), but because of its very strong ideological elaboration which would seem to go at the expense of the more organisational dimension of constitutional legislation.

At first glance African constitutions would appear to contain, in their mottoes, a more rewarding source of information as to their politico-ideological position. All constitutions in our sample (and virtually all francophone African constitutions outside our sample) contain, in the first title of the main text, mottoes which seem to subsume, in a rather hermetic and symbolic nutshell, the political ideology of the country.[25] These mottoes are very similar in their form and contents. All consist (in various overlapping combinations) of three abstract nouns mostly denoting virtues, such as 'fraternity', discipline', or entities which form the object of virtues (such as 'unity' — to be attained by solidarity, or 'fatherland' — the object of patriotism). Table III: 2 provides an overview of mottoes of sixteen francophone African countries.

On closer inspection, however, the specific ideological content of these mottoes appears to be far less important than their signalling function as distinctive labels, well to be compared with coats of arms (in which they, incidentally, feature), national flags, and national anthems. For each country, the specific permutation of three elements selected from the apparently limited range available internationally would largely seem to serve heraldic preoccupations; it could hardly be maintained that the choice of an particular motto reflects the peculiar history or social structure of the country in any significant way. Some items are preferred: twelve countries include 'work' in their mottoes, six 'unity', and six again 'justice'. It would be foolish to compare countries on the basis of these mottoes, and try and assess what regularities in their constitutional and political system might account for the specific selection of any such permutation. Free variation of form, such as in art or in linguistics, seems to be the overall explanation of the pattern of distribution as found in table III: 2. However, the fact that all these francophone constitutions include mottoes and select them from a common pool bears out the extent to which these texts do in fact constitute one and the same constitutional family.[26]

Family resemblances are manifest also when constitutions explicitly define the relation between statal and religious authority — a topic which in French constitutional law is general treated under the heading of 'laicite', secularity (Trotabas 1961). Many francophone African states have

a predominantly Muslim population and are currently facing a resurgence of Islamic fundamentalism which may challenge the authority of the secular state. In general one of the most pressing questions in the contemporary Muslim world is: Can Islam form the foundation for a modern state? A draft Islamic constitution ((Ghazali 1981: 153168) has recently been proposed. In Africa, both north and south of the Sahara, the influence of Islam on politics, constitutional law and law in the broader sense, is increasing.[27] In this connexion it is significant that (in addition to such items as sovereignty and democracy, which would be rather indispensable in a constitutional text anyway), secularity is the only item explicitly dealt with in all six texts of our sample. In the best French constitutional tradition, these francophone African constitutions take the line that the state should be secular. Within our sample, Senegal can be considered as a country where — despite the constitutional insistence on secularity — Islamic leaders continue to play a decisive role in state politics (Behrman 1977; Coulon 1979; Hesseling 1982). Outside our sample, Mauritania and the Comores — both having adopted Islam as a state religion — would be the only exceptions in francophone Africa. Christianity also raises controversies in the field of church-state relations in Black Africa.[28]

In our sample, only the two Zairian preambles make at all mention of God,[29] and none of the six texts propound the Supreme Being as the fundamental source of authority.[30] This again reveals these African constitutions as a common family, as against for instance Latin American constitutions, in whose preambles reference is made to God either as the supreme authority of the universe or, at least, as the protector of the respective constituent assemblies.[31]

Economic ideology

Disappointingly little as constitutional preambles contain in the way of explicit statements of political ideology, they are virtually silent on the point of economic ideology. This is all the more remarkable, since economic underdevelopment and the desire to alter that situation has been, ever since Independence, a dominant concern of all African governments, in importance only to be matched by national stability and integration.[32] Looking at the preambles in our sample we find that only the long preamble of Cameroon (1972) contains some limited reference to the national economy: the principle is stated of taxation commensurate to a citizen's income, and international co-operation is presented as a means towards national economic development, in the following terms:

‘(the people of Cameroon), resolved to exploit its natural wealth in order to ensure the well-being of every citizen by the raising of living standards, proclaims its rights to development as well as its determination to devote all its efforts to that end and declares that it is ready to co-operate with all states desirous of participating in this national enterprise in respect for its sovereignty and the independence of the Cameroonian State’.

