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 GLOBALIZATION AND
AFRICA’S TRANSITION TO
CONSTITUTIONAL RULE
Socio-Political Developments in Nigeria

M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman
Globalization and Africa’s Transition
to Constitutional Rule
Mohammed Nurudeen Akinwunmi-Othman

Globalization
and Africa’s Transition
to Constitutional Rule
Socio-Political Developments in Nigeria
Mohammed Nurudeen Akinwunmi-Othman
Dagenham
Essex, UK

ISBN 978-3-319-56034-2 ISBN 978-3-319-56035-9 (eBook)

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56035-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017940830

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction
on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology
now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and
information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication.
Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied,
with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published
maps and institutional affiliations.

Cover illustration: © Stocksnapper/Alamy Stock Photo

Printed on acid-free paper

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by Springer Nature

The registered company is Springer International Publishing AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
The original version of the book was revised: Belated correction to include a
new sentence in the acknowledgement has been incorporated.
 To my parents to whom I will be forever indebted
To Aderonke, Jammal, and Farrahan for their love, support,
and encouragement
 Preface

The direct consequences of the socio-political uprising and agitation for

democracy, rule of law, and political rights followed the annulment of the
presidential election of June 1993 by the military junta and their civilian
cohorts. These led to violence, overt human-rights abuses, tensions, and
socio-ethnic upheavals in Nigeria in the era preceding the period exam-
ined. The efforts later led to the birth of the current democratic republic
in 1999.
The decision to democratize governance by the Hausa-Fulani oli-
garchy was accelerated because of the influences of various internal and
external factors acting cohesively. These include socio-political coer-
cion and isolation, the effects of the economic hardship from the vari-
ous embargoes laid on the regime by the international community, fear,
and threats of a repeat of civil war and cessation along ethnic lines within
Nigeria.
From 1999 to 2009, Nigeria—a very heterogeneous, multi-ethnic,
and multi-religious nation—has continued to sustain democratic rule.
This has resulted in the longest period of uninterrupted civil rule since
Independence in 1960. In order to explain this exceptional incidence,
the book looks at the influences of globalization and transnational law as
the primary factors for this stability.
The exponential and sporadic growths in electronic media, unre-
strained access to modern equipment and methods of communica-
tion, and most importantly the Internet, have made the transfer of

ix
x Preface

information faster and easier. Thus facilitating instantaneous transfer of

cross-boundary reports, unrestricted exchange of socio-political ideas
and ideologies, and the free flow of other channels that affect every part
of the human existence. While they continue to act interdependently,
these factors have largely contributed to the stability of civil rule.
The collective influences of the judiciary on the polity, which is
referred to as ‘judicial activism’, were further improved and strengthened
through globalization. This was achieved by the application of transfinite
judicial interpretations to comparable constitutional provisions and stat-
utes in Nigeria.
In addition, organized pressure groups, non-governmental organiza-
tions, as well as the ‘Civil Society Organization’, whose influences have
been greatly facilitated by the judiciary and the media have played very
significant roles as vehicles of socio-political change and transformation.
They continue to act as buffers for the sustenance of democratic rule,
well beyond the period in question.

Dagenham, UK Mohammed Nurudeen Akinwunmi-Othman

 Acknowledgements

Thomas Edison once wrote, ‘Our greatest weakness lies in giving up.
The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time’. I
wish to express my sincere gratitude to everyone who has contributed in
the least way to the success of this endeavour.
First, to Prof. Kofi Oteng Kufuor of the University of East London,
United Kingdom, for his guidance and constructive criticisms. Second,
to Mr. Bashir Alao, an economist and lawyer, for his valuable sugges-
tions. The publisher and the entire editorial team at Palgrave McMillian,
for their painstaking effort, support, and advice.
Gratitude also goes to the staff and members of the following uni-
versities and libraries: School of Advanced Studies (SOAS); London
School of Economics (LSE); The British Library; University of London,
Institute of Advanced Legal Studies (IALS); Nigerian Law School,
University of Ilorin; University of Ibadan; University of Lagos, and the
University of Jos.
I also wish to acknowledge the contributions, suggestions and con-
structive criticisms of these scholars towards the changes recommended
to the contents of the original manuscript: Professor Siraj Sait (University
of East London), Dr. Olufemi Amao (University of Sussex) and
Dr. Jeremy Gilbert (University of East London).
Sincere thanks are given to the members of my family for their
encouragement and around-the-clock immense support. Mostly to my
wife, Aderonke, for bearing my long absence from home while reading

xi
xii Acknowledgements

and writing through the dark and lonely nights. I thank my little girl
Sisimi, who picked up my writing materials, and my son Jammal, for his
motivational quotes and inquisitive interests.
In addition, I offer thanks to every other person I have met over the
long years of writing this book, but whom I cannot rightly remember.
Finally, in the words of Shakespeare, ‘The height attained by great
men was not reached by a sudden flight; while their mates were asleep,
they were busy toiling through the nights’.
 Contents

1 Introduction  1

2 A Theoretical Overview of Democracy  15

3 A Theoretical Overview of Globalization  33

4 Political Activism in Nigeria: Historical Perspectives

and Current Challenges  55

5 Federalism and National Integration  77

6 Human Rights Law, Civil Society Organizations

and Transnational Law  95

7 The Impacts of Globalization on the

Nigerian System  125

8 Judicial Activism and Democratic Governance

in Nigeria  157

9 Resistance and Reformations in the

Nigerian System  187

xiii
xiv Contents

10        Conclusion and Recommendations  225

Bibliography 
249

Index 
259
 Abbreviations

≤ Less than or equal to

≥ Greater than or equal to
AAPS African Association of Political Science
ABN Association for Better Nigeria
ACDEG African Charter on Democracy, Elections, and Governance
ACHR African Charter on Human Rights
ADLN Association of Democratic Lawyers of Nigeria
AF Arewa Forum
AG Action Group
AG Attorney General
ASAPS Anti-slavery Aborigines Protection Society
AU African Union
BLP British Labour Party
CAC Codex Alimentarius Commission
CCB Code of Conduct Bureau
CCP Codex Contact Point
CD Campaign for Democracy
CDHR Committee for the Defence of Human Rights
CEDAW Committee on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination
Against Women
CLO Civil Liberties Organization
CODESRIA Council for the Development of Social Science Research in
Africa
CPI Corrupt Perception Index
CRP Constitutional Rights Project
DPMF Development Policy Management Forum

xv
xvi Abbreviations

DU Delta Union
ECOMOG ECOWAS Monitoring Group
ECOWAS Economic Community of West African States
EFCC Economic and Financial Crimes Commission
FCC Federal Character Commission
FCT Federal Capital Territory
FRN Federal Republic of Nigeria
GNPP Great Nigeria People’s Party
HRA Human Rights Act
IADC Inter-American Democratic Charter
ICCPR International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights
ICPC Independent Corrupt Practices and Related Offences
Commission
IHI International Human Rights Institution
IMF International Monetary Fund
INEC Independent National Electoral Commission
IR Information Revolution
JSC Justice of the Supreme Court
LDC Less Developed Countries
MASSOB Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra
MEND Movement for Emancipation of the Niger Delta
MRA Media Rights Agenda
NADECO National Democratic Coalition
NANS National Association of Nigerian Students
NAPE Nigeria Alliance for Peaceful Elections
NBA Nigerian Bar Association
NCC National Codex Committee
NCNC National Council of Nigerian Citizens
NEC National Economic Council
NEC National Electoral Commission
NEPAD New Partnership for Africa’s Development
NEPU National Elements Progress Union
NGO Non-governmental Organizations
NJC National Judicial Council
NLC Nigerian Labour Congress
NMA Nigerian Medical Association
NPC Northern People’s Congress
NPN National Party of Nigeria,
NPP National People’s Party
NSE Nigerian Society of Engineers
NSS Nigerian State Security
NUT Nigerian Union of Teachers
 Abbreviations xvii

