Control1stAdmin1
In the last days of November, I found myself at a meticulously organised and undeniably ambitious pan-African retreat, where the spirit of Ubuntu re-emerged with characteristic pride. In this enclave, intellectuals arrive wielding proverbs and depart convinced that Africa’s greatness is always just one conference away from rebirth. Naturally, someone invoked the timeless d make 0leclaration: “I am because we are.” Heads nodded in solemn accord, a few sighed with nostalgia, and one participant, with the solemnity of a priest about to recite scripture, adjusted his traditional attire.
Ubuntu consistently works its charm like a comforting, familiar meal that warms both the body and the soul. Yet, as it basked in the praise, a curious paradox revealed itself: Ubuntu, the shining exemplar of African moral thought, seems to flourish more in Western modern nations than in many African lands. Ah, the delicious irony and how pointed it is, it really stings.
Translation aside, the essence of Ubuntu is that “a person is a person through other persons.” It affirms that our humanity is fundamentally relational, that dignity is a shared asset, and that community is the fertile ground where the individual takes root. Elegant, moral, empathetic, and inclusive, these are the ideals that should flourish wherever humanity gathers in abundance. However, ideas do not exist in isolation; they reside within systems, as I insist on reminding all: They endure within institutions, thrive in predictable, enforceable, and well-funded frameworks. It is precisely within this realm of systems that Ubuntu faces challenges at home and seeks and finds refuge abroad.
Though born and celebrated amidst the rich tapestries of Africa, Ubuntu has found a surprisingly thriving home across the Atlantic in the West. It is an intriguing paradox. Consider this: modern Western countries often dismissed by wise Africans as paragons of cold bureaucracy, rugged individualism, and even atomism are, paradoxically, among the most Ubuntu-inspired societies you will find, not just in words but in deeds. In these lands, even the most anonymous, unimpressive citizen carries a foundational dignity carefully woven into the very fabric of the state. Their identity is protected through laws, institutions, and unwavering public service, creating a safety net that catches all. To be blunt, a less-than-average citizen in Denmark might enjoy more systemic respect and security than a revered elder or accomplished individual in many African communities.
Western systems don’t depend on personal connections to deliver healthcare, police assistance, or rights they operate on the powerful assumption that every individual matters simply by virtue of their existence. This, dear reader, is Ubuntu in action automated, elegant, and quietly revolutionary.
One of the most compelling illustrations of this paradox is in the symbolism of the passport. A Western passport acts almost like a global VIP pass, radiating an air of effortless authority and confidence. Its holder moves through airports with the composure of a diplomat confident of success, rarely showing signs of nerves or hesitation. It does not sweat.
In stark contrast, an African passport often subjects its bearer to a different experience at immigration control. It is as if the individual carrying it enters a court of law as a defendant polite, cautious, hopeful, and prepared with explanations. Whether the holder is a renowned professor, a successful business leader, a skilled surgeon, or a dedicated philanthropist, their personal accomplishments matter little. The passport, and not the person it represents, bears the weight of proof.
This visual contradiction sharply exposes the paradox at the heart of the matter: Ubuntu teaches that the dignity of each individual is a shared communal responsibility. Yet, paradoxically, Western nations tend to uphold and guarantee this dignity far more effectively than many African states that originated and celebrate the very idea of Ubuntu. It reveals a complex and nuanced truth about the global distribution of power, recognition, and respect.
This leads us to a harder truth: Ubuntu is an ideal, a perfect type as Max Weber envisioned it. Much of our admiration for Ubuntu may be more nostalgic and romantic than practical. Ubuntu is often seen as a mirror of Africa’s past a golden age of community spirit before colonisation and modern upheavals tore apart moral unity. Yet, nostalgia cannot replace good governance. A society cannot thrive on memories alone; it needs effective administration. In many African countries, identity often takes precedence over individual rights. Systems tend to treat citizens unfairly. Public services respond to influence rather than rights. Dignity is given as a privilege, not guaranteed as a basic right.
