This essay is about stamps, I promise you. Or at least it includes stamps. When you set to writing about Zimbabwe, however, you have to start with Robert Mugabe.

Before he finally was swept out of power after more than 35 years of misrule, Mugabe was one of the last remaining Big Men of Africa. Not big in stature, but a big dictator. Mugabe grew into one of the most ruthless, wily power-mongers in Africa, rivaling Bokassa and Amin in his cruelty and malice, and Mobutu in his greed and megalomania — cloaking his crimes all the while in the language of liberation and anti-imperialism. 

He came to power in 1980, soon after the collapse of Ian Smith’s segregationist government. Mugabe had the right credentials (educated, veteran political organizer, nationalist, freedom fighter), said the right words, and seemed to get off to a good start. He had a lot going for him: Zimbabwe was one of the most economically viable states in Africa, with rich mineral resources, fertile soil, an expanding education system and a well-established and growing black middle class.

He wrecked it all. By 1982, things already had changed for the worse. Mugabe seized power by terrorizing his opponents and critics. He went on to create a de facto one-party state, at the expense of his main rival, Joshua Nkomo. Mugabe was not subtle. “Some of the measures we shall take are measures that will be extra-legal,” he told parliament. “An eye for an eye and an ear for an ear may not be adequate in our circumstances. We might very well demand two ears for one ear and two eyes for one eye.” When it came to Mugabe, it probably was wise to take him literally.

His band of killers, dubbed 5 Brigade, went their murderous way under the chiShona slogan Gukurahundi  — “rain that blows away chaff before spring rains.”  How many died? Hundreds? Thousands? 

Mugabe’s venality and penchant for violence were so obvious that he seemed to be able to speak with impunity. Here’s how he explained his version of democracy at gunpoint: “Our votes must go together with our guns … the people’s votes and the people’s guns are always inseparable twins.” 

How could it be that Mugabe could amass one of the world’s great fortunes on the salary of a head of state? Because he and his gang systematically plundered the national treasury. The ministry budgets were drained. When even the state fund for war victims went bust, that outrage at least warranted an official inquiry, which named cabinet ministers among the culprits. But nothing was done about it. Phillip Chiyangwa, a millionaire cohort of Mugabe, explained his good fortune this way: “I am rich because I belong to ZANU-PF.”

By the end of the 1990s, with the disruption and chaos caused by Mugabe’s policies, aggravated by rampant corruption and mismanagement, Zimbabwe was an economic basket case. Mugabe held on to power by co-opting or otherwise neutralizing his rivals, stacking the judiciary, manipulating elections and muzzling the press — though voters very nearly turned him out every chance they got. His threats  would sound colorful if they did not carry such a chill: “Those who try to cause disunity among our people must watch out because death will befall them.”  

After Zimbabwe’s agriculture system collapsed, Mugabe and his cohorts seemed not at all perturbed about mass starvation and death.  Mugabe aide Didymus Mutasa was quoted as saying: “We would be better off with only 6 million people, our own people who support the liberation struggle.”  Since Zimbabwe was now dependent on food imports, Mugabe and his clique had a new racket: food distribution. “Vote for ZANU-PF,” crowed Mugabe crony Abednico Ncube, “before (the) government starts rethinking your entitlement to this food.” 

By 2004, 3 million people had left Zimbabwe, mostly whites and the black middle class. The economy kept shrinking. Unemployment reached 80 percent. The government launched a crackdown on shantytowns where thousands of destitute workers lived. Said police commissioner Augustine Chihuri: “We must clean the country of the crawling mass of maggots bent on destroying the economy.”  Mugabe grew ever more vicious as he clung to power. His  campaign slogan became: “Vote Mugabe next time or you will die.” Hundreds apparently didn’t get the message, because they died. As inflation soared to heights unseen in human history — a 5 sextillion inflation rate at one point produced a $100 billion bank note, which was not enough to buy a loaf of bread, so six months later came a $100 trillion bank note, The currency soon collapsed;  so too the health system and just about everything else. The jobless rate reached 90 percent.  A recent statistic is  equally breathtaking:  95 percent of whatever work force there is makes up an  “informal economy” — people scrambling to make do whatever way they can. Shockingly, in many respects Africans lived better in Rhodesia, and  Southern Rhodesia before independence. The year Zimbabwe’s per capita gross national income peaked was 1980 — the start of Robert Mugabe’s rule. In recent years, Mugabe made his position abundantly clear: “Zimbabwe is mine. I will never, never, never, never surrender.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sources put Mugabe’s fortune at $1 billion. There are rumors of Swiss bank  accounts and castles in Scotland.  The Mugabe’s own a 

$5 million mansion in Hong Kong, and there are reports of  real estate purchases in the Mugabe name in Malaysia, Singapore and possibly Dubai.

The Mugabes have six properties In Zimbabwe, according to cables released by  Wikileaks. In addition to commercial and industrial interests, the couple acquired farms around the country, as white farmers were driven off.  

Reports of the Mugabes’ life of luxury turn my stomach, but in case you can’t resist being fascinated/horrified, I’ll share a little of it:

One presidential mansion is valued at $9 million and known as The Blue Roof. According to one report, it has“25 bedrooms, a large outdoor pool, two lakes, a massive dining room that can seat more than 30 guests, a large master bedroom with super king-size bed and a multimillion-dollar radar system.”

A published list of Mugabe goodies includes:

• A custom-made Mercedes “able to withstand AK-47 bullets, landmines and grenades. It also features a CD and DVD player, internet access and anti-bugging devices.”
• A Rolls Royce Phantom edition that is so exclusive, “only 18 were ever manufactured.”
• A 100-carat anniversary ring ordered by Grace Mugabe worth $1.35 million.

Grace Mugabe, whom the Guardian says is known locally as “the First Shopper” or “Gucci Grace,” may have once gone on a $75,000 shopping spree in Paris, the paper says.

Mugabe’s 91st birthday menu, according to Zimbabwe’s Chronicle newspaper, featured elephant, buffalo, sable antelope, impala, and a lion.

“The couple’s home in Harare is said to be extraordinarily opulent, so much so that when their daughter Bona was married there, photographers were said to have been ordered not to take any pictures that showed the property in the background,” The Guardian reported.

The Mugabe children have been less discreet. One has been seen on Snapchat pouring champagne over an expensive watch, eliciting outcry on social media.

Earlier this year, according to Australian site news.com.au, the couple’s youngest son, Bellarmine Chatunga Mugabe, posted on Instagram a photograph of his watch captioned: “$60,000 on the wrist when your daddy run the whole country ya know!!!”

New diamond fields discovered in 2006 were a godsend to Zimbabwe — or should I say, to Mugabe and his corrupt cabal. His ruthless rule continued, somehow prevailing over the best interests of his people by holding them in thrall through a combination of bribes, handouts, terror, black nationalist rhetoric and … don’t ask me to explain how he did it, becoming by far the oldest and longest-serving leader in the world. (Well, not quite — Britain’s Queen Elizabeth has worn the crown since 1953). I’m just thankful he’s out of power — though I’m sorry he’s not being hauled into court and tried for murder and thievery, among his many other offenses. I’d like to see all his loot confiscated, too. And no pensions for Robert or Grace or their retinue. Put them in a home for old dictators. Sorry to say, I have little confidence that his successor and former cohort Emmerson Mnanbagwe. (pronounced … hmmm, I’d say … something like this: start with the mouth closed and say Nan-BAG-we)  will be much of an improvement. Poor Zimbabwe. 

What does this have to do with stamps? Let’s get to it right now. 

When I saw a series of stamps issued by Zimbabwe under the general heading, “national heroes,” I was intrigued. My expectation, knowing Mugabe, is that anyone who genuinely stood for the best interests of Zimbabweans and showed ability and dynamism, inevitably would come up against the corrupt regime and be crushed. So who are these guys being honored on stamps as “heroes,” whose remains are interred at Zimbabwe’s “heroes’ acre” in Harare?  Are they “heroes’ because they are safely dead, perhaps done in by Mugabe himself? Is the stamp honoring  this or that prominent (and dead) Zimbabwean the equivalent of the Godfather’s wreath  sent to the funeral of the guy he just bumped off?

Alternatively, if these “heroes” lived long and prosperous lives under Mugabe, there must be a distressing tale of moral compromise and venality behind their rise and endurance that deserves to be told. I decided to take a closer look.

Don’t look here for a detailed sketch of Robert Mugabe or his former rival, Joshua Nkomo. Their stories are well-known. In Mugabe’s case, the story is one that will leave a mark of infamy for the ages. Nkomo, the hapless representative of the Ndebele minority tribe, plays only a minor role in the drama. He gave up his opposition role and joined Mugabe’s corrupt regime as a minor partner. I don’t know if he managed to siphon off any of the millions flowing into Mugabe’s accounts over the years. He made his pact, sold his soul, and probably should have cashed in. In which case, he ended up being just another rascal.

Instead of focusing on the Big Men, let’s look at some of the second- and
third-tier players featured on the “hero” stamps. As I delved into the stories, there were some common traits. Like many bright young Southern Rhodesians, many if not most of these “heroes” started out in a rural city or village. They got an education or sorts in the 1940s or even earlier, most likely in a mission school. Teaching was a way out of the village and out of poverty, so many of them may have started as teachers. Christian ministry was another option, as was low-level civil service. Some of the brightest or well-connected students managed to wangle invitations to study in South Africa or England.   Zimbabwe (then Southern Rhodesia) was unusual in sub-Saharan Africa. Despite rigid segregation and colonial exploitation, black Africans in Zimbabwe earned academic degrees and professional advancement. By the 1950s there was a  well-established and growing black middle class. 

You may find true heroes of Zimbabwe buried in Hero’s Acre. If so, it is because they died before they could be corrupted, coerced or killed by Mugabe and his henchmen. People like Charles Mizingeli, the quirky journalist who fought against tribalism, and Benjamin Burombo, the charismatic and bombastic pioneer for independence; Amon Jiriria, the technocrat whose vision encompassed a prosperous, multiracial state of 20 million people living in harmony; Rev. Esau Nemapare, who created a model for a new Africa in the 1940s. Other early leaders of promise include Ndabaninge Sithole, Stanlake Samkange and Masotha Mike Hove. How much better for Zimbabwe if one of them — or others with their skills, dedication and integrity — had been able to take the place of Mugabe.  These leaders’ names are missing from the roster of national heroes at Heroes Acre, Mugabe’s monument to national heroes outside Harare. 

The ones we consider here are not in the first ranks of Zimbabwe’s heroes. Their heroism diminishes exponentially with any association to Mugabe. To read the stories of these men (they are nearly always men) is to wonder what happened to such bright young prospects. Did they learn the wrong lessons from their colonial rulers, so that many of them became oppressors in their own right? Did they forget about everything else, when they saw the glittering baubles and felt the thrill of power? Was the peer pressure irresistible? How was it that so few of them were able to cling to their values, their integrity, their training and discipline, their sense of shared purpose and public service? And why do I have so many questions and so few answers? Enough of this! On to the stamps and the stories  …

END OF PART ONE

 

While working to build my collection of British Somaliland stamps, I came across a previously unknown-to-me  issue, with a couple of stamps offered for sale online. (I bought them for about $15.)  Of course I knew about “Somaliland Protectorate” — the British territory in the horn of Africa dating back to the late 1800s. I also knew about neighboring Italian Somaliland, a territory seized at the turn of the century and expanded under King Emmanuel III and Mussolini. It

remained  under Italian supervision, for the most part, until July 1, 1960. That’s when both “sides” (British and Italian) merged into a sovereign “Republic of Somalia.”  I’ll get to the sorry history of that wretched nation in a moment. 