NWLR Nigerian Weekly Law Report

OAS Organization of American States
OAU Organization of African Unity
OIC Organization of Islamic Cooperation
OPC Oòdua Peoples’ Congress
OSSREA Organization for Social Science Research in Eastern and
Southern Africa
PDP People’s Democratic Party
PU People’s Union
SAN Senior Advocate of Nigeria (an equivalent of QC in the United
Kingdom)
SAP Structural Adjustment Programmes
TEC The Electoral Commission
TI Transparency International
TMG Transition Monitoring Group
UDFN United Democratic Front of Nigeria
UDHR Universal Declaration of Human Rights
UK United Kingdom
UMBC United Middle Belt Congress
UN United Nations
UNUDHR United Nations Universal Declaration on Human Rights
UPN Unity Party of Nigeria
URA Uruguay Round Agreement
USA United States of America
USSR United Soviet Socialist Republic
WIN Women in Nigeria
WLC West African Lands Commission
WTO World Trade Organization
YEAA Youth Earnestly Ask for Abacha
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

The emergence of the current democratic rule in Nigeria was born from
very intense political struggles that emanated from the annulment of the
12 June 1993 presidential election. Consequently, developments such
as socio-political tensions, government wavering, ethnic and religion-
motivated violence, and threats of cessation along ethnic lines accelerated
the decision of the military institutions and other political oligarchies to
democratize governance.
A very rare incidence—which is the stability of democratic rule—
has been achieved for the first time in the long history of the country’s
political independence from Great Britain in 1960. The longest period
of uninterrupted political and democratic governance has been sustained
amidst various obstacles, upheavals, and tussles. These would have tipped
the equilibrium of governance in the past (as history and precedents have
shown) in favour of authoritarian military rule.
On a cursory examination, various questions such as these could be
posed. Could this stability be attributed to the influences of the forces
of globalization and transnational law and all their encumbrances? Could
it, rather, be attributed to a combination of several interactions, which
led to the global cross-fertilization of ideas and (indeterminate positive)
influences such as judicial activism? Could it also be due to the hitherto
indeterminacy of the citizens’ rights and obligations? Could it be due to
the weakness of the Nigerian state to enforce and implement acceptable
norms and the international charters and conventions to which the coun-
try is a signatory?

© The Author(s) 2017 1

M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman, Globalization and Africa’s Transition to
Constitutional Rule, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-56035-9_1
2 M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman

This book therefore examines the combined effects of the relationship

between the forces of globalization and transnational law in sustaining an
enduring stability in democratic governance in a volatile continent.
For a state to be strong, Midgal stated that it must have the capacity
and the capability to penetrate its society and to regulate social relation-
ships. It must also be able to extract the resources that it needs from
the society. It must be able to appropriate those resources in determined
ways. Hence, the strength of a state is not measured by its unbridled
wielding of coercive power, but by its ability to make the citizens accept
its laws as the standards to which they must conform.
From this contention, it could also be asked whether the Nigerian
state had hitherto failed in its obligations to its citizens—specifically, its
obligations with respect to the pursuit of democratic values and ideals—
against the background of the country portraying itself as a supporter of
the rule of law amongst ECOWAS and AU states.
It is imperative to state that earlier researchers and scholars focused
primarily on socio-economic globalization and economic liberalization as
factors or explanations, for the sustenance of governance, irrespective of
its methods, modes, and composition. Therefore, the aim here is to fill
this gap in this contemporary area of knowledge and, for the same rea-
son, be a catalyst for further debates and research into the African, and
specifically the Nigerian status quo.
We may continue to question the position and relevance of for-
eign, transnational, and international laws in a world of ever-increasing
interdependence. It is to be noted that the domestic effects of inter-
national processes are attracting increasing attention within compara-
tive and international relations (IR) scholarship, more than it has been
in the past. Comparative scholars have suggested that international fac-
tors play a major role in the process of stabilization of democratization
(Huntington 1991). However, most studies focus on the external struc-
tures and agents promoting (the) change, hence, spend very little time
explicating the targets of such interventions.1
Similarly, comparativists have developed a number of socio-economic
explanations for regime change that confirm the link between economic
and political change. This relationship is particularly relevant in account-
ing for the long-term sustainability of democratization and the survival
of established democracies. Nevertheless, a macroview of political change
reveals little about the process and the interactions amongst participating
collective actors.
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

Nevertheless, it is necessary to distinguish between international and

transnational law, even though both are constantly used interchange-
ably in the literature. ‘International law’ is said to be public legal con-
ventions pertaining to the world community. Some of these laws may be
formulated in writing, as in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights
(UDHR). Others such as norms of jus cogens are unwritten, and they
pertain to customary international law. Jus cogens norms are authoritative
in nature. They are treaties or international agreements that engage in
gross human rights violations by advocating genocide, ethnic cleansing,
slavery, and mass murder. Consequently, they are invalid and there is no
obligation for them to be obeyed.
However, ‘Transnational law’ according to Koh focuses on ‘transna-
tional legal processes’. It is the theory and practice of how public and
private actors including nation states, international organizations, multi-
national enterprises, non-governmental organizations, and private indi-
viduals interact in a variety of public, private, domestic, and international
fora to construct, understand, and implement rules of transnational law.
Transnational law can be said to be both dynamic and constitutive. In
the case of the former usage for instance, it mutates from public to private,
from domestic to international and reverses again. In the latter instance,
it operates to reconstitute national interests.2 It is important to state that
transnational norms are not opposed to democratic formation. They facili-
tate, rather than limit the expansion of democratic legitimization.
However, because the UDHR is only a declaration of principles and
does not detail mechanisms for enforcement, some scholars have argued
that it does not function sufficiently as law. Others distinguish it as a dif-
ferent kind of law in its entirety.
However, Resnik opined that by ratifying treaties, domestic obli-
gations are altered. Mostly in a federal system, judges duly regard
valid treaties as binding law. Resnik described these processes as ‘law’s
­migration’.
Democratization, to put it succinctly, is a process that predominantly
affects the political system and increases popular participation in public
affairs. Democracy may either be desirable for its own sake or for other
reasons. This is because it furthers other objectives such as political sta-
bility, human rights protection, and economic growth. Democratization
is not just a by-product of economic development. It is a process embed-
ded in an international normative order.3
4 M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman

Therefore, transnational activist networks diffuse democratic prin-

ciples, support domestic allies, and exert pressure on authoritarian
regimes. The constructivist literature in international relations has been
exploring for some time, how international and transnational norms
shape domestic preferences and policies. Such literature claims, at least
in its rhetoric, that agency and structure are mutually constitutive. As
the source of social change, the literature focuses on the emergence of
increasingly well-defined guidelines in the international arena regarding
the domestic conduct of governments and the shape of a democratic pol-
ity.
With the creation of the United Nations (UN) in 1945, the interna-
tional community established universally valid norms of domestic con-
duct by broadly defining the ideals of democratic governance. These
norms were meant not merely as restrictions, but as opportunities to
create consensus and direct cooperative relations amongst the various
actors.
Norms are therefore not only ‘guidance devices’, but are the means
which allow people to pursue goals, share meanings, communicate with
each other, criticize assertions, and justify actions. The greater the differ-
ence between domestic conduct and international norms, the more likely
it is that domestic or transnational groups will mount efforts to expose
the contradictions. International norms present an opportunity to chal-
lenge the status quo with reference to a universally accepted and institu-
tionalized set of principles.
Even though a consensus is emerging on the significance of interna-
tional influences on regime change, surprisingly little systematic work has
explored the exact mechanisms linking international norms and domes-
tic political change. With the creation of the UN as well, principles of
domestic governance were universally accepted by the international com-
munity of states.
Following the UDHR in 1948, states developed and adopted a whole
array of human rights and other treaties directly impinging on their
domestic conduct. With the significant expansion of such institutions
within the last 60 years, state actors face growing formal and informal
limits to their domestic policy choices. The number of such agreements
has grown significantly, creating a denser network of institutional regula-
tions, although the acceptance measured in numbers of ratifications has
increased as well.
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