It is remarkable that this formulation in the 1972 federal preamble is rather more reticent than its predecessor in the 1960 preamble of formerly French East Cameroon, which bluntly spoke of the protection and desirability of foreign investment in the following terms:

‘La liberte de constitution, de gestion et d'exploitation, d'investissement ainsi que la non-discrimination en matiere juridique, financiere, fiscale et commerciale sont reconnues a tous dans les conditions fixees par la loi.’

‘L'Etat du Cameroun conscient de l'importance d'un developpement de son economie dans la liberte, et de la necessite d'une participation de capitaux de toutes origines a ce developpement, est soucieux de prevoir dans ses institutions l'existence de codes, conventions et contrats aussi propres que possible a lui en assurer le concours. Il entend rechercher des maintenant, en accord avec les pays et les organismes internationaux interesses tous moyens de creer les meilleures conditions possibles aux capitaux desireux de s'investir dans des realisations profitables aux deux parties.’

If earlier we noted a strong reliance on French metropolitan traditions in the formulation of particular preoccupations, then here certainly is an example of innovation in the drafting of constitutional preambles. Particularly the encouragement in the latter paragraph had little to do with the constitution as such, and nothing whatsoever with the social rights among which it was listed. It was not a statement directed to the people of Cameroon, nor an expression that in any way could be attributed to them. Yet it was familiar language; conceivably it could have been lifted straight from a brochure on 'Investment Opportunities in Cameroun'.[33] Evidently, these provisions were formulated with an eye on foreign investors. As compared with the 1960 phrasing, the 1972 text is remarkable in that it confines international co-operation to the state level, and no longer holds up the image of a (private) investor's paradise. International criticism of multinational corporations and their activities in the Third World first gained momentum in the late 1960s; however, in a follow-up study a closer inspection of recent Cameroon history might well suggest additional local reasons for the more reserved position taken in 1972.[34]

But even in 1972 the Cameroon preamble is a very far cry from Zaire (1978), which strongly stresses economic independence — an ideological statement in the double sense of the word, since it is hardly in line with the neo-colonial realities of Zaire under Mobutu.[35]

Finally on economic ideology we note, in the 1960 Senegal preamble, the explicit recognition of collective property — a peculiarity to be deleted when the Senegalese constitution was revised in 1963 (Hesseling 1982: 199).

SOURCE OF AUTHORITY

In our definition of constitutional preambles we have given virtually equal weight to (a) the evocation of historical conditions, (b) the propounding of fundamental legal and politico-philosophical principles, and (c) the final enacting clause by which the constitution acquires formal force of law under some explicitly stated authority. Our inspection of a limited number of African constitutional preambles has shown that these vary considerably as to their treatment of historical conditions and underlying principles. Our definition would seem to sketch some sort of ideal type from which legislators often deviate in actual practice. However, the constitutions in our sample are rather more uniform, and all remain close to the ideal type, when it comes to our third definitional element, the statement of the source of authority.

All six constitutions explicitly state their source of authority, and this is invariably: the people. Here these constitutions reveal themselves once again not only as members of one family on the African continent, but also as closely related to the eighteenth-century constitutional traditions initiated by the French Revolution and the United States Declaration of Independence. At the same time, the link between the people as the fundamental source of authority, and the constitutional text at hand, often remains implicit in that a specific enacting clause is absent in four out of the six constitutions in our sample. Zaire (1964) and Zaire (1978) do contain such a clause. The 1960 Niger constitution that features in our sample lacks an enacting clause, but its 1965 modification (Decheix 1966) has the following text preceding the preamble:

The National Assembly of the Republic of Niger deliberated and adopted in its plenary session of November 8, 1960; the President of the Council of Ministers promulgates the following Constitutional law:’

Contrary to what one might have expected, the preambles do not reflect the dramatic historical conditions under which they were drafted on the eve of national independence: the colonial state had given way to the local African people as a source of authority for the state and its constitution — but nothing in these preambles (or in the main texts for that matter) evokes this transition which, in a constitutional and ideological sense, must yet be considered a crucial one. This lack of elaboration (which is also noticeable in the absence of explicit enacting clauses) may be indicative of some embarrassment on the part of African legislators: in the light

of international constitutional history they have no alternative but propounding the people as the source of authority, but at the same time legislative practice as well as the subsequent constitutional functioning of the independent African states reveal that the actual state power is exercised not by the mobilised masses of the nation but by some national elite having usurped the people's authority while continuing to pay lip service to it.[36] If anything, the ideological potential of preambles could be said to have been under-utilised or misused.