But first, there are these stamps to contend with. If Somaliland Protectorate and Italian Somaliland combined into Somalia on July 1, how to explain the late-issue stamps from Italian Somaliland, overprinted “Somaliland Independence 26 June 1960”?

How indeed? You’re talking about the history of the Horn of Africa, remember, where the normal rules of governance, statehood and territorial interest don’t quite apply. I’ve done some homework on the region in preparation for this essay, so bear with me. If you lose your way, I’ll be right there with you. But if your attention wanders, watch out! It’s dry and hostile territory out there in the desert!

The short answer to the question above is this: On June 26, the British territory voluntarily went out of existence, granting its sovereign powers to a new entity known as “Somaliland.” It was meant to be only a caretaker government, and remained in place only a week, until the merger with neighboring Italian Somaliland could be consummated. On July 1, “Somalia” was born and “Somaliland” ceased to exist. 

End of story? Not by a long shot. Stay with me, for it’s an intriguing yarn. It goes back to the early days, the 1880s, when the British were jockeying for position on the southern shore  of the crucial shipping channel from the Indian Ocean and the Gulf of Aden and on to the Red Sea and the Mediterranean.  After signing treaties with clan chiefs, the British declared a protectorate covering a swath of territory around Africa’s eastern horn. The first stamps from the region were overprints of stamps from imperial India — understandable, since the Raj on the far shore of the Arabian Sea was overseer of the territory at the time. 

The British “ruled” their Somaliland protectorate with a light hand — well, let’s say, on the cheap. Even post-World War II, its annual budget was less than a quarter-of-a-
million pounds. Britain’s main concern from the outset was quelling the Dervish uprising — a latter-day incarnation of today’s Islamic State or Taliban. Once the insurgents were

decisively routed in 1920, after a daring aerial attack on
the Dervish capital of Taleh, things settled down. The Colonial Office was only too  happy to leave local affairs in the hands of the clan elders. Aside from a six-month occupation by Mussolini’s troops in 1940, British Somaliland continued as a sleepy, largely barren outpost
and trading hub.

 

 

 

There is much to say — not here — about what happened to Somalia after independence; how that hapless nation moved inexorably, relentlessly, unstoppably toward disaster — a not-so-slow-motion civic train wreck. Somalia’s devolution into a failed state was not  pre-ordained, and its fate has been shared to alarming degrees by nations in much of sub-Saharan Africa. 

My focus here is on Somaliland, the  new entity that used to be British Somaliland Protectorate. After iindependence day on June 26, “Somaliland” lasted only a week —  arguably the shortest-lived republic in history.  Yes, it was only meant to be a place-holder.  

But some anomalies are worth noticing. For example, the first and only leader of this quicksilver republic was Muhammad Haji Ibrahim Egal, a veteran of British rule. Egal was a political leader before independence, a member of both the

Executive Council and the Legislative Council that spent three years planning for independence. Egal’s champions claimed that in the mere five days of its working life, the republic gained recognition from 35 countries, including the United States. (That assertion has been disputed; while U.S. Secretary of State Christian Herter sent a note of   congratulation June 26
to the Council of Ministers of the new republic, Washington only recognized the merged government of Somalia July 1.)

 

These fledgling assertions of national pride take on meaning in view of what was to come after decades of misrule in Mogadishu. When Somalia’s dictator Siad Barre finally fled in 1990, warring factions precipitated a civil war that never seems to have ended. A reliable barometer of the depth of civic destruction is that by October 1991, all effective postal services in Somalia had ceased.  They would not be restored until 2014, and I wouldn’t place a bet on a letter to or from Mogadishu arriving at its destination even today.

How, then, to explain the stamps from “Somalia” or “Somali Republic” that kept appearing in the decades when there was no functioning postal service? As one philatelic scholar explains: “Postage stamps continued to be produced illegally internationally during the war, although their subject matter suggests they were designed for external collectors.” (For more on this distressing phenomenon of stamp mills producing fodder for topical collectors with no real connection to the nominal country of issue, see FMF Stamp Project blog posts of February 2018, “Cinderellas: A Spreading Stain”; and March 2018,   “Cinderellas: A Nightmare of Abuse and Excess.”) 

After the collapse of Barre’s government, leaders in the north took action. For self-preservation, and to guard agains the factional disintegration radiating  from  Mogadishu, Somaliland’s elders gathered in Hargeisa in May 1991 to declare — or rather, re-declare — the independent state of Somaliland.  This autonomous region, carved from what was once British Somaliland Protectorate, has maintained its identity ever since. 

Somaliland has lived a comparatively parallel existence with its chaotic neighbor  to the south. Various efforts to break all ties with Somalia have foundered, along with designs on the territory from Mogadishu or elsewhere. 

Somehow, Somaliland has been spared the chronic violence, disarray and terror of Somalia. Perhaps the warlords, militias, Islamic insurgents, colonels and soldiers in the south are too preoccupied battling each other to pick a fight with the north. I should mention that Somaliland  has maintained a military defense with 12 divisions, just to make sure none of the combatants from the south stray.

Somaliland’s governmental structure, which combines traditional and modern features, could be a model for other nations in the Horn of Africa, if not the whole continent. It helps to have an ethnically homogeneous population and a self-disciplined clan system. Somaliland also has been blessed with seasoned, reasonable  leaders — like Muhammad Egal, its first president. Egal went on to serve as a key minister of sovereign Somalia — before being jailed for years by dictator Siad Barre. Egal took over in autonomous Somaliland in 1993, succeeding President Abdirahman Tuur, and served until his death, from natural causes, in 2002. 

As experience and history show, effective governance cannot be taken for granted. Somaliland’s blend of law and custom is worth studying. Its balanced, bottom-up system is one of the most democratic in Africa, developed without foreign assistance. Freedom House ranks Somaliland’s government “partly democratic,” quite a feat for this small nation surrounded by authoritarian states and failed polities. To be sure, Somaliland has its shortcomings. For example, like other African nations, it continues to outlaw homosexuality. In recent years, the regime has shown alarming tendencies to revert to the repressive habits of its neighbors — harassing journalists and dissidents, infringing legal rights, spending secretly and illegally. Internal reformers — including clan elders and constituents — must act within laws and customs to restore honest and just governance, so as to halt Somaliland’s slide into disarray.  

Somaliland doesn’t get much respect. Unable to win global recognition, it is relegated to the Unrepresented Nations and Peoples Organization. The government of Wales has been cordial, particularly since it is home to a considerable community of Somaliland expats. But London is another matter. Somaliland’s application to join the Commonwealth — as a mere observer — is still pending. 

Somaliland still may be on the side of the angels, but there are problems. Remember what I said about normal rules of nations not applying to the Horn of Africa? Well, here’s an example: There are multiple claimants to some of the godforsaken territories in the region, and some of them have set up their own countries. Part of the land mass that used to be British Somaliland Protectorate is now … autonomous Puntland (established 1999). There are declared states of Maakhir (2007) Adwalland (2010) and Khatumo (2012). (By the way, I have not yet found any stamps issued by these “countries” — surely it’s only a matter of time.) The nominal leaders of these and other self-styled independent entities unanimously oppose complete sovereignty for Somaliland, fearing they and their cohorts  will be sucked into the slipstream and lose their sinecures.   

At least one leading British political leader has spoken up for Somaliland. Nigel Farage of the third-ranked UKIP said in 2015: “Somaliland has been a beacon of peace, democracy and the rule of law in the Horn of Africa for the past 24 years. It is about time the UK and the rest of the international community recognized Somaliland’s case for recognition. It’s about time peace was rewarded. For the UK to turn its back on their legitimate demands for sovereignty is wrong. It is extraordinary that we have not been lobbying for the their admittance to the Commonwealth … Somaliland, a former protectorate, is left in the cold. This must change.”  

Before I close, a word or two (or more) on the postal history accompanying this civic narrative. The first postage stamps from the Horn of Africa were the British India overprints that began in the 1880s. Italian authorities came out with stamps from “Benadir” starting in 1903, then “Oltre Guiba” (Jubaland) in the 1920s, then simply Somalia or Italian Somaliland. The neighboring French started issuing stamps from “Obock” in the 1890s, then the French Somali Coast (Cote Francaise des Somalis) after the turn of the century. In the 1960s it was renamed the French Overseas Territory of Afar and Issas, before becoming independent Djibouti in 1977.  

And so the nations come and go. Sic transit gloria — except that in the Horn of Africa, there wasn’t much glory in the region’s imperial past, and there seems to be very little to celebrate in the struggles of today. But speaking of Afar and Issas and stamps, I must say that nation issued some ravishing, over-size, multicolor engravings.  Another point in its favor: It’s a real entity, with real stamps. That is, you could go into a post office in Afars and Issas, ask for a stamp and get one of these beauties. You could have done the same in French Somali Coast, or Italian Somaliland, even Obock and Benadir. 

 

But what about these more modern stamps from “Somalia” and “Djibouti”?  We already know there wasn’t a functioning postal authority in Somalia for more than two decades. You also may know that stamp mills churn out sets on contract, or perhaps even on spec,  for topical collectors. Are these stamps “real”? I have to say I even have my doubts about stamps from “Somaliland.” That plucky nation deserves support. But while I cheer on the democrats in Hargeisa, and wish them well in their mission, I doubt I ever will become a collector of the dubious sets of stamps issued in their name

PICTURE GALLERY

 

 In 1997, the government of Somaliland — formerly part of Somalia, and before that the British Somaliland Protectorate — decided to issue definitive stamps that were overprints of the well-known Machin profiles of Queen Elizabeth that had been appearing on British stamps since the 1960s. Why this autonomous state picked British stamps to overprint is a mystery to me — though I sense a strong attachment to England on the part of some of its former proteges. Apparently postal authorities thought twice about it, though, for the stamps were not issued immediately. Only after Somaliland found itself short of stamps did the overprints find their way to post offices in February, 1998. There was an immediate backlash. Postal customers in Somaliland must have objected to this symbolic compromise of sovereignty. There must have been surprise in both countries to see the queen’s portrait defaced by the big, black, lettering — there has never been an official overprint of Machin definitives, before or since. The stamps were withdrawn within days and destroyed, but not before some reached collectors. I also have seen examples cancelled on cover. (All too expensive for me — this image is from the Internet.) 

Here are some more stamps from British Somaliland. While King Edward VII was on the throne (1902-11), the area was declared a protectorate. It remained that way through the reigns of George V and George VI (see stamp at right), then on to Elizabeth II and independence in 1960.

Philately from Italian Somaliland began humbly enough, with overprints of stamps from the motherland. (right)
By the 1930s, however, the Italians were putting out bold, stylish sets like the one shown below.
Italy gave up its territory to the British in the 1940s, but took over again in 1950 — a rehabilitated imperial power?

I thought this was the last set put out by Italian Somaliland, but it might be an early set from independent Somalia. Either way, those runners are headed for disaster …

 

Here is a throwback to early colonial days, when Italy was getting a foothold in the Horn of Africa. Doesn’t King Victor Emmanuel III look jaunty in this two-color print complete with charming floral border? He would remain titular monarch of Italy through Mussolini, fascism and World War II, abdicating in 1946. He also claimed the title of Emperor of Ethiopia. He died in Egypt in 1947.

 

 

 

Who’s kidding whom? Some stamp mill churned out this souvenir sheet honoring David Bowie and slapped the name “Republic of Somalia” on it before offering it to dealers as a cute topical set. The caption accompanying this image on the Internet says it all: “This ‘stamp’ is counterfeit, not valid for posting and has no investment value.”

