When enough is enough

AP

THABO MBEKI, South Africa's president, has had a mixed record during his seven years in power (see article). But perhaps the best thing he has done for Africa is to declare that he will call it a day after his second term in office, as the constitution requires, and not seek re-election in 2009. His predecessor, Nelson Mandela, resigned after just one term, in 1999, and now lives in saintly retirement.

For many other African leaders, unfortunately, staying in power becomes an all-consuming passion, always to the detriment of their own country and people. That has been true of Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe for some time, of course. But with the emergence of a new generation of leaders in the 1990s, as part of what Mr Mbeki himself dubbed the “African renaissance”, it was hoped that the introduction of new constitutions with two-term limits on power would consign the “big man” syndrome of African politics to history.

It has worked in South Africa and Tanzania. But in too many countries term limits are failing to block the vaulting egos of leaders determined to cling on. Yoweri Museveni has just won a third term as Uganda's president by using his huge majority in parliament to push through a constitutional amendment letting him run again. More worryingly, it looks as if Olusegun Obasanjo, a mild success by Nigeria's kleptocratic standards, may try to do the same in Africa's most populous country. This prospect is already adding to instability. Militants in the River Niger delta, seeking more of the money flowing from the oil wells there, have stepped up their campaign of kidnapping foreign workers and attacking oil installations. Violence between Muslims and Christians is rising.

Just as Mr Museveni did in Uganda, Mr Obasanjo is beginning to crack down on the opposition—in his case, it seems, by using the government's vaunted anti-corruption drive to knock opposition leaders out of contention. Worse, many now suspect that Mr Obasanjo is fomenting some of the instability so that, having got the constitution changed, he can then pose as a strong man in next year's presidential election, securing his third term as the saviour of a disintegrating country. For would-be dictators, this is the oldest ruse in the book.

Term limits certainly place a restriction on democratic choice, which is one reason why they are unwelcome in America's state legislatures. But even the United States, whose system of checks and balances on the executive is considerably more robust than Nigeria's, has been cautious about granting too much power to the big man: presidents have been limited to two terms since 1951. Several Latin American countries have swallowed their previous doubts and allowed incumbent presidents to seek a second—but not a third—consecutive term (usually with poor results). In countries where institutional restraints on executive power are often weak, the risk is high that even leaders who start out well end up undermining democracy by staying on too long.

Mr Mbeki likes to practise what he calls “quiet diplomacy”. He has failed dismally in the case of Zimbabwe, but did help to talk Frederick Chiluba into standing down when he became a liability to Zambia. Now would be a good time to take Mr Obasanjo aside for a friendly chat on the virtues of term limits. For the good of Nigeria and of Africa, Mr Obasanjo should be persuaded to honour his own constitution and go.