CONCLUSION: PREAMBLES AND SOCIO-POLITICAL REALITY

Having discussed, in considerable detail, the form and variations in content of African constitutional preambles, we shall conclude our exploration with an attempt to situate these texts in the wider socio-political reality. Do they contain a hidden message about that reality, and if so, what is that message?

Already our exploration in the preceding pages has considerable dampened the expectations which with we set out. While we have attempted to define an ideal type of the constitutional preamble, the actual preambles examined in our sample are sufficient indication that it is only of limited relevance to separate the preamble from the entire body of a modern constitutional text, and try and attribute a specific form and content to that introductory part. The three elements which our definition stipulated for preambles (historical conditions, principles and source of authority) were often less clearly apparent. When we now turn to an analysis of preambles in a wider socio-political reality, these initial findings would suggest that we are very unlikely to hit upon any general and clear-cut relationships.

1. Given the particular social and political context in which preambles come into being, how can we explain that preambles take on a particular form and content? In other words, what socio-political factors primarily influence the legislator's activity in so far as these lead to particular preambular texts?

2. Given the existence of a particular preamble, how does that text function in the national socio-political environment? In other words, what is the impact of preambles on society and the polity?

The two questions are mirror images of each other. While at first we might attempt to answer either of them from a synchronic point of view, they easily lead on to a historical perspective if they are expanded in the following way:

1'. What changes in the socio-political environment produce changes in the form and content of constitutional preambles?

2'. To what extent do textual changes in constitutional preambles produce significant changes in the national society and polity?[37]

Once again, we should emphasise that this study is concerned with preambles and not with constitutional texts as a whole. A study of African constitutional processes, seeking to answer the above questions for entire constitutions all over Africa, would be a major undertaking well outside our present scope.

The distinction between preamble and main text may be blurred at times, and the placement of certain constitutional elements in the preamble or the main text retains a measure of arbitrariness. Yet our survey of preambular form and content has at least indicated that, as far as socio-political interpretation is concerned, preambles form an extreme case in so far as empirical socio-political and socio-legal research is concerned. For here (more than in the main body of a constitution) we are dealing with texts whose formal, abstract nature may be much further removed from the actual socio-political reality in which they are drafted, then those parts of a constitution that deal with the concrete, organisational features of the state and its institutions.[38] In this respect much preambular content may be comparable with the emblematic, almost literary nature of the constitutional mottoes discussed above — even if the latter normally do no appear in preambles themselves. When constitutional statements attain a sufficient level of specificity and concreteness and imply specific action or the abstinence from such action (such as is the case in fundamental rights, rules governing eligibility to public office etc.), then some degree of empirical assessment becomes possible of the extent to which these statements are actually observed in reality, are violated, ignored

etc. Preambular texts may contain such statements, e.g. in the form of fundamental rights. An empirical study of the observance or violation of such rights in African states would be interesting, but would teach us more about fundamental rights and African states than about preambles as such. However, most of the content of preambles is so general, ideological or philosophical, that it is extremely difficult to pinpoint, in the socio-political reality, specific institutions, activities, or policies that could be seen as either resulting from or being at variance with preambular content.

So while preambles may be of considerable comparative interest to the constitutional lawyer or the student of esoteric symbolic idioms, we should not overestimate the extent to which they can be of direct relevance to the political scientist or the sociologist. This is all the more true since preambles (at least those included in our sample) can hardly be said to fully realise even the potential we have ideal-typically attributed to them: as statements, e.g., of fundamental rights, of dramatic historical conditions attending constitutional change, of national identity, pan-African commitment, or political philosophy, African constitutional preambles turn out to be less than exhaustive. When it comes to fundamental rights or the organisation of the state, the main body of the constitution is normally a better source than the preamble. When we want to get a picture of a country's political and social philosophy, again there are other texts (normally not of a constitutional nature) that provide much deeper insight. Fascinating as preambles may be, they remain phenomena of rather limited scope.