As you may know, Somalia is firmly in the Muslim world. Sunni Islam is the official religion and it is home to the oldest mosque in Africa. As you also may know, Islam has very conservative rules and customs about women and women’s display that would never countenance this kind of bare-breasted exhibition on its postage stamps. Therefore, even if you didn’t know that Somalia’s postal service went defunct back oil 1991, you would be pretty sure these racy stamps never got close to a post office in Mogadishu., and that they are complete phonies.

What’s this? Djibouti celebrating the marriage of Britain’s Charles and Diana while also lauding Lord Nelson and the imperial fleet? It’s surprising enough to see a former British colony wax nostalgic for the good old days and revel in royal power and pageantry. But Djibouti used to be a French territory, for goodness’ sake! I smell philatelic pfakery here, pholks …

Here is some catnip for Lady Di topical collectors. What glam! What pizzaz! Only trouble is, the stamps are bogus. The Republic of Somaliland is not a member of the Universal Postal Union, and the UPU does not recognize its stamps. Somaliland does not have a seat in the United Nations. It must make do with the organization of unrecognized states. (Yes, there is one.) While I have been moved and inspired as I learned of Somalland’s successes in building a peaceful, durable democracy with a sustainable economy in the troubled Horn of Africa, still I cannot accept its postage stamps as valid. The only ones that meet the standard are the ones illustrated at the very beginning of this essay. Between June 26, 1960 and July 1, 1960, the Republic of Somaliland was a legitimate sovereign state, so those overprinted stamps are good with me.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My latest stamp order should be winging its way back to me — a half-dozen envelopes from near and far. This time I’m trying to build up my collection from St. Vincent, a British colony in the Caribbean (independent since 1979). I bought 20 (!) stamps on my wish list through Stamps2Go.com — which is a great online resource for the picky collector, since you can search for stamps via Scott catalogue numbers. I spent $45. I think it was worth it, though my wife would reliably disagree.

Herewith a running commentary on the stamps as they arrive.

TUESDAY, June 5

Today, three envelopes came, with stamps from the earliest days through George VI. I now have a fragile copy of No. 2 (right) — a delicate portrait of Victoria from the 1860s that looks like a gossamer butterfly wing printed on a silk cobweb.  (There you have it — a stab at philatelic purple poesy!) The stamp is cut awfully close at the left, and such perforations as there are, are ragged — but it’s still a respectable example for $7.

I also picked up this magnificent, oversize engraving of the Seal of the Colony,
carmine lake and richly colored. It dates from 1888. This is actually the second stamp with this design. The first, issued in 1880, had a different watermark and is very dear. (Mine cost $12.50.)  The design is so classic, it was used for the top values of the first Queen Elizabeth definitive set in 1955 (below) — 75 years later!

The Seal also appears in these next stamps, from the Edwardian era. There are three distinct “sets” using this design, which differ in such details as the inscription on tablets below the figures — and whether or not there is a “dot” in the numeral lozenge. Some of these stamps are quite costly. I paid a few bucks for the ones pictured here. 

These George V definitives are from two long sets that differ only in watermark: One set has a “multiple crown and CA” (for Crown Agents) watermark; the other carries the “script crown and CA” watermark. Ah, watermarks! The bane of my existence (along with perforations), which I suppose I shall have to write about sometime …

Here is also a pretty 1-cent definitive from the George VI decimal series. It only cost me a dime, and it fills one of the few remaining holes in a long set that, when complete, will be spectacular!

 

 

WEDNESDAY

Nothing in the mail today. Rats.

I didn’t get to the mailbox until mid-afternoon, and was looking forward to receiving at least one or two packets from the St. Vincent order. Alas, no. 

You know the feeling: You are expecting a letter, and it doesn’t arrive. Maybe it will come the next day, or the next day. But there is still a let-down. You want it now! You turn from the mailbox, bereft in a modest sort of way. I am reminded of the feeling I got more than 50 years ago, back when I was a young stamp collector in Heidelberg, Germany, dreaming of my next packet of stamps arriving from a post office in a faraway land — Ascension, British Guiana, Bechuanaland Protectorate — where I had sent a money order. Inside would be a post-office-fresh set of their exotic definitives. Day after day I would get my hopes up, only to have them dashed when the letter didn’t arrive. Sometimes it would take weeks longer than I expected. Sometimes the letter would never come, and I would have to figure out why.  (Who knew philately could be such an emotional rollercoaster? For more on this, check my thrilling blog post of January 2018, “Too Many Georgetowns …”)  

It’s different, getting letters from stamp sellers, compared with what the postman in Heidelberg delivered every now and then: those long, light-brown envelopes inscribed “On Her Majesty’s Service,” containing plump accumulations of fresh philatelic gems. Still, it’s fun to be able to feel a resonance with the same delicious sense of mild disappointment over the wait, and to remember, along with that teenaged stamp collector: There’s always tomorrow!

THURSDAY

Yahoo! Two more envelopes came in the mail. That leaves just one outstanding. I feel the thin-ness of the envelopes and decide neither one is the order containing eight lots. That still leaves some very interesting stamps to look at. Let’s get right to it.

First, notice the envelope from Arizona. Somehow, a 10-centime stamp from French Guiana in the 1940s is stuck next to a standard “forever” stamp honoring the bicentennial  of Illinois. Both stamps received a proper Phoenix, AZ, cancellation. I suppose you could just dismiss the exotic stamp from “Guyane Francaise” as an interesting label. To be the sure, the delicate engraving of an attractive young Guyanese musician resting in a hammock is  more interesting than the neighboring stamp with its map of Illinois made of golden rays and blue sky. Still, a U.S. stamp is a U.S. stamp, and a French Guiana stamp means something else. Does the U.S. cancellation mark

represent an endorsement of the colonial regime? Does that make us symbolically complicit in imperialism, even a century later? Have I asked enough questions? Shall I ask any more?  OK. Does this cancellation of a foreign stamp simply indicate carelessness on the part of the USPS? Maybe a clerk wasn’t paying attention. More likely, a cancellation machine was not paying attention. Or  someone wasn’t paying attention to the cancellation machine. Or no one cared. Could be that someone (or some machine) detected there was a legit stamp on the envelope. There was a perfectly good address — and return address.  What else matters?

Now, if a letter carried only French Guiana stamps — and a U.S. postmark! — I would be alarmed. In effect this means you could mail a letter using a Christmas Seal, a child’s sticker, a propaganda label. And that, my friends, would signal the beginning of the end of civilization as we know it.

Now, here’s a coincidence. Take a look at the second envelope that arrived today. It presents a small array of common U.S. postage stamps of the recent past, a  return address label on the left, and in-between — a sticker! I almost missed it. Under the heavy cancellation you can make out a cheery snowman and the word “Celebrate.” Cute. If it’s a cancelled label, can I add it to my collection? Does this sticker gain extra cachet among Cinderella collectors because it got cancelled by the USPS?

Whew! Will I ever get those envelopes open? Is anybody still reading?

… By the way, it turns out my prediction was wrong:  One of the envelopes did contain the large number of lots. Lots of lots to pore over. Some fun! 

As you will notice on the stockcard (right), where I have arranged them temporarily, this new batch of St. Vincent stamps includes definitives from the reigns of Edward VII, George V and George VI.  There are three more stamps for my Seal of the Colony sets. Annoyingly, though my order lists No. 95, the seller instead sent me No. 97, a stamp I already have in my collection. Perhaps I will complain … it only cost $1.50 …  What’s particularly galling, though, is that No. 95, which I had ordered, was one of the two-stamp set “without the dot.” I want it, so that I can observe, compare and contrast the subtle differences between the stamps “with”  and “without” the “dot.” Don’t you understand? I want it, I want it! Time for a philatelic tantrum!

 Calm down, calm down. Look, aren’t those George VI, two-color, engraved definitives (bottom row) gorgeous? I just can’t get enough of them … Well, I do have all of them, having just completed the two sets with these four acquisitions. 

Now it’s just a matter of waiting for the last letter, which should contain two more George V definitives. Then I can go ahead and paste all the new arrivals in my album. (By “paste,” of course, I mean using hinges and protective mounts, so my stamps always stay safe!)

Many days later …

Rats again. The last letter never came. Now it’s been nearly a month, so I’m about to write it off. The two George V stamps only cost a couple of bucks, and postage and handling was just a buck more, so what’s the difference? Nevertheless, I did file a “complaint” with the Stamps2go web site, which then gave me the seller’s email, so I sent a personal note as well. The note to the web site read:  

“Hey, I don’t want to make a fuss, this is no big deal. I just never received the stamps (st. vincent nos. 109, 124) at 107 Fleetwood Lane, Minoa NY 13116); seller says he shipped them June 4. It is now June 30. I don’t know how to let him know this otherwise than through a complaint. They only cost a couple of bucks, no big deal. Just saying …   Fred Fiske, Syracuse (Minoa), NY USA”

I revised my note for the direct email message, and added a p.s.:  “Because I didn’t have any other way of reaching you, I had to file a ‘complaint’ with Stamps2go. I hope I can withdraw it so it doesn’t go on your record …” 

The way the complaint process works is this, I discover: If you file a complaint, you and the seller have several weeks to resolve the problem. If the matter is not settled at that point, a black mark goes on the seller’s record — but only if the buyer marks the matter “unresolved.” Otherwise, Stamps2go assumes the issue  has been resolved, and wipes the slate clean.

***

To follow up a point I made earlier, about wanting one stamp and getting another —  I did decide to act on that matter as well. Somehow, I figured out the seller’s email, along with the fact he is a preacher in Arizona, and sent him an e-note. In the process, it seems I mixed up his church business and his stamp business. Oh well. 

Here is the original note I sent him:

“Rev. Yeaw — I realize stamps have nothing to do with the Unity Spiritual Center. But I thought it was more ‘spiritual’ of me to go to you directly this way, rather than file a ‘complaint’ with Stamps2go. I appreciate your stamp service and love Stamps2go so I’d rather bring this to you directly — I ordered St. Vincent No. 95 and you sent me No. 97. Please email me at the address above if there’s anything to discuss. Otherwise, never mind. The stamp only cost $1.50, so I can let it go … Best, Fred Fiske, Syracuse NY”

Happy to say, Rev. Yeaw responded promptly: 

“Fred, you are more than welcome to return the stamp. I will replace it and refund your postage.  Thanks   Jim”

He added this postscript:  “PS Please email me as above or the stamps get stuck in the middle of many emails re church business.”

Message taken. I sent the unwanted No. 97  back to him, at his return address. Sure enough, a few days later another letter arrived from Arizona — this one containing the desired No. 95 — 1d,  “without the dot”!  The letter also contained a fresh “forever” stamp — refunding my postage. Good deal!

 

 

 

 

 

OK, quiz time: Here are all three examples of the St. Vincent 1d. stamp from the Edwardian era. Can you spot the differences?  Hints: The tablet inscriptions in No. 1 are reversed in Nos. 2 and 3; Nos. 1 and 3 have a dot under the “d” in “1d.” No. 2 has not the dot. Are you having fun, comparing and contrasting? I am!

 

 

The kicker: along with the regular USA Forever stamp used on the envelope, the mischievous Rev. Yeaw once again added a foreign chestnut — in this case, a 1930 stamp from Wallis and Futuna, French island territories in the south Pacific.

All in all, it has been a satisfactory order — with one loose end still hanging. I can live with that. …

***

ADDENDUM: Today I heard back from the seller about my complaint (see above). This is quite exciting — a first for me.

“To: fred fiske   From: Stamps2Go      A refund of $1.80 has been authorized by DENNFERG … . Please allow up to 72 hours for your refund to be processed and issued. (editor: the refund was confirmed several hours later)  …  The seller included this comment about the refund… ‘I am sorry your order was delayed.  I could not locate #109.  Refund is for the stamp and shipping.  Revised mailing date for the other stamp is July 2.’ ”

Wow. This means not only that I am receiving a refund for No. 109, the stamp the seller could not locate — plus shipping — but I also am likely to receive the other stamp, No. 124, which the seller was able to locate! (Though I still don’t quite understand why the seller noted at first that the order’s shipping date was June 4 … Never mind.)  Which would tie up the last loose end!

