Lord High Everything

"Compared with this place," complained an African diplomat recently, "Russia is a roaring democracy." He was referring to the Central African Republic, a Texas-size country of some 2 million people, most of whom are illiterate. With no railroads, no direct access to the sea and only 120 miles of paved highway, the C.A.R. (formerly the French colony of Ubangi-Shari) has long been one of Africa's most benighted backwaters, and shows every sign of remaining just that for a long time to come. Aside from its one lucrative industry, diamond mining, the country's most striking feature is its ruler, Jean-Bedel Bokassa, 53, a former sergeant in the French army who may be the continent's most brutal tyrant.

Bokassa's malign authority has seldom been challenged since he deposed his cousin, David Dacko, in a New Year's military coup in 1966. One of his first official acts was to abolish Parliament, the constitution and elections. Today Bokassa is virtually a one-man government. He is not only life President, commander in chief of the armed forces and president of the only political party but, as a result of his periodic Cabinet shuffles, the holder of ten ministerial portfolios, ranging from Defense to Information to Mines. From his subjects he demands ostentatious displays of devotion, for, as he once put it, "miracles enter my body." In the C.A.R.'s pleasant riverside capital of Bangui (pop. 125,000), portraits of Bokassa can be seen everywhere, even printed on men's shirts and wiggling to life on the backsides of long-skirted women.

The people of the C.A.R. know the importance of devotion and obedience: the hallmark of Bokassa's reign is arbitrary and unpredictable terror. Government officials are frequently summoned at a moment's notice to the presidential palace. If Bokassa is angry, they can expect anything from a drunken tirade to a personally administered presidential beating to instant imprisonment. Even harsher treatment has been meted out to the President's political opponents, real or imagined. Michel Mounomboye, security chief at the time of Bokassa's takeover, had his eyes torn out in front of his family before being executed. When Lieut. Colonel Alexandre Banza, who backed Bokassa's grab for power, was accused in 1969 of planning another coup, he was dragged before a Cabinet meeting where Bokassa slashed him with a razor. Guards then beat Banza until his back was broken, dragged him through the streets of Bangui and finally shot him.

Ordinary citizens also feel the weight of Bokassa's very personal approach to criminal justice. Once, disturbed by a rash of burglaries in Bangui, he led a group of soldiers armed with clubs to the central prison. There he watched as 45 convicted thieves were beaten and left, brutally wounded, to roast for six hours under the tropical sun. When U.N. Secretary-General Kurt Waldheim protested the atrocity, Bokassa called him "a pimp" and "a colonialist" for daring to intervene.

Bizarre Luxury. Even foreigners in the C.A.R. live a somewhat precarious existence. An Agence France-Presse reporter, who filed a critical story from Bangui about Bokassa's rule, was arrested, stripped and dumped in a dungeon before being expelled; dozens of others have been ordered out of the country on 24 hours' notice for criticizing the President or otherwise incurring his disapproval. Diplomats too have difficulties, including even the French, despite Bokassa's often proclaimed Francophilism and France's $5 million a year in budgetary aid. There have been five French ambassadors in Bokassa's eight-year tenure. "They all run afoul of Bokassa sooner or later," explained one French businessman.

Bokassa's attempts to improve the livelihood of his people are not nearly as impressive as his efforts to keep them politically subdued. Last week the President celebrated his 53rd birthday by inaugurating, to the beat of tribal drums, a new diamond-cutting plant. But the $15 million in foreign exchange brought in by diamond production last year is the only bright spot in an otherwise abysmal economy. Fully 90% of the people still live outside the cash economy, while Bokassa too often devotes himself to showy but nonbasic ventures. For example, as part of his birthday celebration, he opened the C.A.R.'s first television station, a bizarre luxury, since there are only 40 or so TV sets in the whole country.

Bokassa has the C.A.R. so cowed that he now feels secure enough to show up in town without his usual four carloads of bodyguards, wearing khakis instead of the customary dress uniform ostentatiously covered with medals. Some observers feel that he has mellowed with the years, but most of his subjects very sensibly remain wary. "He is secure for now," says a student at the C.A.R.'s only university, which is named, of course, for Bokassa, "but the moment a threat appears to his power, then you will see the old Bokassa once more: cruel, arrogant and ruthless."

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