Human rights norms have experienced a ‘norms cascade’ and are

today a common standard for domestic conduct. Although democracy
itself is not globally established as a right, the full implementation of all
UN human rights agreements would formally create such a condition
in all nations (Franck 1992). In Europe, as an example, membership in
the European Union and the Council of Europe is conditional on the
establishment of a democratic government. In the early 1990s as well,
the Organization of American States outlawed the removal of demo-
cratically elected governments. Hundreds—and by some counts several
thousand—of NGOs and CSOs began to promote and diffuse norms of
democratic governance on a global scale.4
According to Slaughter (2000, p. 1103),5 ‘Globalization’ summons
images more of corporations than courts. The compression of distance
and the dissolution of borders that drives globalization have proved
far more efficient at producing global markets than global justice.
Computers may transcend culture and a new generation of migrants may
weave together a global society, but law—particularly the law handed
down by judges—still seems inherently national.
Notwithstanding this perception, judges are globalizing as well in
ways that have important implications for foreign, comparative, and
international law within their jurisdiction. The courts’ acquiescence spe-
cifically in the area of external affairs implied that they did not reject
international law outrightly, as some theorists claim. In matters with little
or no bearing on foreign affairs, several national courts were willing to
apply international law.
For example, international human rights law became particularly influ-
ential in matters of only domestic consequence. National courts’ refer-
ence to one another’s decisions on human rights issues has proved to be
a highly effective tool of cross-fertilization. Slaughter (2005, p. 3) sug-
gested that ‘Courts may well feel a particular common bond with one
another in adjudicating human rights cases … because such cases engage
a core judicial function in many countries around the world’.6
The existing literature on the role of national courts in an emerging
global legal system typically focuses on the ways in which these rela-
tionships enhance the salience and impact of international law. National
courts are the vehicles through which international treaties and custom-
ary laws that have not been independently incorporated into domestic
statutes transit into domestic legal systems.
6 M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman

Judicial globalization, by contrast, describes a much more diverse and

enmeshed process of judicial interaction that runs across, above, and
below borders, while exchanging ideas and cooperating in cases involv-
ing national as much as international law. It is now accepted that since
the UDHR we have entered a phase in the evolution of global civil soci-
ety that is characterized by a transition from international to cosmopoli-
tan norms of justice,7 which is not merely a semantic change.
What distinguishes these norms from the more familiar rules of
international law is that cosmopolitan norms offers rights, protections,
and impose obligations on individuals as such, not just on states. Even
though norms of international law emerge through treaty obligations
to which states and their representatives are signatories, cosmopolitan
norms accrue to individuals considered as moral and legal persons in a
worldwide civil society. Even if cosmopolitan norms originate through
treaty-like obligations—as in the UN Charter and the various human
rights covenants—they can be considered to be applicable for their mem-
ber states. Their peculiarity is that they limit the sovereignty of states and
their representatives, as well as oblige them to treat their citizens and res-
idents in accordance with certain human rights standards.
Therefore, states have now engaged in a process of ‘self-limiting’ or
‘self-binding’ their sovereignty. The large numbers that have signed the
various human rights covenants that have come into existence since the
Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948 shows this.

1.1  A Brief History of Nigeria

Nigeria, the most populous country in Africa and the largest in area in
West Africa, was an early twentieth-century colony that became an inde-
pendent nation in 1960. A country of great diversity because of the
many ethnic,8 linguistic, and religious groups that live within its borders,
Nigeria has a long historical tumultuous. The history of the peoples who
comprise the present state dates back over more than 2000 years.9
The earliest archaeological finds were of the Nok, who inhabited the
central Jos plateau between the Niger and Benue rivers circa 300 BC and
200 AD. A number of states or kingdoms with which the contempo-
rary ethnic groups can be identified existed before 1500 AD. Of these,
the three dominant regional groups were the Hausa in the northern
kingdom of the savannah, the Yoruba in the west, and the Igbo in the
south.10
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

Before 1914, what is now modern Nigeria was nothing more than
a collection of somewhat disjointed and culturally diverse people with
unique and dissimilar identities. The different cultures were initially ruled
under three protectorates of the North, South, and Lagos. The Colonial
Amalgamation Decree of 1914 forced Nigeria into a united political and
geographic entity.
In pre-colonial Nigeria as well, there were a number of great king-
doms that had a complex system of government, and which were inde-
pendent of contact with Europe. These include the following: the
Kingdom of Bornu, with a known history of more than a thousand years;
the kingdoms of Ife and Benin, which produced art recognized amongst
the most accomplished in the world; the Yoruba Empire of Oyo that had
been the most powerful of the states of the Guinea Coast; the city states
of the Niger Delta, as well as the loosely organized Igbo peoples of the
eastern region, and the small tribes of the Plateau.11
In pre-colonial northern Nigeria also, a ‘rigid class’ system separated
the ruling emirate oligarchy from the masses. The dominant ethnic
groups were the Hausa and the Fulani, who could trace their origins to
northern Africa. In the south, there were the relatively egalitarian socie-
ties of the Igbo, and the semi-feudal Yoruba principalities claiming com-
mon ancestry with the mystical Odùduwà.12
The cultural variations in colonial Nigeria were for the British both
a problem and an advantage. In such an ethnically diverse geopolitical
entity, creating a unified system of colonial rule was a problem. At the
same time, the cultural and linguistic diversities allowed the British to
impose a system of divide-and-rule, which saved them a colossal sum in
administrative expenses. In addition, the various ethnic rivalries for impe-
rial influence created alienation and animosity amongst different ethnic
groups to the advantage of British colonialism.13
It should not be assumed that the various population groups in pre-
colonial Nigeria were completely separate from one another. Historians
have established evidence of various forms of constant interaction
amongst the peoples, the major ones being trade and super-ordinate–
subordinate relationships. The powerful centralized systems—such as the
Sokoto Caliphate and the Benin Empire—dominated several neighbour-
ing groups as well. Although no established group held complete con-
trol over the others, as was the case amongst the Yoruba-speaking people
in the nineteenth century, a pattern of conflict and wars prevailed. On
balance, there were pronounced differences amongst the people who
8 M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman

later came to comprise Nigeria, especially when we consider the major

regional groups.
British rule did much to accentuate these differences, and in some
cases created new divisive sentiments. Even the nature of the British
conquest and the process by which its rule was established encouraged
separate identities. The conquest and colonization of the coastal area
of Lagos and its hinterlands took place between 1861 and 1897. The
conquest of the eastern region and the declaration of the Niger Coast
Protectorate occurred in 1894.
Finally, a third wave of penetration led to the declaration of a protec-
torate over the northern areas in 1900. In 1906, the colony of Lagos
and the Protectorate of Southern Nigeria (which included the former
Niger Coast Protectorate) were joined together to become the Colony
and Protectorate of Southern Nigeria.
Finally, in 1914, the Northern and Southern Protectorates were amal-
gamated to become the Colony and Protectorate of Nigeria, although
both parts continued to be administered separately for reasons adduced
earlier. By bringing the protectorates together, the British were neither
seeking to unify Nigeria, nor were they political reformers seeking an
empire where new religious or political principles would be enforced.
Rather, they were essentially traders from abroad, anxious to establish
a situation favourable to the growth and development of their trade by
forcefully exploiting the weakness of the indigenous people.
Nigeria is divided into 36 states, with Abuja as the Federal Capital
Territory. It has a population estimated to be about 180 million.
There is no official or state religion in Nigeria. However, in the north-
ern states, Islam predominates, and Christianity dominates in the
south. Statistically, religious affiliation can be distributed into ≥50% for
Islam, ≤44–47% for Christianity, and ≤4–7% for the others. Politically,
Nigeria practises liberal democracy.14
The participation and subsequent incursions of the military into
Nigerian politics and governance did not start with the aborted politi-
cal transition that led to the annulment of the 12 June 2003 presidential
election, and the subsequent abandonment of the results of the acclaimed
fairest electoral process in the country’s history. A brief look at history
reveals that the military have been strongly involved in political govern-
ance since shortly after the attainment of Nigeria’s independence in 1960.
According to Graf (1988),15 the Nigerian military in power never
aspired to do more than ‘correct’ the political system in order to restore
 1 INTRODUCTION 9

order, discipline, stability, and unity to economic and social life. The
reason(s) adduced for these interventions at various times were many,
and are examined later. However, it must be re-emphasized that irre-
spective of the reason(s) for these interventions, Jemibewon (1998)
concluded that coups, which were the modus operandi of the military’s
emergence into power were assaults on the legal continuity of a system
(democratic governance), and therefore illegal acts which should not be
encouraged.16
Corroborating this further, Bradley (2003) affirmed that it is easier
to define tyranny by enumerating how it can be avoided. A government
is tyrannical, first, when it is not accountable to its own citizens; second,
when the citizens have little or no say in either choosing the government
or selecting policies that affect them; third, when the society is not open
or transparent; and fourth, when there are no agreed standards of social
justice, which are respected by those in authority.17
Using the aforementioned argument, Nugent (2004) classified mili-
tary regimes into four categories, namely18 caretakers, reformers, radi-
cals, and usurpers, even though particular regimes often bore the imprint
of more than one of these. Caretaker regimes are those which contin-
ued to accept the premise that the military did not belong to politics.
However, as part of their obligation, they often remove civilian politi-
cians who they claimed, drove the country to ruins. It might be quite
difficult to find an example of this in the Nigerian military system, but
a closer look at countries such as Togo, Benin, and Ghana in the 1960s
and early 1970s demonstrated this pattern. Only the Buhari-Idiagbon
administration in Nigeria came quite close to this classification.
Corrective regimes differ from the previous group in that they are
explicit about their intention to govern for as long as they deem neces-
sary. The typical rationale is that national unity could not otherwise be
maintained, and the military alone possess the managerial competence
to put the country back on the right path. Corrective regimes tend to
rely heavily on civil servants, and sometimes draw on the moral support
of traditional rulers, whereas politicians are relegated to the background.
Soldiers tend to insist not merely on heading the various ministries, but
also on sitting as the head of public corporations.
This characteristic was exemplified by the Gowon and Babangida
regimes in the Nigerian context. During the former regime, for exam-
ple, while the Nigerian civil war was being fought, there was little real-
istic possibility that the armed forces would hand power to the civilians.
10 M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman

However, there was a general expectation that when peace was restored,
the military would do what was deemed right; it never happened.
Usurper regimes are generally speedy and corrective regimes. They
tend to have a more prolonged withdrawal, which sometimes transforms
the military head of state into a civilian president. This was evident in
Ghana in the 1980s to early 1990s, Ethiopia, Libya, Egypt, and Togo to
mention but a few other instances.
In most cases, military usurpers cloaked themselves in civilian garb
and set up political parties, which often enjoyed monopoly privileges, but
the real power lay within the instrument of violence. The act of usur-
pation is a bold step, which once taken could lead to many unexpected
consequences such as those mentioned earlier.

1.2  Focus
The main focus of the book can be concisely summarized as set out
below.

1. To improve existing knowledge and understanding of the use of

these key terminologies: ‘democracy’, ‘globalization’, ‘civil rule’,
‘judicial activism‘, and ‘governance’, which are the main thrusts
of our discussion. These would be used to identify and understand
the influences of cultural, ethnic, and double partisanship on the
stability of democratic governance in a heterogeneous society such
as Nigeria.
2. To provide a better understanding of the different forms of dem-
ocratic governance, their historical evolution, and the different
views provided by scholars on the subject. These would then be
applied to an understanding of the African system generally, and
the Nigerian context specifically.
3. To provide a better understanding of the concept of judicial activ-
ism and its limitations. This would enable the provision of expla-
nations and critiques, which applies to the stability of democratic
governance in Nigeria during the period under review.
4. To identify, understand, and draw inferences and conclusions on
the influence of globalization and transnational law on political lib-
eralization and the stability of governance in Nigeria.
5. To argue that the Nigerian Civil Society Organizations (CSO) and
her membership of various regional and international organizations
 1 INTRODUCTION 11

have influenced human rights jurisprudence. These have subse-

quently resulted in democratic stability and socio-political liberali-
zation in the period under evaluation.

1.3  Issues to Consider
1. How have the forces of globalization and transnational law influ-
enced the stability of democratic governance in Nigeria during the
period under review?
2. Of what significance are the activities of CSOs and their global-
network partners on the protection of the socio-political and
human rights that form the basis for democratic stability?
3. How has the concept of judicial activism influenced Nigeria’s con-
stitutional jurisprudence during this period?
4. What explanations can we advance for the resistance to globaliza-
tion, which Nigeria suffers in certain socio-political areas?

1.4  Theoretical Framework
The book is based on these theoretical frameworks:

1. The effects of globalization are the basis for the stability of govern-
ance in Nigeria during the period under review.
2. The obligations imposed by transnational law and international
treaties on countries have made it possible for the Nigerian courts
to protect human and political rights, which are the basis for dem-
ocratic stability.
3. Political globalization enhanced by the forces of transnational law
has been the major contributing factors for the stability of demo-
cratic governance in Nigeria during this period.
4. The civil society is the bedrock for socio-political change and suste-
nance of democratic values.

1.5   Hypotheses
A hypothesis is a statement that proposes a possible explanation for a
particular phenomenon or event. The inter-related hypotheses underpin-
ning the arguments and discussions herein are the following:
12 M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman

1. transnational law and globalization have played a significant role

in stabilizing democracy in Africa, and specifically in Nigeria since
1999;
2. judicial decisions of transnational and regional tribunals have influ-
enced Africa’s human rights, and its political and constitutional
jurisprudence;
3. the Nigerian civil society has demanded, and the courts have pro-
vided jurisprudence, which have contributed to making transna-
tional law and globalization stabilize democracy in Nigeria.

Notes
1. Schmitz, H.P. (2004) ‘Domestic and Transitional Perspective on
Democratization’, International Studies Review, 6(3), pp. 403–426.
2. Benhabib, S. (2009) ‘International Human Rights and Democratic
Sovereignty’, The American Political Science Review, 103 (4), pp. 691–704.
3. Ibid.1, p. 2.
4. Ibid.1, p. 2.
5. Slaughter, A.M. (2000) ‘Judicial Globalization’, Virginia Journal of
International Law, 40(4), pp. 1103–1124.
6. Slaughter, A.M. (2005) A New World Order, USA: Princeton University
Press.
7. Ibid. 2, p. 3.
8. Culturally, Nigeria is a very pluralistic and multilingual society, where
more than 450 different and recognized dialects are spoken. The main
ethnic groups are Yoruba (22%), Hausa (22%), Igbo or Ibo (18%), Fulani
(11%), Tiv (2.2%), Ibibio (4.2%), and the Ijaws (2%).
9. Metz, H.C. (2002) Nigeria: Current Issues and Historical Background.
USA: Nova Publishers.
10. Ibid.
11. Badru, P. (1998) Imperialism and Ethnic Politics in Nigeria. USA: Africa
World Press.
12. Odùduwà, as phonetically written, and sometimes contracted as
Odùduwà, is generally held among the Yorubas to be the ancestor of the
crowned Yoruba kings. Oral history of the Oyo-Yoruba recounted the
coming of Odùduwà from the east, sometimes understood by Muslim
sources as the ‘vicinity’ or direction of Mecca. Nevertheless, it is more
likely that it signified the region of Ekiti and Okun sub-ethnics in north-
eastern Yorubaland or central Nigeria. A strong theory among the
Yoruba is that Odùduwà came from the region of Egypt or Nubia and
may have been fleeing from religious persecution or invasion, possibly
 1 INTRODUCTION 13

coinciding with the Greek invasion and colonization of Egypt in the 4th
century BCE. Odùduwà is presumed to have entered the Ekiti-Yoruba
and Okun-Yoruba region. This region is near the confluence of the Niger
and Benue rivers. It is where the Yoruba language is presumed to have
separated from related ethno-linguistic groups such as Igala, Igbo, and
Edo. Most importantly, King Odùduwà was one of the founding rulers
of the Kingdom of Ife in 1100 CE. The Kingdom of Ife is the original
Yoruba kingdom, and thus, all crowned Yoruba kings claim descent from
this historic Figure.
13. Ibid. 11, p. 7.
14. Liberal democracy is a form of representative democracy where elected
representatives who hold decision-making power are moderated by a con-
stitution that emphasizes protecting individual liberties and the rights of
minorities in society. These include freedom of speech and assembly, free-
dom of religion, the right to private property and privacy, and equality
before the law. Such constitutional rights, also named liberal rights, are
guaranteed through various controlled institutions and various statutory
laws. Additionally, the constitution of most of the contemporary liberal
democracies protects the rights of individuals and minorities, and prohib-
its the will of majority (majoritarianism) by almost eliminating that rule in
practice.
15. Graf, W.D. (1988) The Nigerian State: Political Economy, State Class and
Political System in the Post-Colonial Era. UK: Heinemann Educational
Books.
16. Jemibewon, D.M. (1998) The Military, Law and Society: Reflections of a
General. Ibadan: Spectrum Books.
17. Bradley, M.T. (2003) Nigeria Since Independence and the Impact of Non-
Governmental Organizations on Democratization. New York: The Edwin
Mellen Press.
18. Nugent, P. (2004) Africa Since Independence—A Comparative History.
London: Palgrave Macmillan.