Last loose-end tie-up:  The long-awaited No. 124 (George V, 3d) arrived  from the seller in Missouri. Yahoo! I went to the web site and checked the box noting the complaint was “resolved.”  I also sent the following note directly to the seller:

“Dennis — Today (July 5) I received from you a nice copy of St. Vincent No. 124. I also have been notified of reimbursement for the other stamp you did not have in stock. We are all set, and I have marked our transaction issue ‘resolved.’ Thanks! I look forward to doing more business with you …     Best, Fred Fiske, Syracuse, NY”

It took more than a month, but the results are worth it!  Just look at this mini-collection of St. Vincent stamps (below), all ready to start putting in my British American album. Let this story provide you with insight into a useful quality for the stamp  collector: patience!

PHOTO GALLERY FOLLOWS

What follows is an illustrated depiction of the deeply satisfying experience available to this (or any) stamp collector — adding key values, filling blank spaces that expand or complete sets. In this case, I am enriching my British America album with the St. Vincent stamps purchased in my latest online shopping expedition. Enjoy!

 

It’s fun to be able to fill the space for the first stamp from any country, and this example from St. Vincent is a colorful addition, to be sure! (Instructions to reader: See the album page, above left,  with the image and empty space for No. 1, marked with an asterisk; then see the space filled, above right.)

 

 

The elegant 5 shilling stamp from 1888 (right, below) rounds out a page that includes the Victoria sexagenary set from 1898 (marking her 60-year reign). Hmm. Looks like I need to work at filling some of those empty spaces. I fear the project will be costly, however …

 

See to the left the sparsely populated “before” page where I am struggling to build sets from the reign of Edward VII.

Now look below — left and right — to view the happy “after” result, supplementing all four sets. Things are filling in nicely. I believe I am on my way!

Notice in the lower right image the three different 1d stamps are on display — including the one “without the dot” that I had to place at the side, since the album page did not design a space for it! Hey!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now we shall let George V have his due (“before” is below left, “after” is right) . While I was only able to add one new stamp to the first set, the second set (different watermark) is now just a tongs-throw from complete! (An expensive proposition, though — the set includes a L1 stamp that sells online for more than $70 …) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finally, here is the first George VI set, both the album page with illustrated gaps (right) and with the gaps filled (below). See the next images and caption for my action-packed conclusion.

Here it is, folks — the second George VI set, this one in decimal currency (1948-51) instead of English Sterling (1938-47). (“Before” is right, “after” is below.) This set is otherwise identical to the first one, so my comments really apply to both. I just wanted to remark on the gorgeous hues of these beautiful two-color engravings. The catalogue listings make my mouth water and my eyes sparkle — 5 cents, chocolate and green … 6 cents, dark violet and orange … 7 cents, peacock blue and indigo … 12 cents, claret and black … 60 cents, deep blue and orange brown … $4.80, gray-black and violet. Can you pick them out, below? Are you with me? Is this an inspired example of color and design? Say yes!

POSTSCRIPT

You will recall my reference above to two envelopes received from Rev. Yeaw, a stamp seller in Arizona, that carried odd pairings of vintage foreign stamps along with the prescribed U.S. postage stamp.  Now suddenly I remember my late mother did the same thing! Look below, and you will see a postcard she sent me in 1993. The card includes a pre-printed stamp from the Belgian Congo, overprinted “Congo.”   Mother brought this card back with her from the Congo, where she and my Pa were stationed between 1962 and 1964 with the U.S. foreign service. They settled in Moscow, Idaho in 1970, and after all these years, despite the intervening  cascade of cards and letters  she sent to family and friends around the globe, she still had a supply of these crude postcards from the newly independent Congo.  So she used one for a note to me, applying the current 19-cent U.S. postcard stamp to make it legit. It seems my old ma was a philatelic wit in her own right. Or perhaps just a thrifty Scot.

One more thing: Notice the card at the bottom, also mailed to me by Mother from  Idaho in 1993, carries only the pre-printed postcard stamp from Belgian Congo/Congo. Yet it was duly cancelled, traveled through the U.S. postal system, and reached me in good order. What gives?

TO BE CONTINUED            

           

Another recent foray into online stamp-buying cost me $99 bucks or so. The sellers were so on-the-ball that the packets started arriving within two mailing days. Way to go! In following days, I received a delightful philatelic cascade of seven envelopes. As it happened, each letter  was from a different state:  Virginia, Washington, Tennessee, Ohio, Arizona, Illinois and Nevada. This was pure coincidence — I was not trying to set a record for sellers in different states, just trying to fill out my Bechuanaland and Somaliland collections. What does this diversity suggest? For one thing, that stamp-collecting is deeply embedded in the U.S. heartland. At least, a lot of folks with stamps they want to sell are living all over the country. Maybe they are selling off their stamp collections, or just having fun in retirement. Maybe some of them are still collecting — selling some stamps and buying others.  I received this poignant note from one seller: “Fred, Thank you for your order. Please keep checking. Every stamp I sell from my collection helps my family buy things we need to get by. May God bless you, Gregory.”

Philatelists are fortunate to have entered a new landscape of stamp collecting — accessible and enriching as never before — through the magical doors of the Internet. In the lively stamp-ing grounds of today you can pick up bargains, no matter whether you collect American, British Colonies, foreign, topical or other specialties.   You can bid boldly at auctions, haggle with sellers, systematically fill out your sets, even sell your duplicates. The Internet also provides virtually limitless opportunities for research and enjoyment of the hobby — its history, stories, and images both stirring and beautiful. It’s never been easier or more fun to collect stamps. What are you waiting for?

These buying sprees of mine have not been a regular thing — maybe once or twice, every couple of years. Perhaps there will be more such sprees, since I have to start cashing in my IRA after age 70 and 1/2. After all, it’s a good investment, right? Plus, it’s lots of fun!

Here’s how I handle my cache of new lots. First I slice the envelopes with my letter-opener, draw out the contents, spread them out on my desk and admire the  resulting philatelic clutter. I harvest the colorful stamps the sellers pasted on the envelopes for postage, and stash them in the large envelope I use for such accumulations.

Then I check the sellers’ manifests to see what is what and make sure I got the stamps I ordered. (This is when I discover today that in my haste, I’ve bought quite a few  duplicate stamps. Oops!)

Carefully, I update my want lists, crossing out the recorded catalog numbers of stamps I am adding to my collection..

Turning to my British Africa album (for Somaliland, Bechuanaland et al.), I mark an asterisk (*) in light pencil on each space to fill on the appropriate page, with a notation underneath of the year of purchase and the price (if over $2.50).

When I’m done, I am free to discard the paperwork and rearrange the new stamps as I choose. The resulting stock cards turn out to be quite pleasing to  the eye —

seven early stamps from Somaliland Protectorate, a whopping 16 stamps for my Bechuanaland collection, and attractive items from Sierra Leone and Tristan da Cunha.

The final step, of course, is to “paste” the stamps into my British Africa album, using either stamp hinges (for low-value used

stamps) or black protective  mounts (for unused or higher-value stamps.)

As I contemplate these desirable additions to my collection, I suddenly am struck by the way the vectors of the senders in all those various states converge on my desk, in my house just outside of Syracuse. With two or three lots coming from some senders, up to a half-dozen stamps from others, these mailings produce

an exotic, colorful jumble.  Once organized and displayed on stock cards, however,  you find seven Somaliland Protectorate stamps, harmoniously designed and colored, arranged in two orderly rows. On a separate stock card, a small collection of 16 Bechuanaland stamps chronicles a mini-history of the British territory, from Victorian times to the decimal era of the pre-indepen-

dence 1960s.

You could plot a line on a map to the return address on each seller’s envelope — Washington State, Virginia, Ohio, Arizona — and produce  a pinwheel pattern of no discernible significance. Yet the stamps, once placed in order on the stock cards, unite to convey a coherent and resonant sense of unity, history and artistry.

TO BE CONTINUED

You know this already if you are a stamp collector, or if you have been reading my FMF Stamp Project blog posts; or you may sense this intuitively: One of the strongest impulses of a collector is to fill in a key blank spot on an album page — say, the one missing stamp that makes a desirable set complete. (See “The Exquisite Pleasure of Filling Out Sets,” April 2017 blog post.)

That’s how my latest buying binge started. I spotted a long-desired stamp — the 5 shilling from the first (and only) Queen Elizabeth set of Somaliland Protectorate, a small territory formerly under British supervision in the Horn of Africa. It’s a charming little stamp, a two-color engraving, emerald green and brown, issued in 1953. The young queen’s portrait sits next to a delicately etched Martial Eagle perched on a promontory in a rocky  landscape. I recently acquired the 10 shilling of the set, and lacked only this stamp to complete my series. But the stamp is not cheap — prices on the Internet range upward from $11 to $28 for a mint copy. So when I noticed it in a “sale” email, going for $9.50, it got my attention. Not only that: The seller added to his pitch the phrase “…or best offer.” Plus, shipping was free. I shaved 50 cents off the asking price and submitted my offer for $9, which was promptly accepted. (How low should I have gone?) Hooray! My set would be complete.

Then I thought: Well, gee, it’s free shipping. The seller is promoting more of his “British colonial classics.” The one I bought certainly was priced right — and I got it even cheaper in my low-ball offer. Why not take a look? And I was off to the stamping grounds …

Before I was done, my $9 bargain (with free shipping) had ballooned to $99.50. (I look through walls and see wife Chris rolling her eyes as I write that sen-tence. “But Chris, it’s a good investment,” I protest in my imagination. Then I imagine  another eye-roll. I will only say in my defense that this kind of spending is not an everyday indulgence!) On some of the stamps, I offered 50 cents less than the asking price. On others, a buck, even two bucks off. In every case, my offer was accepted. Cool! Overall, I probably saved about 10 bucks off the already

reasonable asking prices. Plus, I saved more on avoided shipping costs. Seen another way, I spent about 100 bucks on 14 lots, many of them single stamps. Did I get a good deal? Probably not a bad one, if you think stamps are ever a “good deal.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One thing I know for sure: Roger Fenna from Black Mountain, N.C., sure knows how to move his stamps!

The following is a gallery of other items I picked up — all because I bought  that first stamp …

This stamp is identified as “39u” — which I guess means No. 39, used. No kidding! It’s a heavily cancelled stamp of the Edwardian era from the colonial territory of East Africa and Uganda, one of the many administrative iterations of that imperial region. The seller lists it at $40. I got it for $5.

 

Oh yes, one more offering: Here is a visual treat — filling out that Queen  Elizabeth set from Somaliland Protectorate. Watch me add the missing stamp. Ahh! Enjoy it vicariously!

 

Before …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

… after.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ain’t that set a beauty? Valuable, too. It’s selling online for $50 or more.

TO BE CONTINUED

Although I am not a “topical” stamp collector, there is one “topic” I have a soft spot for — stamps on stamps. For some reason, the framing of a stamp-within-a-stamp holds special appeal to me, like a trompe l’oeil painting by William Hartnett — a philatelic diorama; not to mention that the reproductions of early stamps are usually very fine on these commemorative issues. I have quite a few of these stamp-on-stamp issues, and would be glad to share them in a post if you wish.

