'70s cult song, The Revolution will not be Televised – which was also
the title of the documentary on the attempted coup against Venezuela's
Hugo Chavez in 2003. Yet, the current revolutions sweeping the Middle
East and Africa seem to have no problem with television. Not only do
the teeming streets confirm that this is a hands-on revolution, but
this particular generation of revolutionaries seem particularly clued-
up on the mass media: Arabic-speaking marchers carry English placards
that – however unintelligible they may be to their own population –
make television-sense to audiences of billions across the world. So
the revolutions are indeed being televised…
But they must not be franchised.
A franchise is a safe way of getting into business. Sign the contract
with McDonalds, DHL, Subway, Prontaprint or any of hundreds of
thousands of successful brands and you can pick up a tested business
model. The franchisor rolls out the know-how, the branding and the
equipment. The franchisor trains the personnel, supplies operational
manuals… and when the money starts flowing in, takes its fees upfront.
The appeal of a franchise is irresistible in a globalized world. Walk
into a strange town and the familiarity of global franchises draws you
in. The franchise model has even been applied to areas outside
business products and services. There are social franchises like
Germany's CAP Markets that employ disabled staff. There are also event
franchises like TED Talks, which take eclectic ideas on more than
'Technology, Entertainment and Design' across the world. In the realm
of politics, franchises are also big business. Dictators with options
on oil-producing – or otherwise strategic – countries can sign
franchises with a superpower or the other. In return for military
protection, UN Security Council veto services, Diplomacy PR services,
revolution suppression, loot-laundry and similar services, the client
dictator-franchisee guarantees military bases for its political
franchisor and sweetheart deals for the franchisor's corporations. The
1964 incident involving the pro-French Gabonese president, Leon Mba
for instance was textbook quid pro quo for students of the political
franchise model. Mba was transforming himself into a dictator when he
was removed by a coup, but he was immediately restored by De Gaulle's
French troops.
But franchise fees are notoriously steep. Hardened businessmen have
been known to shed tears during the monthly cheque-writing session for
the franchise-fee-as-a-percentage-of-turnover. Little wonder why the
public mood in Libya and elsewhere appears staunchly anti-foreign
intervention. Despite the thousands that have died in Libya, despite
the generous military hardware on standby to winkle Muammar Gaddafi
out of his bunker with Saddamlike shock-and-awe, despite the tempting
offers of a No-Fly Zone to protect the opposition from more bombs by
their own airforce, the placards waved by the marchers are still
defiant. They are happy to be televised alright, but they are clear on
the point: No foreign intervention. No franchises. They want their
countries back, but on their terms.
Currently there appears to be a glut of political franchisors offering
their services to Libyans. The remnants of assets that have been
looted and frittered over the past 40 years are suddenly being seized
all over the world. In all this of course, political franchisors
operate like banks: they offer their services most enthusiastically to
those who don't really need them. The bloodied monks for instance
could have done with some foreign intervention when they stood up to
their Burmese dictators. The forgotten people of North Korea can also
do with every imaginative assistance to end their interminable
political nightmare. And – rather than seizing loot that the citizens
of Tunisia, Egypt, Libya are only weeks from recovering anyway, how
about turning the searchlight on other dictators with a disconnect
between lifestyle and legitimate bank balance. Teodoro Nguema Obiang
Mangue, for instance, is the son of the notorious dictator of
Equatorial Guinea. He is said to have ordered plans to build a $380
million yacht, which would have been the second-most expensive in the
world – second only to Abrahamovic's Eclipse. On his salary of as
agric minister it would take him 4,600 years to pay for the yacht, but
it is unlikely he would have waited that long: a US Senate committee
found out that he had laundered over $100 million into US investments
alone. In the meantime he is in line to succeed his 68-year-old
dictator father. Are their assets in danger of being seized by
enlightened democracies and people-friendly governments up and down
the world? Certainly not. Currently the Obiangs are the political
franchisees of Equatorial Guinea and they are keeping their end of the
bargain. E.G. has a billion barrels of proven petroleum reserves and
is Africa's 5th largest exporter. The country has been kept docile –
not like Nigeria's tinderbox delta; US companies are in the driving
seat, and the US is the main market of the oil. All is well in
Obiangland.
For now.
http://blogs.african-writing.com/chuma/archives/1631
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