References
Badru, P. (1998). Imperialism and Ethnic Politics in Nigeria. USA: Africa World
Press.
Benhabib, S. (2009). International Human Rights and Democratic Sovereignty.
The American Political Science Review 103 (4): 691–704.
Bradley, M.T. (2003). Nigeria Since Independence and the Impact of Non-
Governmental Organizations on Democratization. New York: The Edwin
Mellen Press.
14 M.N. Akinwunmi-Othman

Franck, M.T. (1992). The Emerging Right to Democratic Governance. The

American Journal of International Law 86 (1): 46–91.
Graf, W.D. (1988). The Nigerian State: Political Economy. State Class and
Political System in the Post-Colonial Era, UK: Heinemann Educational
Books.
Huntington, S. (1991). The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth
Century. Oklahoma City: University of Oklahoma Press.
Jemibewon, D.M. (1998). The Military, Law and Society: Reflections of a
General. Ibadan: Spectrum Books.
Metz, H.C. (2002). Nigeria: Current Issues and Historical Background. USA:
Nova Publishers.
Nugent, P. (2004). Africa Since Independence: A Comparative History. England:
Palgrave Macmillan.
Schmitz, H.P. (2004). Domestic and Transnational Perspective on
Democratization. International Studies Review 6 (3): 403–426.
Slaughter, A.M. (2000). Judicial Globalization. Virginia Journal of International
Law 40 (4): 1103–1124.
Slaughter, A.M. (2005). A New World Order. USA: Princeton University Press.
Another random document with
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us little ones it was, too. After a heavy downpour of rain the poorly
paved street and the low, marshy neutral ground was often flooded
clear across from sidewalk to sidewalk. It was great fun to watch the
men trying to cross the street after one of these rains. Rubber shoes
were unknown, so men depended on high boots. Of course, ladies
did not venture forth at such times, when they required more
protection for the foot than a thin-soled slipper afforded. There were
goloshes, wooden soles fastened with straps and buckles over the
instep. A golosh looked like a roller skate and was about as easy to
walk with. You never see one now.
I wonder if anyone under seventy-five years of age passes old
“Julia Street row” to-day and knows that those “13 Buildings”
between Camp and St. Charles Streets have an aristocratic past,
and were once occupied by the leading social element of the
American colony residing in the early forties above Canal Street? “13
Buildings” it was called, and at that date, and a decade later, every
one of them was tenanted by prominent citizens of New Orleans.
There they lived and entertained a host of delightful guests, whose
names were a power then, but whose descendants are perhaps little
known to-day.
There lived Mr. Lanfear with his two daughters. Louisa later
became the wife of David Ogden. There lived Mrs. Slocomb and her
three children. They became Mrs. T. G. Richardson, so well known
and honored to-day in the Crescent City; Mrs. David Urquhart, now
living in England, and Capt. Cuthbert Slocomb. Late in the forties
that family went to Europe, and returned to occupy the house, built in
their absence, which is now the home of Mr. Frank Howard, opposite
Lafayette Square.
The Branders—Mr. Brander was a merchant of some note and
social standing. His daughter, Caledonia, married Mr. Sager, an
Englishman, and eventually went to Europe. Virginia Brander
became the wife of Edward Matthews, a New York man, who
subsequently made a large fortune by speculating in long leases of
valuable business sites in New York during a panic in commercial
circles at the time of the Civil War. Their son, Brander Matthews, is a
distinguished man of letters and professor in Columbia College. The
Smith family, a host of handsome girls, occupied the house next to
the Camp street corner, and in that house the original J. P.
Labouisse married beautiful Dora Smith, whose death, at the
advanced age of ninety, occurred a short time ago. Charles
Cammack married Sarah Smith in the same house, and Mary Smith
married Morris, the son of Beverly Chew, who was a defendant in the
noted Gaines case of that day.
H. S. Buckner’s home was midway of the row, and there was born
Ellen Buckner, who became the wife of James B. Eustis, the first
United States ambassador to France. Those old friends who visited
Paris in her régime tell of her cordial and gracious hospitality.
Leonard Mathews lived in one of the “13 Buildings.” He was agent
of the Sun Insurance Company. There were young people in that
house, too. Mary Jane Mathews married Mr. Hugh Wilson, a
prominent business man, and their daughter married Lyman Josephs
of Rhode Island. There was also the family of Dr. William Kennedy.
Mrs. Kennedy was sister of Mr. Levi Peirce and of Mrs. Hillary
Cenas. Their daughter, Charlotte, married a son of the distinguished
Sargent S. Prentiss of Mississippi.
 Henry Clay

Diagonally across the corner of Julia and St. Charles Streets was
the home of Col. Maunsel White, a veteran of Chalmette, who won
his title on the field. A genial Irishman, his serenity was disturbed
about the time of which I write by the elopement of his oldest
daughter, Eliza, with the dashing Cuthbert Bullitt. She died many
years ago, but Mr. Bullitt lived and dashed many years after dashing
ceased to be becoming. A short time ago he also passed away at a
ripe old age, having survived every contemporary.
My personal recollections of the guests who came to my father’s
house in “13 Buildings” are distinct. Henry Clay, a lifelong friend of
father’s, the only one I ever heard call him “Dick” (even my mother
did not do that), was a frequent visitor whenever he came to the
Crescent City.
My father planned in 1844 to go to England, and his old friend
gave him the following letter. It was never delivered, owing to the
enforced abandonment of the plan, and hangs now on my library
wall, framed, beside the Henry Clay portrait which illustrates this
book and which is by far the best likeness I have ever seen of
Kentucky’s gifted son.

Ashland, 16th July, 1844.

My Lord:
Richard H. Chinn, Esq., who will deliver this letter desiring
the honor of your Lordship’s acquaintance, I take pleasure in
introducing him (sic) to you as an eminent and highly
respectable councillor at law, now residing in New Orleans,
whom I have long known.
I avail myself of the opportunity to assure your Lordship of
the constant esteem and regard of
Your Lordship’s faithful and obedient servant,
H. Clay.
The Right Honorable Lord Ashburton, London.

Gen. E. P. Gaines and his tiny, frisky wife, the noted Myra Clark
Gaines, were also frequent guests. The General, a warrior, every
inch of him, very tall, erect and pompously stately, always appeared
at “functions” in full uniform, epaulettes, sword and what not, while
she, all smiles and ringlets and flounces, hung upon his arm like a
pink silk reticule. There also came Charles Gayarré, the Louisiana
historian; John R. Grymes, the noted lawyer; Pierre Soulé, diplomat;
Alec Bullitt, Alec Walker and George W. Kendall—all three editors of
the leading paper of the day, the Picayune. And so on, including a
host of others just as noted and interesting in their day, whose
names are never mentioned now. I cannot omit mention of the
famous wit and beauty, Miss Sally Carneal, niece of the original Nick
Longworth, of Ohio, for, with her superb voice, she frequently
entertained and entranced my father’s guests. I recall one occasion
when she sang, with inimitable pathos and wild passion, a song I
never wish to hear again, “The Maniac.” The little audience, roused
to a pitch bordering on madness, was almost ready to shriek and
tear its hair. Glendy Burke (does anybody remember him? He was
an eligible parti then) fell in desperate love with her that night, and
subsequently they married. All are gone now; and most of them
forgotten, except, possibly, by an old lady, who sits at her fireside,
and unfolds the book of memory....
In course of time a Mme. Peuch took possession of the house on
the St. Charles street corner, and, horrors! opened a boarding
house, whereupon the aristocratic element gradually fluttered away.
The Smiths and Labouisses went, as we thought, into the
wilderness, up Carondelet Street to a kind of country place, with lots
of ground and fig trees. The Buckners flew still further. I think they
halted at Jackson Street—I am not sure the street had as yet a
name. The Mathews moved to Annunciation Street. My father took
his lares et penates to Canal Street, and Mrs. Slocomb still further
away, to Europe. The infection spread, and in a short time the whole
“13 Buildings” pimpled out into cheap boarding houses or rented
rooms. Sic transit! Where are all those fine people now? And what of
the “13 Buildings”? Do they still stand and flaunt their signs over the
places once adorned with immaculately shining brass name plates?
or have they, in the march of events, also silently departed, and left
places to be filled by a newer generation of buildings, in imitation of
the lords of the earth that knew them and loved them and patronized
them in their heyday?
 XXIV
“OLD CREOLE DAYS” AND WAYS