At right is one stamp-on-stamp from the southern African nation of Botswana. Issued in 1985, it commemorates a century of postage stamps — though the region was called Bechuanaland in 1885. I’m struck by the decision of postal authorities in the sovereign state of Botswana, which gained it independence from Great Britain in 1966, to issue these stamps  at all. Stamps appearing in this set were put out during the years when the area known as Bechuanaland was part of the British Empire. Were the tensions of post-colonialism over by 1985? Was all forgiven between Motswana (the name for Botswana citizens) and their former colonial rulers? Were there nostalgic anglophiles in the post office who still valued British tradition? Or were they exercising a fine sense of irony, reprinting these emblems of colonial subjugation with a wink and a nod, with the proud banner of “Botswana” emblazoned at the top?

Such speculation may be idle, but it’s just the thing to amuse stamp collectors. In this short post, profusely illustrated as usual, my plan is to have some more fun with these stamps on stamps. I also must provide as background a short course on the interesting history of Botswana/Bechuanaland across the century prior to 1985. Finally, I expect I will have to share with you my impressions of why Botswana has sustained a relatively sturdy democracy in its first half-century of independence — an anomaly in sub-Saharan Africa.

… All this, by way of circling back to what will follow: a review of my Bechuanaland stamp collection, continuing my British Africa stamp review that was interrupted so long ago, after Basutoland/Lesotho. It’s all riveting stuff. On to Bechuanaland!

By the 1880s, the swashbuckling imperialist Cecil Rhodes was clamoring for the Cape Colony to claim dominion over the arid plains to the north known as Bechuanaland. In 1883 he made his case to “Grandmama,” his irreverent nickname for the Victorian home government. He invoked the shades of Livingstone and Moffat and their missionary roads of past decades. The path north could be the “Suez Canal” of trade to the interior, Rhodes argued. But Gov. Scanlen of Cape Colony demurred, dismissing the sparsely populated region as mostly desert, ruled by squabbling chiefs — in short, not worth the effort.

Still, imperial authorities in London were uneasy. Boer freebooters were streaming across the border of the Orange Free State, seeking new pastures and opportunities in what there was of a Bechuanaland veld. The neighboring Ndebele tribe also had aggressive territorial designs on its longtime Tswana rivals. In 1885, Sir Charles Warren left the Cape Colony with 4,000 imperial  troops. As he moved north, he signed treaties of protection with local chiefs. Among them was the remarkable Tswana leader, King Khama III.

Khama rightfully deserves a biography of his own — indeed, the first account of his life was written in the 1880s, when the king and his entourage visited London to lobby for British protection from the Boers, the Ndebele and expansionists like Rhodes. Khama enjoyed an audience with the queen, and drew enthusiastic crowds at receptions sponsored by evangelical groups who applauded Khama’s conversion to Christianity and promotion of “civilized” values like education,   modernization and monogamy.

Khama had become king in 1875, after prevailing in power struggles  between tribes and family members that included three assassination attempts and a fateful dispute over a lost cow. He earned his title, Khama (the Good)  by his far-sighted policies, which included consolidating and expanding his sparsely populated territory, fostering trade with all comers, and promoting up-to-date farm techniques.   He was particularly adept at blending traditional practices with western innovation — for example, using the voluntary labor of tribal mephato contingents to build schools, silos and irrigation systems.

Khama was a charming, charismatic leader and an effective, multilingual  diplomat. He prevailed in the climactic confrontation with would-be usurpers on his borders.

The deal reached in 1885 created the Bechuanaland Protectorate, under direct imperial supervision, shielding the lands of King Khama from schemers and squatters in the Transvaal and the Cape Colony as well as the Ndebele and other hostiles.

The southern region of Bechuanaland, meanwhile, became  British Bechuanaland, a crown colony.  By and by, that southern portion was absorbed by the Cape Colony, then  joined the Union of South Africa in 1910. As the years passed, pressure continued to turn over the protectorate to South Africa or Rhodesia. But Khama and his colonial protectors would have none of it. Thus it was that Bechuanaland Protectorate was spared the blight of apartheid that settled on South Africa after 1948. Those living in the southern portion of the Tswana ancestral lands eventually were consigned to the hollow South African “homeland” of Bophutatswana, one of the last concoctions of the apartheid state in the years before Nelson Mandela ushered in the new South Africa in 1994.

 

In its early years, Bechuanaland Protectorate was largely self-governed; the British ruled with a light hand. In the 1890s, however, local sovereignty was curtailed as colonial officials took over administration of the territory. The protectorate did not escape the racial discrimination and economic exploitation endemic to colonialism.

(Text continues after illustrations and captions.)

 

The protectorate’s economic dependence on South Africa was underscored by the fact that its governing institutions were located in Mafikeng, south of the border. (The capital is now Gaborene, within Botswana.) King Khama died in 1923, and was succeeded by kinsmen. After achieving independence in 1966, Botswana’s voters have elected and re-elected Khama’s descendants. Its first president, Seretse Khama, was a legitimate Ngwato heir; his son, Ian Khama, was elected in 2008.

This is a remarkable, inspiring tale — how more than a century ago, a strong African leader forged a nation that survived decades of colonial interference to  emerge as a rare success story in Africa. There is no denying the skill with which King Khama in the 1880s maneuvered among the likes of Queen Victoria and Whitehall, Cecil Rhodes, Boer squatters, rival tribesmen and hostile Ndebele. Also impressive was the record of independent Botswana’s first rulers — Seretse Khama, then Quett Masire — who had to maneuver among the quarreling factions of Rhodesia, South Africa, Angola and other troubled neighbors. That Botswana’s fairly elected leaders kept their nation at peace, with a sound and growing economy and a minimum of corruption, seems nearly a miracle.

There is a fairy tale quality to the story as well — how in 1948 Seretse Khama, then a dashing young law student and tribal prince in London, met Ruth Williams, a white English girl. The couple fell in love. After several months Khama proposed and Ruth accepted. There was a predictable uproar over this interracial courtship — from the church, from the colony, from the tribe. Just about everyone was against the marriage — except Ruth and Khama. The butt-inskis even persuaded the vicar to cancel the ceremony on the morning of the wedding — but the good cleric reportedly found a way to sneak it in after an ordination ceremony at the cathedral later the same day. Khama then faced the combined wrath of peers and mentors.  “I still want to be your chief,” he told his people. He also declared: “I cannot leave her.” The couple was compelled to live in exile for six years (in England, naturally). Eventually Khama and his bride were allowed home — after he renounced his throne. He arrived to a hero’s welcome in 1956. Kwama was elected Botswana’s first president in 1966, and served with distinction for more than three terms. The couple had four children. Sir Seretse Khama died in 1980, Dame Khama in 2002. Their romantic saga unfolds n the movie, “A United Kingdom,” released in 2016.

Post-script to this anecdote: Seretse and Ruth Khama’s son, Khama Ian Khama, was elected president of Botswana in 2008 and had a successful 10-year presidency. Some day this biracial president-son may be known as Africa’s Obama; or will the former U.S. president — also the son of an interracial couple — be remembered as America’s Khama?

For more than a half-century, the Republic of Botswana has been a model government in Africa, successfully blending democratic practice with respect for tribal ways. It has not seen coups or civil war, and enjoys a relatively robust tourism industry. Per capita yearly income of more than $18,000 is near the top for the continent. Granted, there are only two million people in a nation the size of France; a nation, moreover,  blessed with rich deposits of diamonds.  Botswana has the lowest corruption ranking in Africa, and the highest rating in human development indices.  Botswana’s leaders have broken ranks with their peers in speaking out against corruption and abuses in Zimbabwe, Sudan and elsewhere. While Botswana benefits from certain anomalies, its achievements are real. Indeed, Marvel enthusiasts may wonder if Botswana is linked to the  Black Panther’s mythical kingdom of Wakanda.

In 2017, when former president Ketumile (Quett) Masire died, New York Times obituary writer Amisha Padnani described how he “for nearly two decades helped transform his arid and destitute country into the envy of other African nations.”  In “The Fate of Africa,” author Martin Meredith applauded Botswana’s “enduring multiparty democracy” and “sound economic management,” noting that the government “has used its diamond riches for national advancement and maintained an administration free from corruption.”

And yet, more must be said before we end this African fairy tale.  Consider these qualifying factors (oboy, here cometh the lecture):

1. The discovery of diamonds soon after independence considerably eased Botswana’s economic difficulties — though responsible stewardship of this new wealth by Botswana’s leaders has been a key to prosperity.
2. Other than benefiting from this good fortune, Botswana, like the Bechuanaland Protectorate before it, has depended economically and otherwise on its giant neighbor, the Republic of South Africa.  To give a philatelic example of this dependency: In 1961, when South Africa introduced decimal currency, then-Bechuanaland Protectorate had to scramble to surcharge its sterling-currency stamps with decimals, then print its own. Botswana played a nuanced role  before South Africa emerged as a multi-ethnic democracy  in 1994. In the 1970s and ‘80s, Botswana yielded to South African pressures, but also harbored anti-apartheid fighters from the banned African National Congress.
3. Not to be too cynical, but Bechuanaland is a backwater — nearly as large as Texas, most of it arid plains, with a population of 2.1 million (the Bronx?).
4. Most telling in my view is that 79 percent of Motswana come from the same tribe — the Tswana ethnic group.  The overlap between voter, tribe and government is commanding.  I don’t want these factors to undermine my respect and admiration for Seretse Khama, Quett Masire and the other honest leaders and civil servants. In that respect, Botswana is a model state. It should be a model for neighboring Zimbabwe (population: 15.6 million), where the Shona tribe has a similarly lopsided majority, and  corruption and political violence are epidemic. If tribal compatibility can foster good civil government, it clearly is not sufficient. And what about Kenya, where five major tribes vie for influence? Or the vast Congo, with hundreds of rival groups? Must an African state be ruled by one tribe to succeed? I hope not. I believe the most successful states are like my own, the USA. Our civic foundation is respect for individuals and their rights,  regardless of tribe. I believe a  diverse society is more dynamic and vital than a mono-cultural one. A diverse society does not countenance a member of one tribe killing another, and outlaws discrimination. This practice contradicts a social system in Kenya that pits Kikuyu against Luo, even as it has little use for a civic culture like Botswana’s, where one tribe runs everything. To rearrange Africa’s national boundaries so that they incorporate, as best as anyone can calculate, the sphere of one tribe’s influence — eek, what a chore! Is it even possible? What next? Alert members of each tribe that henceforth, “their” nation will be over there. So they’d better move if they don’t live there already. And if they don’t move? Will their fate  be like that of the Hutu and Tutsi in Rwanda and Burundi? What about folks who  intermarry? What about their children, and grandchildren? In the  multiparty, multiethnic, tolerant model, all struggle together to find a way forward, making what contributions they can to a better life. (Here endeth the lecture.)

I can hardly wait to bring this extended discussion of so-called Cinderella stamps to its long-awaited conclusion, so this essay will be mercifully short. The whole topic is kind of creepy. It started out innocently enough, with fake stamps, satirical stamps, even artistic imaginings. But it veered into forgery, propaganda, self-dealing, deception, political intrigue and cynical commercialism. In recent years, philately — stamp-collecting — seems to have been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of stamps deemed “undesirable” by sensible philatelic authorities.

To bring us up to date, what has happened to Cinderellas/Illegals is what has happened to stamps themselves. The proliferation of topical sets saturates a market of collectors who, to the extent they still are collecting, pay attention not so much to the country of origin as to the theme and artwork. Stamp presses churn out sets and souvenir sheets that never get close to a post office in the land they are nominally from. It’s a stamps-by-contract proposition, and I think it stinks. But who am I to complain? I just get to brush past the phenomenon with a few more observations and detail about “abusive” and “excessive” and “undesirable” stamps. Then, at long last, I can return to my appreciation of stamps that really are, well, stamps.

Below is a quick overview of abusive stamps, gleaned and adapted from online posts by the Philatelic Web Masters Organization. The PWMO also presents a useful case study of an abusive stamp issue — celebrating ping pong, of all things.

