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On Friday 19th February 1937, following an abortive attack by a handful of insurgents on Mussolini's High Command in the Italian-occupied nation state of Ethiopia, 'repression squads' of armed Blackshirts and Fascist civilians were unleashed on the defenseless residents of the capital city Addis Ababa. In three terror-filled days and nights of arson, murder and looting, thousands of innocent and unsuspecting men, women and children were roasted alive, shot, bludgeoned, stabbed to death, or blown to pieces with hand-grenades. The incident is popularly known as Yekatit 12, the date concerned in the Ethiopian calendar. Meanwhile the notorious Viceroy Rodolfo Graziani, infamous for his atrocities in Libya, took the opportunity to add to the carnage by eliminating the intelligentsia and nobility of the ancient Ethiopian empire in a pogrom that swept across the land. In a richly illustrated and ground-breaking work backed up by meticulous and scholarly research, the author reconstructs and analyses one of Fascist Italy's least known atrocities, which he estimates eliminated 19-20 per cent of the capital's population. He exposes the hitherto little known cover-up conducted at the highest levels of the British government, which enabled the facts of one of the most hideous civilian massacres of all time to be concealed, and the perpetrators to walk free.

In 1953 Dag Hammarskjöld became the second Secretary-General of the United Nations—the highest international civil servant. Before his mission was cut short by a 1961 plane crash in then Northern Rhodesia (today Zambia), he used his office to act on the basis of anti-hegemonic values, including solidarity and recognition of otherness. The dubious circumstances of Hammarskjöld’s death have received much attention, including a new official investigation (which is summarized in a chapter), but have perhaps overshadowed his diplomatic legacy—one that has often been hotly contested. This book summarizes Hammarskjöld’s personal background and the normative frameworks of the United Nations. He then explores the years of African decolonization during which Hammarskjöld was in office, investigating the scope and limits of his influence within the context of global governance during the Cold War. It paints a picture of a man with strong guiding principles, but limited room for maneuver, colliding with the essential interests of the big powers as the ‘wind of change’ blew over the African continent. The book is a critical contribution to the study of international politics and the role of the UN in the African decolonization processes during the Cold War. It is also exploring the role of individuals in leadership positions of the international civil service and by doing so is a tribute to the achievements of a cosmopolitan Swede.

Many people today have never heard of the Comoros, but these islands were once part of a prosperous economic system that stretched halfway around the world. A key node in the trading networks of the Indian Ocean, the Comoros thrived by exchanging slaves and commodities with African, Arab and Indian merchants. By the seventeenth century, the archipelago had become an important supply point on the route from Europe to Asia, and developed a special relationship with the English. The twentieth century brought French colonial rule and a plantation economy based on perfumes and spices. In 1975, following decades of neglect, the Comoros declared independence from France, only to be blighted by a series of coups, a radical revolutionary government and a mercenary regime. Today, the island nation suffers chronic mismanagement and relies on foreign aid and remittances from a diasporic community in France. Nonetheless, the Comoros are largely peaceful and culturally vibrant—connected to the outside world in the internet age, but, at the same time, still slightly apart. Iain Walker traces the history and unique culture of these enigmatic islands, from their first settlement by Africans, Arabs and Austronesians, through their heyday within the greater Swahili world and their decline as a forgotten outpost of the French colonial empire, to their contemporary status as an independent state in the Indian Ocean.

The small Slave Coast between the river Volta and Lagos, and especially its central part around Ouidah, was the epicentre of the slave trade in West Africa. But it was also an inhospitable, surf-ridden coastline, subject to crashing breakers and devoid of permanent human settlement. Nor was it easily accessible from the interior due to a lagoon which ran parallel to the coast. The local inhabitants were not only sheltered against incursions from the sea, but were also locked off from it. Yet, paradoxically, this small coastline witnessed a thriving long-term commercial relationship between Europeans and Africans, based on the trans-Atlantic slave trade. How did it come about? How was it all organized? Dahomey is usually cited as the Slave Coast's archetypical slave raiding and slave trading polity. An originally inland realm, it was a latecomer to the slave trade, and simply incorporated a pre-existing system by dint of military prowess, which ultimately was to prove radically counterproductive. Dahomey, which never controlled more than half of the region we call the Slave Coast, represented an anomaly in the local setting, an anomaly the author seeks to define and to explain.

This book seeks to understand the state, nation and political identities that are being forged in modern Zimbabwe, and the nature of control that Robert Mugabe’s ZANU exercises over those political institutions. Focusing on the perspective and experiences of societal groups including NGOs, churches, trade unions, students and academics the book explores how the construction of consent, threat of coercion and material resources are used to integrate social groups into the ruling nationalist coalition, but also how they resist and frame competing discourses and institutions. Taking seriously the discursive and institutional legacies of the nationalist struggle and the liberation war in shaping politics, it explores how independent Zimbabwe’s politics were molded by discursive claims to foster national unity that delegitimize autonomous political action outside the ruling party. Building a new societal coalition entailed the "demobilization" of ZANU(PF)’s original nationalist constituency which had backed it during the liberation war, and the "inclusion" of new groups including donors, white farmers and business interests. It also shows how legal practices and institution-building defused and constrained opportunities for contestation, even while the regime used the security forces to suppress those who challenged its political monopoly or who otherwise resisted incorporation. It thus presents a complex picture of how individuals and groups became bound up in the project of state- and nation-building, despite contesting or even rejecting aspects of it.

In October 1996, a motley crew of ageing Marxists and unemployed youths coalesced to revolt against Mobutu Seso Seko, president of Zaire/Congo since 1965. Backed by a Rwanda-led regional coalition that drew support from Asmara to Luanda, the rebels of the AFDL marched over 1500 kilometers in seven months to crush the dictatorship. To the Congolese rebels and their Pan-Africanist allies, the vanquishing of the Mobutu regime represented nothing short of a “second independence” for Congo and Central Africa as a whole. Within 15 months, however, Central Africa’s “liberation Peace” would collapse, triggering a cataclysmic fratricide between the heroes of the war against Mobutu and igniting the deadliest conflict since World War II. Uniquely drawing on hundreds of interviews with protagonists from Congo, Rwanda, Angola, Uganda, Tanzania, Ethiopia, Eritrea, South Africa, Belgium, France, the UK and the US, Why Comrades Go to War offers a novel theoretical and empirical account of Africa’s Great War. It argues that the seeds of Africa’s Great War were sown in the revolutionary struggle against Mobutu—the way the revolution came together, the way it was organized, and, paradoxically, the very way it succeeded. In particular, the book argues that the overthrow of Mobutu proved a Pyrrhic victory because the protagonists ignored the philosophy of Julius Nyerere, the father of Africa's liberation movements: they put the gun before the unglamorous but essential task of building the domestic and regional political institutions and organizational structures necessary to consolidate peace after revolution.