It was in the autumn of 1846 La Belle Creole carried me, a young

girl, to Dr. Doussan’s home, on the coast, above New Orleans. I was
sent there to learn to speak French, which I had been fairly well
taught to read and write. Both Dr. and Mme. Doussan were past
middle life. The doctor was a native of France, madame a Creole,
and the few arpents they owned were her inheritance. Their home
was surrounded by a settlement of Creoles, pure and simple
Creoles, such as I doubt exists to-day in the changed conditions that
seventy years bring.
The simple natives, who had little patches, some of which
amounted to little over an arpent (about an acre), were domiciled so
conveniently near that it afforded an unending source of interest to a
wide-awake American girl to see, listen to, and talk with them. They
were not “poor folks” except possibly in the one meaning of the term.
There was a family of Grandprés in that little settlement. Hearing the
name Grandpré would instantly call to mind the Grandprés of
Louisiana’s early days. Was not a Grandpré Governor, or Captain
General, or something else as notable and commanding in Louisiana
history, in the French, or more likely Spanish, occupancy of the
country? This family descended from the original proud stock. The
children, grown, half-grown, babies, at the time of which I write
actually had a resident tutor, M. Marr, a man of no mean ability. I do
not know how far they advanced in other branches of education, but
their beautiful chirography would put to the blush any college
graduate who hovers around our young girls to-day, and they signed
themselves, too, with a grand flourish, De Grandpré. My old red and
gilt album (every girl had an album and her friends wrote fulsome
nonsense in it) has a “Je suis très flatté, mademoiselle, de pouvoir
m’inscrire,” etc. signed L. De Grandpré. Looks as if I had flattered a
nobleman of France! Doesn’t it?
That flock of children of all ages and sizes were being educated
well for their day and generation, albeit Grandpré mère strolled about
in a gingham blouse volante, her frosty hair covered with a plaid
tignon; and Grandpré père sniffled around (he had some catarrhal
trouble, I guess) in carpet slippers. I do not think he ever did
anything but bear the high-sounding name, and I never heard, after
those album days, that the sons did either.
A family of Lafitons lived so near that we heard their parrot
screaming for “mon déjeuner” every morning, long before it was time
for anybody’s breakfast. I think the bond of friendship that existed
between le vieux Lafiton and Dr. Doussan must have been that they
came from the same province in France. Most nights, Sundays as
well, “mon voisin,” as the doctor called him, came for a game at
cards. Long after my supper was served on a tray, and I was safely
tucked into bed, madame presided at a banquet of gumbo,
jumbalaya and salad, with their beloved Bordeaux, which was
spread for the old gentlemen. Lafiton had straggling locks of white
hair, falling over the collar of his great coat, reminding me of the
picture of Little Nell’s grandfather, and the home of the Lafitons
carried out the simile, for it was as melancholy and cheerless as any
“Old Curiosity Shop” could be. There were two bright, capable girls in
it, though, who never knew or saw anything better than the rickety
old house, way up on stilts, that they lived in. There they stitched and
darned and mended and patched all day (Creole women are not
lazy), and managed to make a creditable appearance for an
afternoon promenade on the levee.
The two grown sons caught driftwood and fish, and when they
tired of that exertion made crawfish nets. (En parenthèse, when I
had a fifteenth birthday, Pete, the long-legged one, gave me a finger
ring he had made of the tooth of a shell comb.) They did not own a
skiff, much less a horse or voiture. For ever so long I thought Mme.
Lafiton had chronic toothache, or some trouble in her jaws, for she
always wore a handkerchief over her head, tied under the chin, and
also a look of discomfort. In time I discovered that style of
headdress, and that troubled smile, were peculiarly her own, and did
not signify anything in particular.
We had other neighbors less picturesque than those I have
mentioned. Madame had a cousin living quite near, who had, as had
all Creole women in those days, a great flock of children. The
Dubroca family seemed to be fairly well-to-do. Mr. Dubroca was
sugar-maker for a nearby planter. Madame and her daughter Alzire
were thrifty, hospitable and kindly. The sons, as they grew up, were
sent to schools and colleges. Madame was a sister of Mrs. (Judge)
Eustis of New Orleans, both being daughters of Valèrie Allain, a
planter of means, whose property when divided among his children
did not amount to much for each.
That brings me to the Favrot family. Judge Favrot was a prominent
citizen of the parish, and his son, a law student when I knew him,
was much above the average. I scarce should mention this family
that I saw almost daily and knew so well in connection with the
obscure Creoles of the simpler life that I met and knew quite as
intimately. The judge, and his son, were violinists. It was no unusual
thing for him to play dance music for us, accommodating old
gentleman that he was! We always had to adjourn to Lafiton’s to “trip
the light fantastic,” for there was a great barn of a room, with bare
floor, and no furniture to mention, which they called le salon.
Mme. Doussan often visited friends, by rowboat, on the opposite
side of the river. She felt the responsibility of the care of the young
girls, so strangely placed in her hands, so she never embarked on
her frequent visits by boat or voiture without the company of one she
might have esteemed an incumbrance if I had not already been
received into the holy of holies of her loving heart.
There were two families of Choppins we saw frequently. The
daughter of one, quite a child then, became at a later date wife of
Dauphin. The eldest son of the other Choppin family, a youth of less
than twenty, was already studying medicine in the office of a country
town doctor. We saw much of him, the bright, attractive fellow! as he
used to row himself over to the impromptu dances in the Lafiton
salon. Later his ambition carried him to Paris, and later still he
returned, a distinguished physician and surgeon, to New Orleans. He
was a devoted citizen also. None who heard his impassioned
address, and his rendering in thrilling tones the inspiring “Aux Armes!
Citoyens” of the Marseillaise from the steps of Clay’s monument, on
Canal street, at the beginning of the war, ever forgot it.
Madame and I often visited other families in Baton Rouge, the
Bonnecazes, Lanoues, Huguets and so on. As I remember, all lived
over or in the rear of their shops. Very many families lived over
shops in those days, not always over their own shops either. John
Winthrop, a scion of the Massachusetts John Winthrop, and his
aristocratic family lived over Symes’ lace store, on Royal street in
New Orleans. There was a shoemaker’s establishment on the
ground floor of the Miltenberger residence. My father’s family lived
over an exchange broker’s office on Canal Street. In 1842, when a
mob raided, or threatened to raid, banks and exchange brokers’
offices, the strong box of the firm in our basement was conveyed to
my mother for safekeeping. But this was in New Orleans, and I see I
am wandering from my Creole friends on the coast, where I
delighted to visit with ma chère madame.
Twice during that lovely six months’ episode of my life, escorted by
the doctor, we boarded the fascinating Belle Creole and made longer
flights and longer visits to relatives of madame living beyond a
voiture’s possibilities. Once it was to spend a few days with the
Valcour Aimes at their incomparable home; at another time we had
two never-to-be-forgotten days at Sosthène Allain’s, where I met two
sweet girls of my own age. Then and there began a friendship that
continued through our young ladyhood. We were three inseparable
companions until three weddings sent us (as is the nature of things)
on divergent paths. Celeste went to Paris, so remote then that she
was practically lost to us. I do not suppose a single one of those who
made those six months of my girlhood so happy is living to-day.
Some have left no descendants; I do not know who has or who has
not, but I pay this tribute to the Creole simple life, that seems in the
retrospect almost ideal, and no episode of my checkered life is
sweeter to recall.
 Dr. Doussan was a botanist. His garden was the mecca of all
lovers of plant life. I imagine it was excelled only by the noted
grounds of the Valcour Aimes. Fruit and vegetables were sent daily
in a skiff to the town market. Ma chère madame, in her black silk
blouse volante and her cap, with stiff, fluted frill tied under the chin,
often let me help her make the formal little bouquets for the market,
the dear old stiff bouquets, flat as a plate and nestling in a frill of lace
paper! The doctor spent hours in his cabinet with his botanical
treasures. Daily I was summoned to read to him his Paris Journal,
and to write a composition. No teacher could have been more
painstaking; no scholar more appreciative.
Early in 1847 a nephew of the doctor’s arrived from France, a
dapper, Frenchified youth of eighteen. The Doussans were childless,
but they had adopted a young girl. At the time of which I write she
was about my age, and was being educated at Sacré Cœur
Convent. She was home only for Easter vacation. No one told me,
no one even hinted it, but I intuitively understood that a mariage de
convenance was planned for the dapper young Frenchman and the
pretty blonde girl, and the visit was meant to introduce Marie to her
prétendu; they seemed to accept the arrangement complacently, but
I was most interested in watching the proceedings, and, to say the
least, much entertained.
It was fully fifty years after these events when Doussan neveu and
I met again, two old gray-haired folks. When the first frost of
astonishment melted, and we could recognize each other, we had a
grand time recalling places and people. How we laughed over the
remembrance of the antics of the doctor’s pet monkey; and, oh yes!
the voluble Lafiton parrot! For a brief hour we lived again the halcyon
days of fifteen and eighteen. The following year Doussan passed
away—severing for me the last living link that bound me to the
simple Creole life, on the borders of which I had such a happy
girlhood.
 XXV
A VISIT TO VALCOUR AIME PLANTATION