According to the PWMO, abusive issues are those that were legally issued by postal administrations, but which do not comply with the terms of the ”Philatelic Code of Ethics,” for use by member countries of the Universal Postal Union. The code was established by the World Association for the Development of Philately. WADP in turn is the group that worked with the UPU to create the WADP Numbering System [WNS] for stamps in 2002. The Code of Ethics was approved in 2008 by all member countries of the UPU.

Key provisions of the code of ethics call out stamps that do not meet the internal needs of the countries for their postal traffic, and sometimes are not even sold in the countries themselves. (For more detail, see blog post, September 2017.)

The PWMO, writing in 2013, did not know of any special reporting procedures for code violations similar to those set up by the UPU to detect and expose illegal issues. Indeed, as the PWMO points out, postal administrations are not about to acknowledge having signed contracts that do not comply with the Philatelic Code of Ethics. The important and sometimes difficult task of holding postal authorities accountable thus falls to organizations representing collectors, such as WADP, and its component International Federation of Philately (FIP).

Unfortunately, the PWMO goes on to say, “we haven’t seen any action or reaction from WADP in the field of abusive issues, despite its existence for over 15 years. … Collectors are presented with a fait accompli — the many abusive issues on the philatelic market — and we observe that we are among the few who deal with these issues. …”

The ping pong issue of 2013 came to light thanks to a topical collectors’ group — the French Association of Table Tennis Collectors (AFCTT), which keeps up with new issues on its topic, worldwide. The issue from the west African nation of Niger was  listed on the website of the Lithuanian company Stamperija (Motto: “Production & Trade in Philately”); it consisted of four stamps in a souvenir sheet, both perforated and imperforate.

Here is an image of the offending souvenir sheet from the Republic of Niger, which appeared in 2013. Postal authorities in NIger claimed it was a legitimate issue, but only available through the printing firm in Lithuania. Hmm. Could it be that table tennis, like butterflies, is a topic that invites spurious stamp production? I include more illustrations of gaudy ping-pong stamps from a hodgepodge of nations, below. There are many more. I ask you: Are they all legal? Are they excessive? Undesirable? How is a collector to tell which issues are legitimate, and which are the product of stamp mills producing for the topical market? The French Association of Table Tennis Collectors has done heroic work in exposing this fraud. But I fear they are outmatched by the sheer volume of undesirable philately. 

“Because it could not find these stamps on the website of the Post of Niger,” the PWMO reported, “the Association contacted the postal administration of Niger to inquire about the legality of this issue … The Director General of the Niger Poste replied, stating that they were legitimate stamps that could only be purchased through the company Stamperija. In a second message, the Niger correspondent used the term ‘legal copies,’ not ‘stamps’!”

The French topical collectors group appealed to the UPU, and received a prompt response from Louis Virgile, Programmes’ Manager for Philately, who dismissed the ping pong issue as “a practice which, although legal, is nonetheless curious, and can be characterized as an abusive issue.”

The AFCTT then blacklisted the stamps and alerted members on its blog:
”… please be advised that the issue of Niger will not be provided to members, and that in defense of true philately, we ask all of you not to buy this type of issue. ”

When I last checked, the sheet was selling online for $13 and up — a strong price, particularly for a stamp deemed “abusive” by the UPU. Exactly what kind of issue are we talking about? How does one “abusive” issue stand out, in contrast to another “legal” issue? How can the average collector distinguish one from the other in this philatelic hall of mirrors?

Three years earlier, in 2010, the PWMO posted another useful essay, “So Many Stamps,” noting how a few countries had gone plum loco in the number of stamps issued: Gambia (632 stamps in 2000), Tanzania (581 in 1999) and Liberia (771 stamps in 2000, a record number for a single country in a single year, prompting the PWMO editor to observe that the country was going through a civil war at the time).

The PWMO had been tracking this over-issuance of stamps for years. The fine point is to distinguish which stamps — legal stamps — are way in excess of what is needed: “(T)here is a certain fight against illegal stamps,” wrote the PWMO in a plaintive note from 2002, “but what will be done about the exaggerations?”

Perhaps the editor need not have worried. Natural market correction serves the interests of philately. By 2009, it seems, most countries were well below 200 in new stamp issues for the year. They may have discovered the diminishing returns of
excessive stamp production. There also was the new code of ethics that all UPU members had ratified in 2008.

Still, the PWMO could not resist another tweak at Liberia. It pointed out that it would cost a collector $491 to buy each of Liberia’s new stamps in 2009 — at face value. This, in a country with “poor economic performance,” “a fragile security situation,” “lack of infrastructure,” and so on. Indeed, what was Liberia thinking?

In another posting, the PWMO’s impeccably informed Victor Manta complained about stamps for legitimate (or at least sovereign) states that are not produced in-country, but by “agencies and private companies.” The stamps were not only printed but sold outside the issuing country. “They do not correspond to the internal needs of the country for postal traffic,” Manta wrote, “and are often not even on sale in the issuing countries!”

Manta went on to chastise reputable stamp catalogue publishers like Scott, Michel and Yvert, which continue to list “huge, never-ending stamp hyper productions.” He continued: “The last example was that of the little Salomon Island (sic), that issued on average roughly 500 different stamps and 150 different S/S (souvenir sheets) per year, as well in 2013 as in 2014, this according to the Scott catalogue that listed them in 2015!”

By the way, the web masters site notes that as early as 2000, when 17,836 stamps and souvenir sheets were issued worldwide, the face-value cost of buying one of each surpassed $17,000 for the first time. Are these numbers too big? Who’s to say? I say: Listen to the market.

Let’s return to that word “abusive.” A country like Liberia that issued 771 stamps in a single year — that is, legitimate stamps, not illegals or Cinderellas — is abusing stamp collectors, or at least inundating them in a philatelic phlow that threatens to drown any residual pleasure they still get from the hobby. An illegal Olympics set put out by some slick stamp mill is certainly undesirable. But so is an Olympics set from a country like Liberia, whose “fragile security situation” makes the Olympics hardly worth celebrating — particularly when such sets of stamps are part of a blizzard of other sets which, like winter snow, are never seen in Monrovia, or at post offices anywhere else in that benighted land.

In 2013, the web masters (PWMO) offered a long list of “Undesirable / Abusive Stamps.” Actually, there were two lists. The first was compiled years earlier by Bengt Bengtsson, who is described as “a philatelic judge from Sweden.” Bengtsson’s list, he declared in 2001, covered “undesirable stamps” he believed should not be included in philatelic exhibitions. The list included some of those “For the Record” countries listed in my previous essay/blog post (Ajman, Was al Khaima, Grenadines and the rest), along with others like Wikingland, Nagaland and Iso, which were never real countries. He also usefully listed the interval of years when the spurious issues appeared — often continuing to the present day (“Fujeira/since 1967; Yemen, Republic/May 20, 1967-Oct. 31, 1972; Redonda/all”)

The second list issued under the auspices of PWMO added a host of new names. The reason for the expansion, the editor explained, was to include “stamps from countries that have issued too many and too expensive stamps.” That is, even if they are officially legal, they ought to be illegal! Again, the list provides bracketed years when the offending stamps appeared.

It’s a long list. It includes Antigua and Barbuda (all stamps since 1984); Bhutan (everything since 1964); Gambia (since 1985); and Togo (1965-90). Check out the lists yourself if you like: Go to the Philatelic Web Masters site, PWMO.org, and search for undesirable/abusive stamps.

The days of postage stamps may be numbered, so this whole anguished discussion about what is illegal, undesirable and abusive will become a moot point, a philatelic phoot-note. What is or is not excessive may be lost in the mists.

My hope, however, is that philately’s phirm phoundations ultimately will stand the hobby in good stead; that the sheer usefulness of stamps have made them authentic emblems of every nation, thus creating universal allure and enduring value for collectors. At this writing, “legal” stamps, which started to appear in 1840, continue to be issued around the world. At their best they are absorbing, often beautiful cultural artifacts. They reflect the individuality, creativity and national character of their sovereign states. Why should this charming practice ever end?

TO BE CONTINUED — ONWARD AND UPWARD!

Contemplate, dear reader, this image of a (cancelled-to-order) stamp, nominally from Equatorial Guinea, a tiny sovereign state on the west coast of Africa that has been grievously plundered and misruled by its leaders, both under Portuguese dominion and in the half-century since independence. The stamp is pretty enough — though the full-color reproduction of an Auguste Renoir painting of a very naked, very pink, big-bosomed young woman seems a bit, well, over the top. Can you seriously imagine a beleaguered citizen of this outlaw African state finding one of these in her or his local post office, for use on outgoing mail? Not likely. Remember all those rules set by the Universal Postal Union about what constitutes a legitimate stamp? (See blog post, September 2017.) Well, this stamp breaks most of those rules. It certainly has nothing to do with Equatorial Guinea. It’s doubtful it ever went on sale in the country, or if so was widely available for purchase. It is by no possible rhetorical stretch an emblem of Equatorial Guinean culture or sovereignty.

Ditto with the second stamp portrayed here — an image of Jiminy Cricket, the  animated character from the Disney film “Pinocchio,” painting an Easter egg. Huh? Tell me why this is anything but a crass effort on the part of “Grenada Grenadines” (or better put, the philatelic agents) to cash in on the market for topical stamps. I wonder if there is an envelope bearing this stamp that actually went through the mail …

There was a time, dear readers, when most stamps were legal. Sure, there were plenty of Cinderella fantasy stamps out there, indeed since the very beginning of stamps. (Read about the satirical “Mulready” covers of 1841, in the blog post of August 2017, “The First Cinderellas.”) But these only  masqueraded as postage stamps. Propaganda labels in wartime were something else, as were forgeries. For the most part, stamps were produced under government supervision, readily available at post offices for citizens to buy and use to send mail. The world of extra-legal Cinderellas was pretty tame and innocent — at least until the 1960s.

As late as 1969, my copy of the Scott standard stamp catalogue listed no “illegals” or “undocumented” or “non-standard” items. Neither did my 1971 catalogue. But by 1977 there was a short section, “For the Record,” which  listed “items” that “appeared on the market in the 1960s and 1970s, and have not been listed in the Scott Standard Catalogue.”

There followed 14 pages of fine print listing hundreds of stamps put out under the names of real countries, or at least real territories, as follows:

Aden (three states), Ajman (Manama), Anguilla, Bangladesh, Barbuda, Biafra, Cyprus (Turkish mail), Dubai, Fujeira, Grenada (Grenadines), Jordan, Qatar, Ras al Khaima, St.Vincent (Grenadines), Sharjah (Khor Fakkan), and Umm al Qiwain.

A few comments on this list:

** The spurious issue from Bangladesh listed in the catalogue came from 1974. It was a suspiciously anodyne souvenir sheet and set of four stamps honoring the Universal
Postal Union. At right is an example from the set, depicting what appears to be a postal runner from Bangladesh. The scene  would argue in favor of this being a legitimate stamp promoting local folkways and sovereignty. Apparently not.

 

 

 

 

Also interesting is one of the first sets issued after East Pakistan broke away from West Pakistan in 1971 and became Bangladesh. The set of 15 variously depicts a flag, a map and a portrait of Bangladesh’s first president, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. The catalogue bluntly notes that the set “was rejected by Bangladesh officials and not issued. Bangladesh representatives in England released these stamps, which were not valid, on Feb. 1, 1972.”  The same designs appear  in the first official set from Bangladesh  (examples at right) — though the nation’s name is spelled in two words — Bangla and Desh. I have not learned why the other set was rejected, and illegal. I admit I have it in my collection, though. I bought it for a couple of bucks at a stamp show. I wonder if the violent and bloody birth pangs of Bangladesh had something to do with this mixup. Peace had barely been restored and the Sheikh was released from solitary confinement only in January, a month before the spurious stamps were issued.  Things never really settled down  under Sheikh Mujib — earnest, bespectacled, charismatic and a dogmatic socialist. In 1975, he and members of his family were gunned down by army officers during a coup that returned the region to benighted martial law and years of unrest.