When we try to explain why African francophone constitutional preambles, despite all variation, have so much of their form and content in common, a literary analogy may be illuminating. Preambles can be regarded as one literary genre of legislative writing; and as a genre they display various conventions which a writer would not normally violate: a particular style, conventional elements such as the evocation of the people as source of authority, references to pan-Africanism, to fundamental rights, etc. Historically, the origin of this genre can be identified as French (Hesseling 1982; Kliesch 1967) or even international constitutional culture (Van Maarsenveen & Van der Tang 1978: 2021), to which all people involved

in the drafting of these constitutional texts were very deeply immersed — with typical African elements such as pan-Africanism and the emphasis on the family as the basis of society thrown in for couleur locale. As a literary genre, more or less professional conventions may have been a more dominant concern than any direct reference of current socio-political reality. In fact, since membership of the international community of states, and acceptance as member of e.g. the United Nations, to some extent depended on writing the 'right' kind of constitutions, these texts and their preambles might well be called international visitor's cards, and their form might be just as predictable as the conventions that govern such cards.

Yet the extra-judicial reality manages to break through to the texts, and we suggest this could be analysed at three different levels. First, whether or not explicitly highlighted in the preambular texts, the truth is that they were drafted at dramatic moments in the national history — the transition to a new political system; without these events reshaping the national socio-political reality, the preambles would not even exist. Secondly, the legislators, far from actively associating with the masses of the African people, were in the position of an acculturated bourgeoisie, which (while deeply concerned with the discovery and formulation of their own class identity) had to derive legitimacy from reference to the people, without wanting to be hindered by excessive political participation of the people. In their choice of language and style, their occasional evocations of national identity, the dilemma of enacting clauses featuring the people rather than the ruling bourgeoisie, some of this class background can be detected. Thirdly, as a literary genre preambles may belong to the realm of storytelling rather than realism, yet their closest analogy seems to be with a variety of folk literature encompassing magical incantations and other ritual formulae. The preambular genre can be said to have a specific social function: that of attending a major ritual passage in the political life of a country. As in all ritual texts, preambles may abound with meaning and symbolism — yet their main function is to match the public conventions of the occasion. This also explains why preambles do not describe an existing society, but set forth an image or blueprint of an ideal society yet to come into being: one saturated with national identity

and unity, international co-operation, and individual integrity. There is no point in trying to assess if such images correspond with the actual society in which they were formulated — just like works of art are not primarily or exclusively judged according to their minute and successful copying of reality. It would be relevant, however, to ascertain whether the hope and inspiration that these texts emanate, actually seeped through to the society at large.

Not only as a ritual text articulating a unique constitutional transition in the history of a country, but also as abstractions from the realities of society (presenting a mobilising ideal rather at variance with that reality), preambles may after all be more innovative than our discussion of them as a conventional literary genre would suggest. In our sample, the one francophone preamble that departs rather originally from the genre's conventions (the Zairian one of 1978), happens to be drafted in a society that also in other respects forms an extreme case in our sample: there the gap between constitutional provisions and actual socio-political functioning or non-functioning is wider than in any of the other countries examined. Here particularly the ideological content propounded in the preamble might be said to obscure or dissimulate existing conditions, rather than altering them.

While our discussion so far may throw some light on the adoption of preambles in francophone constitutional texts in general (and in independence constitutions in particular), we may now turn to the historical perspective and ask ourselves what changes in the wider socio-political environment actually come to be reflected in the way of preambular alterations (our question 1'). In our overview we have already encountered a number of examples of such processes. In Niger, the termination of civil rule by the 1974 coup has led, on the constitutional level, to the suspension of the entire constitution, including of course the preamble.[39] Incidentally, the Proclamation by which this was effected oddly resembles a preamble in style and content, and even comes closer to our preambular ideal type than many of the real preambles we have examined:

‘Proclamation of Lieutenant Colonel Seyni Kountche in the name of the Supreme Military Council:

Citizens of Niger, today, April 15, 1974, the army decided to assume its responsibilities by putting an end to the regime with which you were familiar. After fifteen years of a reign marked by injustice, corruption, selfishness and indifference toward the people whose happiness it claimed to insure, we could no longer tolerate the continued existence of this oligarchy.

In my capacity as General Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces, I have decided to proclaim the suspension of the Constitution, the dissolution of the National Assembly, and the abolition of all political and para-political organisations.

I reaffirm our membership in all African and international organisations as well as our respect for all previous commitments, provided that they consider the interests and dignity of our people.

Therefore, the military and civilian authorities will unfailingly insure the maintenance of order and the protection of persons and property in their areas of responsibility.

Niger citizens, my brothers, in the face of this most dramatic situation now facing our country, I know that I can rely on you so that Niger may live long’.