La Belle Creole! That name will bring a smile, mayhap a tear, to

your grandmother, so many sweet reminiscences of her young
girlhood may be associated with the little coast packet that carried
her a-visiting from New Orleans to plantation homes in “the days that
were,” those leisurely days when there were no rail cars tearing and
crashing over the land, no express companies to forward packages,
no common carriers of any sort. A boat like La Belle Creole was a
necessity. On her trips she stopped at every little town and country
post office, like Brusle landing and Lobdell’s store; answered every
signal and every hail, shuttling across the river, back and forth,
touching here for a keg of sirop de batterie, a hamper of oranges;
touching at the very next plantation to take in somebody’s carpetbag
or put ashore somebody’s darky, Capt. Ure always at his post on
deck to expedite every move. La Belle Creole was not a freight boat,
but a passenger packet, par excellence. There were boats galore to
handle freight, but only one Belle Creole! “Steamboat ahoy!” We
slow up, a gentleman rushes down from his plantation house,
followed by a darky, carpetbag in hand. A plank is quickly run out,
touching the shore, steadied by deckhands; passenger rushes
aboard, has a handshake with Capt. Ure, and away we go to
perhaps another hail. In the cabin the scene is like that of an
“afternoon tea,” an “at home,” a “reception,” whatever you will, for
everybody knows everybody, and everybody shakes hands with
everybody, and thus the newcomer is welcomed to the social
atmosphere of a circle of Creole friends. “Comment ça va?” “Aye!
quel chance! c’est toi,” are heard on every side, for some of these
people rarely meet except in transit. And so, we sail along; the
simple little craft is glorified by the magnetic influence of its
passengers.
 M. Champomier is on board. Everybody knows le vieux
Champomier. He mingles with all, conspicuously carries his
memorandum book and pencil, and we all know he is “on business
bent,” getting from any and every available source statistics of the
year’s crop of sugar. Whether he acted for a corporation, or it was
his individual enterprise, I never knew, but he visited the planters,
traveled up and down and all around the sugar region, and in the
spring compiled and computed and published in a small, paper-
covered book (price $5) the name and address of every planter and
the amount of sugar made on each individual estate. “Champomier’s
report” was considered as authentic as need be for the planter to
know what his neighbor’s crop actually amounted to, and the city
merchant to adjust his mortgages and loans on a safe basis.
It was after midnight when the plank was thrown out to touch the
levee of the Valcour Aime plantation; midnight in late March, 1847.
Deckhands steadied the wabbling plank till three persons and their
little baggage were safely landed ashore. A tram (as it is called to-
day) was awaiting the doctor, Tante Lise and myself, then a girl of
fifteen. Darkies with torches preceded and followed us to the house,
not so far away, only a short walk, but Tante Lise must not be
permitted to walk at that hour of the night. The tram was nothing
more than a flat car, fitted for the occasion with seats, on a short
railroad leading to the sugar refinery, which I believe was the first in
the state. A dusky housekeeper received us at the house. Not
knowing at what hour we might appear, the family had retired. Belle
Creole, as may be supposed, had no fixed schedule of arrivals or
departures. Fires were already alight in our rooms, affording a
cheery welcome. Before we were ready for bed basins of hot water
were brought for the inevitable foot bath of the Creole. Something
warm to drink, a tisane probably—I remember I thought it might be
ambrosia, fit for the gods, it was so deliciously refreshing. Then I was
tenderly tucked into bed, and told to “dormez bien,” which I
straightway proceeded to do.
The sun was already proclaiming a bright spring day when I
inhaled the odor, and opened my eyes to a full-blown rose on my
pillow; and gracious, how good! a steaming cup of café au lait. On
our descent to the breakfast room we received an effusive and
cordial greeting from M. and Mme. Valcour, and their daughter
Félicie, a girl of my own age. The air was redolent of the delicious
odor of roses, the windows open to the floor upon the garden, the
floor of the room not one step higher than the garden walks. The
Valcour Aime house was a two-story structure. The long, main
building faced, of course, the roadway and the river; there was a
long L at each end, running back, thus forming three sides of a
square court. A broad and partly jalousied balcony extended entirely
around the three sides of the building, fronting the court. This
balcony afforded the entrances to a seemingly endless series of
living and sleeping rooms, the whole house being, so to say, one
room deep only. The first floor, flush with the ground, was entirely
paved with square blocks of stone or brick. There were to be found
the small and the grand dining rooms, the master’s office and den
and the various and sundry domestic departments. The salon
opened on the second floor balcony. The paved court below was
protected by the deep balconies and an awning. The assemblage of
all the family and the favorite resort of their multitudinous guests,
madame’s basket, mademoiselle’s embroidery frame, the box of
cigars, the comfortable lounging chairs, were to be found in that
entrancing court.
M. Valcour, tall and graceful, was at that time in the prime of life,
and was my (romantic) ideal of a French marquis; Mme. Valcour,
inclined to embonpoint and vivacious, kissed me and called me “ma
petite,” though I was quite her height. But the charm of my visit to
that incomparable mansion, the like of which is not to be found on
the Mississippi River to-day, was the daughter, Félicie, who at once
took me under her wing and entertained me as only a well-bred
young girl can. She showed me all over the premises, opening door
after door, that I could see how adequate the accommodations for
the guests who frequently filled the house; into the salon that I might
see and listen to the chimes of the gilt clock Gabie had sent from
Paris. Gabriel Aime, the only son, was then in Europe. Sweet Félicie
never tired of talking of Gabie and showing me the pretty trifles from
abroad (so far away then) he had sent home from time to time. She
sent for the key, and opened the door of Gabie’s room, that I might
see how he had left it, and, “Mamma won’t have a thing changed;
she wants him to find his gun and boots and cap just where he left
them.” Girl-like, she confided to me that she would be a young lady
when Gabie came, and they would have a house in the city and a
box at the opera, for Gabie loved music.
By this time a number of the Roman family arrived. M. Valcour’s
oldest daughter had married Gov. Roman’s son, and a flock of
Roman grandchildren came with their parents to welcome the doctor
and Tante Lise, and incidentally the young girl with them. The
Valcours and Romans were closely related, independent of the
marriage of their children. Both families being related to Tante Lise
also, there was a great reunion and rejoicing when the tante made
her annual visit. The governess, a New England woman, was
accorded a holiday, in which Félicie participated. Years after,
perhaps as many as forty years, I met and renewed acquaintance
with that governess in her New England town. Only recently she
passed away, having outlived, I understand, all the little pupils who
clustered around “Dear Miss Goddard.”
Félicie and I, with a whole escort of followers, explored the
spacious grounds, considered the finest in Louisiana. There was a
miniature river, meandering in and out and around the beautifully
kept parterres, the tiny banks of which were an unbroken mass of
blooming violets. A long-legged man might have been able to step
across this tiny stream, but it was spanned at intervals by bridges of
various designs, some rustic, some stone, but all furnished with
parapets, so one would not tumble in and drown, as a little Roman
remarked. If it had not been before Perry’s expedition to Japan, at
any rate before his report was printed and circulated, one might have
supposed M. Valcour received his inspiration in landscape gardening
from the queer little Eastern people. There were summer houses
draped with strange, foreign-looking vines; a pagoda on a mound,
the entrance of which was reached by a flight of steps. It was an
octagonal building, with stained-glass windows, and it struck my
inexperienced eye as a very wonderful and surprising bit of
architecture. Further on was—a mountain! covered from base to top
with beds of blooming violets. A narrow, winding path led to the
summit, from which a comprehensive view was obtained of the
extensive grounds, bounded by a series of conservatories. It was
enchanting. There I saw for the first time the magnolia frascati, at
that date a real rarity.
Another day, doctor, Tante Lise, Félicie and I were rowed in a skiff
across the river to Sacré Cœur Convent to see tante’s adopted
daughter, Marie. I recall spending the day there, the kindly nuns
showing the little heretic all through the building, and being rowed
back to the plantation at sunset.
Next morning the Belle Creole was due, and our visit to fairyland
was drawing to a close. The call, “la Vapeur,” rushed us to the
landing in the tram, the “whole pack in full cry” of the Roman children
running by the side and calling adieu to dear Tante Lise. We gingerly
walked the plank, in single file. The boat backed out to get her
leeway, and once more for a moment we were in full view of the
house. Two figures fluttered handkerchiefs from the balcony, Mme.
Valcour and Félicie waving a last adieu—alas! a last. On entering the
cabin, behold the ubiquitous M. Champomier, with his everlasting
book and pencil. As he greeted the doctor I heard (in French, of
course), “Can you tell me the exact amount of——?” I fled, and at
the rear end of the boat I had one more last glimpse of Valcour
Aime’s plantation. Alas! the last.
A month later I was on a clipper ship, the Silas Holmes, bound for
a New England school. That Yankee, Silas Holmes, was a transport
during the war, and like many a war relic has long been out of
commission, if not out of existence. And the dainty Belle Creole,
gone too! like thousands of Belles Creoles of her day and date.
Dear Félicie married Alfred Roman, adding another link of
relationship to the Roman and Valcour Aime families, and the adored
and only son, Gabriel Aime, died (I think Tante Lise wrote me)
abroad.
I should like to know. No, I do not want to know. I already know too
many wrecked homes and vanished fortunes and broken hearts. I
want always to think of the Valcour Aime home and its charming
hospitality, as I saw it and knew it, and loved it more than sixty years
ago, when I waved a last adieu—alas! a last.
 XXVI
THE OLD PLANTATION LIFE