While we’re on the subject of Bangladesh, how about these provisional overprints of Pakistani

Here is a little bonus, above: This is actually Scott No. 1 from Bangladesh, a stamp I just found on the Internet. It appears to be genuine, if crude — consider, for example the cancellation, which looks authentic, not cancelled-to-order. It is offered online for $5 — a considerable sum for such a stamp these days

stamps? The examples illustrated here are from my collection. How could I resist spending a few bucks to acquire evidence of the first philatelic yowls from a new-born nation? The impression is that these stamps were overprinted — crudely, often by hand stamp — for use during the chaotic time between East Pakistan’s demise and the formal issuing of Bangladesh postage stamps. But if so, where are the envelopes displaying cancelled copies of these overprints? Until I find such evidence, I am inclined to dismiss or at least quarantine these examples as illegals, Cinderellas, or both.

** Stamps from Biafra, the self-declared republic (1968-71) carved out of the Igbo region of southeastern Nigeria, are in a special category — with ephemeral  philatelic companions such as Katanga, South Kasai and other states whose claims to sovereignty never quite made it past global review  — but who still managed to produce stamps. (For more on Katanga and other breakaways in the Congo, see the blog post “10 Interesting Anecdotes about the Congo,” March 2017.)

I don’t believe the UPU recognized Biafra’s stamps. If you find a cover with cancelled Biafra stamps, save it!

 

 

 

 

** Notice that some of the philatelic phelons putting out illegal stamps  have issued legal stamps right along — like Qatar and Jordan. And what about those seven Arab Trucial states that combined into United Arab Emirates in 1972? (Want a list? They are Fujeira, Ras al Khaima, Umm al Quiwain, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Sharjah and Ajman.) The UAE began issuing  legal postage stamps, though entrepreneurial printers had been churning out philately for years for Fujeira, Ras al Khaima, Umm al Quiwain and others.  Spurious and illegal! warns Scott. Beware of all those sets honoring Winston Churchill and JFK, the Olympics, famous artists, butterflies and the rest. My Scott catalogue wouldn’t even show pictures of these “non-standard” non-stamps.

 

 

No need to play this up, but is that really a succession of Catholic-approved Pietas in these art stamps from Umm al Quiwain (below) ? It’s downright ecumenical of this Muslim sheikdom to honor Christian icons on its stamps. What next — a celebration of Jewish holidays? At right is the obligatory butterfly stamp, this one from Ras al Khaima, more or less announcing that this stamp, like the others, is pretty much illegal.

** I have to add at this point: The stamps combining “Grenada” and “St. Vincent” and “Grenadines” inject fresh  Caribbean zest into the fusty realm of Cinderellas, don’t you think? Care for a grenadine? Don’t mind if I do! But a stamp from Union Island, Bequia or Mustique? I’ll pass …

Grenada and St. Vincent are surrounded by a chain of islands known as the Grenadines. St. Vincent claims the Grenadines in its neighborhood — Bequia, Union Island and Mustique, all stamp-issuing entities. The islands in Grenada’s orbit include Carriacou, Petite Martinique, Ronde Island, Caille Island, Diamond Island, Large Island,
Saline Island and Frigate Island. Thus far, there is just one  overall stamp-issuing authority for “Grenada Grenadines.” While some of these islands are unpopulated, how long before they, too, become stamp-issuing entities? I shudder to think …

 

 

Now we come to Bequia, a charming island in the Grenadines of St. Vincent chain. Along with Mustique and Union Island, Bequia began issuing stamps years ago — none of them UPU-approved. And just look at the themes — a U.S. locomotive, a Cadillac … what in the world does any of this have to do with Bequia? As for the pretty butterfly stamps (see below), well, don’t they speak for themselves by now?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The 500th anniversary of Michelangelos’s birth came and went, without philatelic recognition from the United States or most other nations. For some reason, Grenada Grenadines thought it necessary and appropriate to mark the event with this stamp (right). It may have been a hit with topical collectors, but you need more than stamp tongs to grasp the connection between the long-dead Italian artist and the Grenada Grenadines — Carriacou, Saline Island, Frigate Island or the rest.

 

 

 

My next catalogue under review is from 1986, countries A-F. In “For the Record,” it supplies a rather short list of countries whose non-standard items appeared on the stamp market in the 1960s and 1970s:  Afghanistan, Bhutan, Cambodia (Khmer), Cameroun, Chad, Comoro Islands, Congo People’s Republic, Dahomey, Ecuador, Equatorial Guinea.

Some notes on this list:

** The first thing that struck me was “Cambodia (Khmer).” Were these stamps from the killing fields outside Phnom Penh? I turned to the appropriate pages in the catalogue, and found stamps issued between 1972, in the midst of the fighting, through April 1975 — the very month the Khmer Rouge entered Phnom Penh. These non-standard stamps were issued while Gen. Lon Mol was trying to hold Cambodia together in the rogue state known as the “Khmer Republic.”  While southeast Asia was being bombed and bloodied, the stamps blithely paid tribute to the coming summer Olympics, the UPU centenary, Copernicus — nothing else going on around here, folks. Presumably these sets (again, no pictures supplied in the catalogue) were manufactured to be marketed to collectors, somehow. I guess it worked, somewhat. I do wonder who would want these questionable stamps from Cambodia?

 

 

 

And by the way, what does “Khmer” mean, philatelically, in relation to the fanatical regime that came to power in 1975?  Did the blood-crazed Khmer Rouge ever get around to putting out stamps during their three years of nightmarish rule and carnage? Have I asked enough questions?

 

 

 

 

Now for some answers. The “Khmer Republic” was the ethnic and civic fig leaf for Lon Nol’s military dictatorship — short-lived, as it turned out  ª1973-5). As for Khmer Rouge philately, after 1975, the Swiss blogger Victor Manta sounds authoritative when he writes:

“Many people have wondered what happened to the postal system in Cambodia after the Khmer Route came to power in mid-April 1975 and subsequently renamed the country ‘Democratic Kampuchea.’ With Pol Pot at the center of power, the ultra-Maoist regime is thought by many to have caused the death of as many as two to tree million Cambodians before they were overthrown in late 1978 by Vietnamese military force.

“It is generally accepted that no postage stamps were issued by the Government of Democratic Kampuchea for domestic or international use during their control over Cambodian territory from 1975 to late 1978. The Ministry of Post and Telecommunications was ‘disbanded’ by the KR and no official of Democratic Kampuchea was assigned to oversee the tasks of post and communications during those years of abject terror.

“Collectors of Cambodian philately will be only too familiar with the gap in stamp catalogues for this period. Stanley Gibbons includes three small paragraphs headed, ‘Democratic Kampuchea,’ as follows: ‘… the discontinuance of postal and telegraphic services. In these circumstances no stamps were issued. Five pictorial stamps inscribed “Kampuchea”  without indication of currency were publicized early in 1978. If they exist their status would be propaganda labels.’ (2004) …

“However, written domestic communications did take place in Democratic Kampuchea. Such correspondence was, once again, limited to the senior hierarchy of the Khmer Rouge. Written communications were hand-carried and no postmark or postage stamp was necessary, nor used, as far as is known at present.

“Communications from Democratic Kampuchea to any person or agency outside of the country was only undertaken, as far as is known at present, by Pol Pot, Khieu Samphan and Ieng Sary. No other people within the country were allowed to enter into any form of communication with the outside world.”

There was a time when Cambodia issued some of the world’s most beautiful stamps — delicate works of art that combined expert engraving, rich and subtle coloring, and arresting subjects.  Here are some I captured in images from the Internet:

 

 

 

 

It is a small philatelic tragedy within the immense Cambodian tragedy that this stamp-producing tradition was lost entirely during the terrible years of Khmer Rouge misrule, followed by the indifferent philatelic efforts of Vietnam as caretaker of the “Democratic Republic of Kampuchea.” Today, 40 years after the Khmer Rouge were driven out of Phnom Penh, with the Vietnamese long gone as well, Cambodia still struggles to recover its philatelic equilibrium, and probably much else beyond that.

 

 

** I wonder if it strikes you, as it does me, that the countries either exploiting or implicated in illegal stamp production seem to be among the world’s … sketchiest states. Bhutan? Equatorial Guinea? The Khmer Republic? I wouldn’t want my homeland to be on that list.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which brings us back to Equatorial Guinea, one of whose stamps illustrated the opening of this essay. Before wrapping up my  narrative, let me share some info from Wikipedia about the last 20 years of Equatorial Guinea’s history:

“… Since the mid-1990s, Equatorial Guinea has become one of sub-Saharan Africa‘s largest oil producers. It is the richest country per capita in Africa, and its gross domestic product …  per capita ranks 43rd in the world; However, the wealth is distributed extremely unevenly and few people have benefited from the oil riches. The country ranks 135th on the UN’s 2016 Human Development Index. The UN says that less than half of the population has access to clean drinking water and that 20% of children die before reaching the age of five.

“The country’s authoritarian government has one of the worst human rights records in the world, consistently ranking among the ‘worst of the worst’ in Freedom House‘s annual survey of political and civil rights. Reporters Without Borders ranks President Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo among its ‘predators’ of press freedom. Human trafficking is a significant problem; the 2012 U.S.Trafficking in Persons Report stated that Equatorial Guinea ‘is a source and destination for women and children subjected to forced labor and FC (sic) sex trafficking.’ The report rates Equatorial Guinea as a government that does not fully comply with minimum standards and is not making significant efforts to do so.”

My last catalogue at hand is from 1997. (I apologize for not consulting more recent catalogues, but for the moment, I think this one will do.) The 1997 Scott catalogue has no “For the Record” section at all.

This does not mean that the Universal Postal Union folks successfully cracked down on illegal stamps, so that today, 20-plus years later, those irritating decoys and impostors are nothing more than a historical nuisance. Sorry, folks.

More likely what it means is that the stream of bogus stamps to entice collectors to part with their money has become a flood  I don’t blame the editors at Scott if they no longer feel inclined, obligated or generally in the mood to confront the whole distasteful topic. I can hardly stand to go on myself. Just one more part, soon to come, and then I’ll be done and eager to move on to uplifting and interesting stories about stamps — legal stamps!

TO BE CONTINUED

While living in Heidelberg, Germany in 1961 and 1962, a fair portion of my busy days at ages 12 and 13  involved stamp-collecting. I got into the fun habit of sending money orders to faraway post offices, asking the postmaster to send me back stamps for the money. I received in return some wonderful sets from Malta, Gambia, Sierra Leone, Gibraltar, Cook Islands — all over. Quite a thrill for a young fellow. Today the sets have increased in value, and some of the colorful, stamped covers sent back from those exotic post offices are worth something, too.

Pa was an avid stamp collector as well, but he didn’t get actively involved in this zany project. Come to think of it, though, he might have been the one to suggest the scheme. Where else would a 12-year-old have gotten the idea? In any case, when I asked him if he’d like me to order a set for him as well, he did go along with the game a few times, adding money to the total to cover his share.

Sometimes I got in a jam, and had to write follow-up letters and check with the post office. A particularly byzantine process started in the spring of 1961. I was planning to send money orders and letters to George Town, the capital of the Cayman Islands, and to Georgetown, the capital of British Guiana. But somehow, things got mixed up.