Ubuntu persists gracefully in our conversations, flourishing in the eloquent elegance of keynote speeches, yet fading into obscurity within the bureaucratic greyness of passport offices. It shines brightly at philosophical retreats, illuminating minds with profound insights, but flickers uncertainly in police stations, public hospitals, and immigration queues places where practicality often overrides idealism. Therefore, the true challenge for leaders and scholars alike lies in transforming lofty philosophy into tangible practice, weaving wisdom into the very fabric of everyday life.
Let’s be clear: Western societies are not inherently more humane on a personal level than their African counterparts, far from it. However, they have cultivated what I term “procedural humanity” a meticulous system, a series of tangible, measurable practices. Anyone who has navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Parisian bureaucracy or endured the often frigid efficiency of the British civil service knows that smiles are not always part of the package. Yet, what they have mastered is something far more potent: the art of procedural humanity. This concept suggests that dignity is not solely bestowed through kindness but is embedded within systems manifested in a well-functioning postal service, a judicial process that is consistent rather than capricious, passports that facilitate passage rather than hinder it, police who respond without delay or arbitrary negotiation, public officials who rigorously follow rules and face consequences when they falter, and social safety nets that serve as a buffer in against desperation and despair.
Think about a system that agrees that you may not be fond of your neighbour, but their rights are safeguarded thanks to the system’s unwavering stance. Ah, that’s the elegance of Ubuntu in practice: no fuss, just policy enforced with a dash of wit.
In discussions about Africa, there’s often a tempting rhetorical pitfall: the urge to claim moral high ground by heritage, arguing that African cultures are inherently communal, while Western societies are innately individualistic. Yet, reality proves far messier. Western nations have poured centuries into building institutions that safeguard the vulnerable, curb the overreach of the powerful, and cultivate a predictable social order. Meanwhile, many African communities, despite championing communal values in theory, grapple with the basics of administrative continuity. If Ubuntu is to retain any meaning in the modern age, it must transcend romantic and nostalgic reverie and find its place in practical, operational relevance.
Let’s be celar: I am not in favour of discarding Ubuntu; quite the contrary, I see its functional value and I love its poetry and I have some prosaic proposals to offer as a tonic for its poetry, revival, and enhancement. To Ubuntu remains Africa’s potential gift to global governance but Africa itself adopts it as policy rather than mere poetry.
To reclaim Ubuntu, African states must first strive to establish truly predictable and transparent bureaucracies where rights do not hinge on connections. Next, we must insist on professionalising the public service, where dignity is upheld as a matter of routine. Third, there is a need to bolster identity systems to ensure that citizens’ documents reflect their inherent humanity.
Reforming policing, justice, and immigration is also essential these pillars must protect dignity structurally, not just emotionally. Additionally, we should modernise borders and passports so that African identity travels with respect, not suspicion. And naturally, Ubuntu must be integrated into civic education not as folklore, but as a contemporary ethic of governance.
I have good and bad news regarding Ubuntu: it’s not dead; it has merely relocated. It no longer lives in Africa; it now inhabits the predictable routines of societies where dignity is almost automated. It flourishes within the civic order of nations that safeguard their people without requiring constant performance or unwavering loyalty. Ubuntu persists wherever institutions are resilient enough to be humane, serving imperfect human beings with compassion.
If African states aspire to see Ubuntu return home, we must first build the civic infrastructures capable of nurturing communal dignity. Africa doesn’t need to reclaim the memory of Ubuntumerely; it needs to reassemble the very mechanics that make it possible. Only through this reconstruction can ordinary Africans truly benefit from the collective efforts of their continent and humanity at large, receiving the procedural respect that Westerners often take for granted. And only then will Ubuntu cease to be a paradox and begin to be a lively, meaningful practice.
Anthony Kila is a Jean Monnet Professor of Strategy and Development at the Commonwealth Institute of Advanced and Professional Studies (CIAPS). He also serves as the Pro-Chancellor and Chair of the Governing Council of the Michael and Cecilia Ibru University (MCIU).