It is almost a half century since the old plantation days. Only those
who number threescore years and ten have a personal
remembrance of the cares, duties and pleasures of the old plantation
life. Only those who bore the cares, discharged the duties and
prepared the way for the pleasures really understand the life that
died and was buried fifty years ago. People who know so much
about that fanatic John Brown and the fantastic “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”
are asking what one fought and bled for (did he bleed?) and what the
other was written for. Some of those inquiring souls are over fifty
years old, and what is more, their fathers were slave owners. The
few of us tottering around who can tell of the old plantation life are
threescore years and ten, and if we do not hasten to tell the story it
may never be told. It is well to leave a record of a life that has
passed beyond resurrection, a glorified record it may appear, for as
we stand beside the bier of a loved and lifelong friend, we recall only
his virtues. So as I look back on the old plantation life only the
comforts and pleasures troop before me. It had its duties, but they
were not onerous; its cares, but they were not burdensome, nor were
its pleasures excessive. What we planned and accomplished for our
slaves afforded us more satisfaction than any man of the present
day can feel for his grand stables of hunters and roadsters and
racers, that absorb his time and means....
Booker Washington, in that very interesting volume, “Up from
Slavery,” tells of his early life when his mother (he never knew his
father, and thinks he was a white man) was the slave of a well-to-do
Virginia farmer, and the slave quarters had dirt floors. That may have
been in the clay hills of Virginia, but I never saw a cabin, unless it
was a pig pen, with a dirt floor. I am no apologist for slavery; the
whites suffered more from its demoralizing influence than the blacks,
but we were born to it, grew up with it, lived with it, and it was our
daily life. We did well by it; no people could have done better. It is
past now. When I tell of my own home it is to tell of the plantation
homes of everybody I knew. We did not differ or vary to any extent in
our modes of life and management.

Arlington Plantation on the Mississippi.

Slaves were comfortably housed. Their cabins were elevated

above the ground, two rooms in each building, a chimney between, a
porch in front and windows on two sides. The slaves were well fed
and well clothed in osnaburgs and linseys cut and made in the
sewing room of the “big house.” Though the hook worm theory was
not at that time exploited they were well shod. There were drones; I
guess there were hook worms too, but we did not know it. The old
and infirm had light tasks. Men pottered around the woodpile, or
tended the cows on their promenades over the levee, and the
women sewed a little and quarreled, as idly disposed old folks will,
among themselves (we who visit almshouses now know how that is)
or fussed with the frolicking children. I never saw in those days a
negro with spectacles, or one who seemed to need them.
There was an infirmary for the sick, and a day nursery for the
babies, under the charge of a granny, a well-ventilated room with a
spacious fireplace, where pots and kettles were always on hand,
mush and herb teas always on tap; there the babies were deposited
in cribs all day while the mothers were at work in the fields. No
woman went to work until her child was a month old. A large diary
folio record was kept by the overseer of all the incidents of the
plantation; when a woman was confined, when she was sent again
to the field, who was ill in the hospital, if doctor was summoned, what
part of the canefield was being cultivated day by day, when sugar-
making began, when finished, what the yield of the various “cuts,”
how many hogsheads and barrels of molasses shipped and by what
boats; all these items and ever so many more were recorded. A
doctor was employed at $600 per annum. He came only in extreme
cases. Headaches and stomach aches, earaches, toothaches and
backaches, all these minor ills came under the care of the overseer
and “Gunn’s Domestic Medicine,” a formidable volume of instruction.
The lady, the “mistis” of the big house, made frequent visits to the
quarter lot, saw that things were kept tidy and ministered to the sick.
We did not have “made-over” dishes, cold meats nor stale bread
on our tables; little darkies were sent by the half sick and aged for
“left overs.” Children were not bottlefed or spoonfed; they consumed
pot liquor and mush and molasses as soon as they were weaned.
Corn, cowpeas and turnips were cultivated for the slaves, and when
there was an overplus of garden vegetables it was sent to the
quarter kitchen. Their meat was pickled pork—it was called “clear
sides”—shipped from Kentucky or Missouri. All their cooking was
done by two cooks in a big kitchen, but every cabin had a fireplace,
with a pot or skillet, of course, for we all know how the darky dotes
on little messes of her own doing. All the doors had locks, and the
women went to the field with the key hung around their necks.
Each spring at house-cleaning, cabins were whitewashed inside
and out; also the stables and other plantation buildings, the fences
and trees as high up as a long pole or brush could reach. From
Saturday noon till Monday was holiday, when the enterprising men
chopped wood, for which they were paid, and the drones sunned
themselves on the porch steps, and the women washed their
clothes. I knew of only one planter who made his negroes work on
Sundays. He was an Englishman who married into a plantation. The
indignant neighbors called the attention of the grand jury in that
case, with success, too. During sugar-making everybody worked day
and night, but the season was short, terminating in December.
I cannot recall more than three deaths in ten years. I have no
record to refer to (I guess that plantation folio afforded some
information to the Union army). There was a burial ground for the
slaves. One of them, the engineer, by the way, and a mighty good
negro, too, acted as preacher. He married and buried and in all ways
ministered to the spiritual needs of his flock. I recall teaching Lewis
to sing “Canaan.” He wanted to learn a hymn, and had a lusty bass
voice, while I did not have any at all. Lewis was not the only
accomplished negro. We did not have white labor. There were slave
carpenters, coopers, masons and sugar makers; women who cut
and made all clothing, shirts, coats, pantaloons, dresses.
By law no child under ten years of age could be sold from its
mother. I suppose that law is obsolete now! It happened a negro
child born in the penitentiary of a convict mother, named Alroy, had
to remain ten years in confinement; he was taught reading and
writing, probably all the Rs, by the convicts, while he imbibed in such
surroundings a good many less desirable accomplishments. Hon.
Mr. Alroy represented his native parish in the Louisiana Legislature
of reconstruction times. He was better fitted probably than some of
his dusky colleagues, for he could read the laws; some of them could
not. That is also of the dead past, thank God, and has no bearing on
the old plantation life, except as an illustration of the law regarding
slaves.
The “big house” had no fastenings on the front and back doors. In
the absence of my husband one time I was awakened, in the dead
hour of night, by a touch on my shoulder. “It’s me, mistis; de levee’s
broke.” A crevasse! Without taking time to put on an extra gown, I