Our other examples of preambular process are less drastic. We have already referred to the shift, in the Zairian preamble of 1978 as compared to the 1964 one, to statements of an ideological and mobilising nature — possibly in an attempt to conceal the breakdown of the specific institutions of the state during the period indicated. Of lesser scope are the preambular changes in statements of economic ideology in Senegal 1964 (where, as compared with the 1960 preamble, collective property was deprived of its constitution backing — a reflection of the political defeat of the left-wing Prime Minister M. Dia at the end of 1962), and in the federal Cameroon preamble, where private foreign investment was no longer explicitly encouraged as it had been in the 1960 East Cameroon independence preamble.

Even when conceived as a rather hermetic and abstract literary genre, constitutional preambles cannot entirely resist the pressures from a changing socio-political reality. But again, they reflect these changes in a very indirect way, which would make preambles hardly an important primary source for the political scientist.

Yet it is remarkable that these socio-political changes have come to be encoded in preambular texts, as if the legislators at least believe in

the efficacy and social relevance of these texts. Here we move on to our second question, that of the impact of preambles upon their national societies and polities. Do they have such an impact and are they (question 2') even capable of effecting changes in the wider society?

For a balanced answer to these questions it would be necessary to peruse the entire body of post-independence constitutional jurisprudence in Africa. Such material is not at our disposal in this exploratory stage of our enquiry; the evidence that one of us has concerns Senegal (cf. Hesseling 1982) and is entirely negative. Yet one could think of other, more subtle and extra-judicial ways in which, through the media, the educational system, popular culture in general, notions derived from the ideological content of the constitutional preambles percolate through the national society and help to shape people's views of their constitutional system, their rights within that system, their insistence on such rights through voting, use of the media (letters to the editor, e.g.), constitutional litigation, etc. Such limited research as is available on this evasive aspect of African political life does not, however, address itself specifically to preambles. However, if the ideological content of preambles is analysed as constituting the legitimation of the political system as a whole, it would be wise to extend our research so as include the attitudes and statements of the citizens that even preambles claim to constitute the central source of authority.

REFERENCES (click here for References)

Table III: 1. Form and content of African francophone constitutional preambles (click here for Table III.1)

Table III: 2. Distribution of mottoes of sixteen independent African states. (click here for Table III.2)

[ Note: In the original publications, tables and diagrams were numbered according to chapter number, being III in this case. The article contains Tables III.1 and III.2 and no others; no tables are missing ]

[1] An earlier version of this paper was presented by Martin Doornbos at the 1981 Leiden workshop on 'State and Society in Africa'. The present version is a greatly expanded, essentially new argument, to which all three authors made an equally substantial contribution. We are indebted to Ger van der Tang for making available essential materials, and to Mieke Zwart, Ria van Hal and Adrienne van Wijngaarden for typing successive drafts.

[2] Source: Annex to Law no. 78010 of February 15, 1978, revising the constitution of June 24, 1967.

[3] Cf. on constitutions and constitutional law: Finer 1979; Levy 1969; Marshall 1971; Van der Tang (unpubl.); Zurcher [ check Zurcher ] 1955.

[4] Reference to francophone states appear throughout this article; on anglophone states cf. Allot 1980a; Nwabueze 1977; Paul 1981.

[5] Sources of constitutional texts: Blaustein & Flanz 1971; Fitzgerald 1968; Lavroff 1961 a, 1961b and 1976; Peaslee 19651970; Wolf-Phillips 1968.

[6] An analysis on politics in the Third World is given by Roy 1977; for political science studies concerning Africa, cf.: Austin 1978; Dunn 1978; Gonidec 1978; Fishel 1978; Mennasemay 1982; Potholm 1970 and 1972; Shaw & Heard 1979.

[7] Information on these states is to be found in the following studies giving a general overview of the various African countries: Bourges & Wauthier 1979; Tenaille 1979; Europe Outre-mer no. 571, 1977; see also the special sections in the collections of constitutions consulted for the present study (cf. note 5), and the bibliographic references cited there.

[8] References on Cameroon in general: Imbert 1975; on the Cameroon federation: Alima 1977; Gonidec 1969 and 1970; Rubin 1971; on the constitution of the unitary state: Mbarga 1973; Owona 1973 and 1975.

