By John Kimbute
Commentary
African universities remain trapped in an endless quest for relevance, where research is conducted within the familiar—and often Western—parameters of global academic discourse. The stated goal is to produce knowledge that speaks to Africa’s lived realities, but in practice, theory-building is still largely an extension of external frameworks, serving global rather than local agendas.
The challenge persists: Can Africa generate knowledge systems rooted in its unique social, historical, and political realities? According to Prof. Mahmood Mamdani, this transformation is both possible and urgent.
In a keynote address marking over a decade of reforms at the Makerere Institute of Social Research (MISR), Prof. Mamdani reaffirmed his stance: “Africa has no choice but to train the next generation of African scholars at home.” He stressed that this requires deep institutional reform, particularly in postgraduate education. While noble, this aspiration continues to wrestle with structural realities that were already evident in the early 2000s—and are even more pronounced today.
Prof. Mamdani’s own academic journey—beginning with O-levels in 1962 and culminating in a U.S. PhD by 1972—occurred during a golden era of postcolonial optimism. But upon his return, he quickly confronted disillusionment and apathy within academia—an inertia driven not by intellectual poverty, but by a broader sociopolitical paralysis. Can postgraduate reform, however ambitious, address this deep-rooted malaise?
He notes that, even during his time at Makerere or the University of Dar es Salaam, there were virtually no serious conversations on postgraduate education. Today, the consultancy culture dominates African universities, draining intellectual energy and reducing research to project-based deliverables for external funders. For Mamdani, this is the death of independent scholarship.
To counter this, MISR developed an intensive doctoral training model built on coursework, meant to cultivate theoretical rigor and free scholars from dependency on Western intellectual traditions. Yet, this raises questions: Will coursework alone ignite theoretical innovation? Or is scholarly originality ultimately a matter of aptitude, mentorship, and national purpose?
There’s a risk in treating Africa’s intellectual deficit as a curricular problem rather than a systemic one. Without a vibrant national economy or compelling political project, theoretical inquiry becomes abstract, even alienating. As history shows—whether Egypt in 2011 or Ghana in the 1960s—intellectual flourishing often accompanies moments of national transformation.
Prof. Mamdani’s discomfort with African scholars acting as “native informants” in global academia is valid—but his push to sever African theory from global trends courts a different danger: intellectual isolationism. In an age of glocalization—where African youth livestream academic conferences, publish in international journals, and organize pan-African forums via WhatsApp—total autonomy is neither possible nor desirable.
The goal should not be to invent a separate African theory, but to ensure Africa becomes a co-author of global theory. A young doctoral student must indeed rethink inherited ideas—but with the courage to critique Mamdani himself. Can MISR allow that kind of dissent?
Moreover, Mamdani’s hope that coursework can enable students to “rethink old questions and formulate new ones” runs into a harsh reality: some African histories resist romantic revisionism. Can a Ugandan doctoral student rewrite the post-independence collapse, Idi Amin’s regime, or the rise of Joseph Kony without facing uncomfortable truths about national failure and complicity?
This is why, for many, borrowing from Western paradigms remains safer—not because they are superior, but because they have been psychologically processed into coherent systems. As Mamdani himself demonstrated in Politics and Class Formation in Uganda, borrowing can be powerful when coupled with critical reinterpretation.
But the core issue remains: economic stagnation. As long as African economies fail to inspire their middle classes, there will be no theoretical rain season—no intellectual mating calls, to borrow from animal instinct metaphors. Ideas flourish not just in lecture halls, but when tied to national confidence, material security, and historical optimism.
The Egyptian revolution is instructive. In the wake of uprising, dozens of new media outlets, blogs, and scholarly forums emerged—born of pride, pain, and the hope of a new society. Theoretical engagement surged because people believed they were making history. Without such energy, even the best-designed doctoral curriculum becomes another bureaucratic formality.
And this is Mamdani’s blind spot. His critique of “external question-setting” presumes that Africans are being held back by foreigners, rather than by their own governments, political cultures, and intellectual gatekeepers. When African leaders silence dissent, refuse electoral reform, and muzzle media, the problem is not colonial residue—it is contemporary autocracy. Any theory that fails to confront this—no matter how locally grounded—becomes complicit.
Ultimately, the debate is not about “Western versus African” theory. It is about whether Africa can become a serious producer of knowledge, not just a source of raw data. That requires not just training more PhDs or reforming universities—but transforming African societies themselves.
Until then, theory will remain a ghost dancing in someone else’s machine.