[9] Debbasch 1962, Durieux 1963, and Muracciole 1962 discussed the loi fondamentale; on the preparations of the 1964 constitution see Gerard-Liboid 1962a, 1962b; and on the 1964 constitution itself: Fourre 1964. [ check plaatsing van deze noot ]

[10] Literature on the subject is abundant. A selection: Bernetel 1979; Bowett 1966; Droits de l'homme 1981; Eide & Schou 1968; Howard 1982; International Commission of Jurists 1978; Kapteyn 1970; Khadduri 1976; Koopmans 1975; Kuntze 1970; Ramcharan 1979; Robertson 1982; Valticos 1979; Vasak 1967.

[11] In the Netherlands towards the end of the 1970s, much attention was paid to fundamental rights in a context of economic underdevelopment. Cf. Problemen etc. 1979: 3335 and 4647; Rechten van de mens etc. 19781979: 72 ff.

[13] The verdict of Conseil constitutionnel 16 juillet 1971; see Rivero 1971: 537-542 and 1972: 265; Robert 1971: 171-200.

[14] See particular the Final Act of the International Conference on Human Rights, Teheran, 22 April to 13 May 1968, UN doc. A/CONF. 32/41: 4, where the Universal Declaration of 1948 is called a document ‘that states a common understanding of the peoples of the world concerning the inalienable and inviolable of rights of all members of the human family and constitutes an obligation for the members of the international community’ (our italics); see also Koopmans 1975.

[15] Veerman (1977: 56) subdivides the criteria defining a nation, in three categories: the objective, the subjective and the mixed theory. See also literature on the topic as cited there.

[16] The problematic boundaries in Africa are subject of numerous studies: Bouvier 1972; Boyd 1980; Gueye 19771978; Michelon 1978: 19; Widstrand 1969. For a sophisticated discussion on this point, see Van Amersfoort et al. 1981.

[17] On ethnic diversity and ethnicity, see: Enloe 19731974 and 1978; Gallais 1982; Rothchild & Olorunsola 1983; Stokes 1978.

[18] Ayoade (1978: 317) states that, paradoxically, the federal solution has been the most popular political form in postcolonial Africa, although federations have shown a strong tendency to fail. More specifically on Cameroon: KontchouKouomegni 1980: 442-464.

[19] Nationalism, national identity and the struggle for independence did, in mutual interplay, constitute important factors: cf. Buttner 1980; Smith 1972.

[20] Marxism, socialism and soviet constitutionalism did exercise some general influence on constitutional thought in Africa, cf.: Jouve 1980; Owona 1983; Reghizzi 1980.

[21] Cf. the struggles between Senghor and Houphouet-Boigny on the organisation and hegemony of West African states at the eve of independence; or the vicissitudes of the Mali Federation: Hesseling 1982, and references cited there; Ajayi 1982: 19.

[22] The sentence ends here, even though it does not seem to be finished; this defect was mended in the 1963 preamble of Senegal, which in all other respects was identical to the 1960 one.

[23] Cf. some of the very numerous studies on Pan-Africanism and African unity: Agyeman 1978; Esedee & Olisanwuche 1977; Fiscian 1977; Soumonni 1981.

[24] A constitutionalist view of the one-party state in Africa is presented by Rogge 1974. A classic on this subject is the study of Coleman & Rosberg 1964. See also: Doornbos 1965; Fall 1980; Sylla 1977; and in relation with ideology: Silveira 1976.

[25] In general, utilisation of symbolic resources seems to be important in African political life: Faure 1978.

[26] In this respect, inclusion, in table 2, of the famous 1789 motto of France is relevant.

[27] Some striking examples are given by Ben Achour 1974; Dilger 1978 and 1980; Gruner 1981; Rondot 1980; Paden 1981; Wuhler [ check ] 1980.

[28] Glele (1981), in his study on religion, culture and politics in Black Africa, cites numerous passages on church-state relations — both Christian and Islam — in constitutional and other law text of African states. See also: Ankrah 1977; Chauleur 1973; Curry 1979; Glele 1983; Heyke 1982, and his article in the present collection; Sundermeier 1973; Verhaegen 1977.

[29] On the church-state conflict in Zaire, cf. Adelman 1975; Asch 1983; Doutreloux 1977; Goovaert 1975; CRISP 1972.

[30] Another interesting example, within our sample, is Cameroon; cf. Ngongo 1982.

[31] In addition to Mauritania, mention of God in African constitutions outside our sample seems to be limited to the independence constitutions of Cameroon, Gabon, and Malagasy, all of them of 1960.

[32] Cf. Amin 1973; Afana 1966; Schaeffer 1980. On the socialist experience in Mali, see Martin 1976.

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INTRODUCTION[1]