I found a typed copy of my letter to the Cayman Islands folded in my diary, dated April 8, 1961. It’s kind of cute:

Dear Postmaster:

My name is Frederick Fiske, and I am a devoted stamp collector. Having said this, I suppose you already know what I am writing about. I would like you to send me, as soon as possible, one variety each of the current issue, as many varieties as the five German Marks that I am sending you in a money order will pay for.  …”

(The letter continues, but I must interject this comment. I already had
purchased the first two stamps in the 1953 series  — the 1/4 penny and 1/2 penny varieties — perhaps at an inflated price from the Kenmore Stamp Company approval service, I decided in my 12-year-old, penny-pinching brain that I would try to save myself the cost of these stamps, which would be duplicates. And so I continued:)

“… If the current issue is the issue put out in 1953, would you please leave out the first two varieties … and if a more recent issue has become current, please do not feel obligated to send it to me, 1 each, as many as the money can pay for. Please send the letter back by airmail, as quickly as possible, using my money to pay for the return postage. Please use stamps on the letter.

Thank you very much. Sincerely, Frederick Murray Fiske

I mailed this convoluted and confusing letter April 10. (“please do not feel obligated …”?) A complicating factor was that German postal rules at the time apparently required that money orders be sent separately from the inquiry letters.

My diary entry for April 10, 1961 notes:  Morn headache. Mathias is a bore. Sent m.o. to CAYMAN ISLANDS. People in P.O. didn’t know where it was. …     (Hmmm. That should have been my first clue trouble was coming… )

On April 29, I received a puzzling response from British Guiana, dated April 19. As it happens, I saved the rather undistinguished envelope in my Worldwide Covers album (see right), with the note inside. It was a form letter with some blanks filled in, titled, “British Guiana Postage and Revenue Stamps.” It came from the Chief Accountant at the General Post Office, Georgetown, Demerara State, British Guiana:

“Mr. Frederick Fiske, … With reference to your letter no.  ?  ?  date April 8, 1961, in connection with stamps on sale in the Colony, I am directed by the Postmaster General to forward a List of Particulars and Mail Order Form on opposite page. …”   It was signed:

“I have the honor to be, (Sir or Madam), Your obedient servant

(illegible signature) Chief Accountant”

Though it was flattering for 12-year-old me to be addressed by an “obedient servant,” it made no sense at all that the letter came from British Guiana rather than the Cayman Islands — though today it seems clear enough that those parochial postal clerks in Heidelberg found “Georgetown” British Guiana before they found “George Town” Cayman Islands and simply misdirected my letter (but not my money order?). In my diary entry for April 29, I note: … Had Deutsch test today, and didn’t do too well (or too badly)! Got a letter from Georgetown, Br. Guiana (no stamps) ? Must have stopped there on the way to Cayman Is.  Got new bikes! Mine cost $41.50. In aft. went riding (J, N and I).  Home at 6, and bed at 11. Might send next letter to Africa.

Hold on. Did I really think the letter somehow stopped off in British Guiana en route to the Cayman Islands? I guess my 12-year-old mind figured the South American colony was a way-station for mail steaming from Europe to the Caribbean colonies. Let’s see what a map of that route would look like …

I went to Pa to get help straightening this out. He took the time to untangle the chain of events. Then he drafted the following letter, which I found clipped to my diary, in his neat, careful handwriting (very much like Kingsley Amis’s handwriting, I have discovered):

Philoweg 9

Date

Postmaster, Georgetown, British Guiana

Dear Sir: With reference to your letter No. DPT: 953 c/168,

there has apparently been some confusion. My letter of April 8, to which you refer, was addressed to Postmaster, Georgetown, Cayman Islands, and was accompanied by a postal money order for 5.5 German marks, which amounted to nine shillings eleven pence in their currency. Apparently the money order has gone to the Cayman Islands and the letter to you. Could you please forward the letter to the Cayman Islands, so that the order may be filled. I am enclosing your mail order form, with postal money order for  XXXX German marks. According to German postal authorities, the money order must be sent under separate cover. I hope that the error may be straightened out, and that I may soon receive stamps from both Georgetowns. Yours very truly  (Fred: I’ll take them up to $1. You figure what you’d like, and we’ll add them together)

Have you followed me so far? I typed up a draft letter, and clipped a copy to my diary, dated May 3, 1961. What Pa and I had decided was to take the opportunity to order stamps from British Guiana, as well as get my original letter to the Cayman Islands, where it belonged.

My diary entry for May 5, 1961 notes: …Morn school. Out 1. Had new teacher sitting in at H.A.’s. Looks nice. Home after H-K’s at 5. Practiced. Mowed lawn. Worked with Br. Guiana letter, and bed at 9:45 p.m.

Diary entry for May 6: Morn school till 9:30. Then sent money order with Pa to Br. Guiana. Home for lunch.  … Philohoehe for dinner … Got a little too much to drink … am rather lightheaded as I write this!!!!!!!

So things appeared to be set in tipsy motion toward resolution:  The money order and mail order form were headed to British Guiana, and the Cayman Islands letter was soon to be forwarded from British Guiana to its intended destination. Good luck with all that!

Amazingly enough, everything worked out in the end, though not without further twists to the tale.

By June, I was growing impatient to hear from either British Guiana or the Cayman Islands. My diary entry for June 23 notes: … got new Hi-fi set. Wrote letter to Br. Guiana (again!).

On July 21 a reply came from Georgetown, British Guiana: “July 14, 1961

(To) Mr. Fred Fiske

Sir: I have to refer to your letter of June 24, 1961, enquiring after your order of British Guiana postage stamps of current issue and to inform you that the stamps were dispatched to you on June 2, 1961.

2. The inconvenience which may have been caused you by the delayed despatch is regretted.

I have the honor to be, etc. (illegible signature) Director of Posts & Telecommunications”

What the heck? The stamps were mailed June 2? My diary entry for July 21, the day the explanatory letter arrived, does not seem unduly stressed out, though:  … Letter from British Guiana! …  Hit home run. 2 in math.

Four days later, on July 25, a substantial envelope arrived from British Guiana. My ship had come in!  The glassine envelope inside contained a  sheaf of beautiful, exotic stamps — engraved, bi-color, mint-never-hinged, post-office fresh. My diary entry for Tuesday, July 25 notes exuberantly at the top: Morn sleep, work, letter from BRITISH GUIANA WITH STAMPS!! …

There was still the outstanding matter of the Cayman Islands stamps to deal with. Another diary entry, for Thursday, July 27, notes: … Aft. to movie, “Mr. Miller Ist Kein Killer.” Was good. Also sent letter to Cayman Islands …

On August 26, I sent a another follow-up letter. My diary entry for Aug. 27 hints at my disappointment at returning from an out-of-town family trip and finding no letter from the Caymans:   … Put my stamps in Europe stock book. Only got a letter from Creech. Wrote him one, and also one to the Cayman Islands. Bed at 10:30.

On Sept. 16, out the clear blue sky and sea, the director of posts and telecommunications in British Guiana sent me the following letter:

“Mr. Frederick Murray Fiske …

Sir,  I have to refer to your letter of August 26, 1961, and to inform you that your money order was received and cashed in British Guiana on May 31, 1961, and the British Guiana postage stamps of current issue which you required were posted to you on June 2, 1961.

2. Although the package was posted to you on June 2, it has been ascertained that the next available sea-mail from Georgetown, British Guiana was on the 26th June, the carrier being the S.S. Arakaka. It is to be hoped that you will already have received the stamps on receipt of this letter.

3. Your letter of June 24, 1961, was acknowledged on July 14, 1961, a copy of which is enclosed for easy reference.    I have the honour to be, etc.”

Are you getting the picture here? Are you seeing how odd this is? It seems that once again, my letter to the Cayman Islands — this one mailed Aug. 26 — was diverted to British Guiana! Is this really standard procedure? (See route on map, above.) Is it something about the trade winds? Or the chronic deficiencies of Heidelberg postal clerks?

I’m not sure that the details of this last letter sank in at the time, but they have some clarity for me now. I am particularly intrigued by the delayed-sea-mail angle. I can just imagine my packet of stamps sitting in steamy Georgetown, Damerara State, British Guiana, starting June 2, waiting day after day for the departure of the packet-ship S.S. Arakaka; being loaded on board to begin the long steam voyage June 26, from the South American coast to Europe …

As I reflected on the preceding, I could not ignore a frisson of deja-vu — a ghostly echo from one of philately’s most famous stories … a story about another ship’s delay in carrying British Guiana stamps. This happened in the 1850s. As the story goes, Postmaster E.T.E. Dalton had 50,000 stamps on order, but the shipment from London in 1856 carried only 5,000 stamps. With supplies dwindling, Dalton arranged for the local newspaper printer to produce a three-value emergency set for the interim. The postmaster was not pleased with the result, however, and very few of the stamps were used. To certify authenticity, Dalton insisted each label be initialed by a postal official before receiving the normal cancel. Within eight to 10 weeks, new stamp supplies arrived from London, and the postmaster withdrew the provisionals. Today only one example survives of the one-cent, printed on dark magenta paper, bearing the colony’s badge  of a sailing ship in black ink. When this rarest of stamps changes hands, which is infrequently, it goes for millions.

In my case, as in the 1850s, the ship eventually came in. And the director of

posts & telecommunications in British Guiana (signature illegible) was correct: By the time his last letter arrived in September — by airmail, not sea-post — I had my  stamps. They had arrived July 25, you will recall, and they  deserve words of appreciative description.

The brown envelope inscribed, “On Her Majesty’s Service,” bore two nice examples of the 1954 set. On the back were a pair of thick black wax seals, embossed with a crown and what looks like the letters “STAMP AND PO’S.” The envelope inside contained gorgeous stamps, post-office fresh,  from one cent all the way to the $5. I gave Pa the complete set and kept the second set to the $1, which was as far as my money went.

As October unfolded, still with no word from the Cayman Islands, I went to the post office in Heidelberg to follow up. My diary entry for October 12, notes: Morn school as usual. Nance beat me in math test. … Aft. beat her in German test. Home 5, after seeing about my M.O. to Cayman.

I have no memory how I presented my case to the local postal authorities. Perhaps a receipt, carefully preserved? But something got jarred loose as a result.

On Oct. 26, a packet arrived from the Cayman Islands. In my Worldwide Covers album I still have the envelope, postmarked Oct. 23. That’s more than six months after I sent that first letter April 10, supposedly steaming toward the Caymans, but ending up instead in … British Guiana.

My cover album page also preserves a notification card from the Heidelberg post office that might help explain the delay in the Cayman Islands delivery. To be precise, however, I would have to decipher such phrases as “Nachforschungen nach dem Verblieb,” and “Nachforschungendegebuehr wurden by der Aushaendigung diesen Schreibens erhoben.”  The gist of it, as far as I can make out, is that the  Heidelberg P.O., in response to

my inquiry (“Ihrem Antrag”) of Oct. 12, was able to confirm that my money order (for 5.51 German Marks) had been duly received and processed in the Caymans. Between Oct. 10 and Oct. 23, the international postal bureaucracy was able to pry loose this precious packet of Cayman Islands stamps and send it winging to its intended destination, where it arrived after just three days. By the way, the card with the explanation from the Heidelberg P.O. was sent to me March 30, 1962 — more than five months after I got my stamps, and nearly a year since I sent out my first letter on April 10, 1961.

The post office can work in mysterious ways. …

The envelope from the Caymans was embellished with three of the beautiful stamps from the 1953 set. The cellophane envelope inside contained pretty examples of the set up to the 5 shilling value. All of these stamps have increased nicely in value. I only wish I could have coughed up enough German Marks to buy the set complete to the one pound,  at face value, thus saving me a considerable outlay to acquire the missing stamps from a dealer later on.

I must add this piquant detail:  the itemized list included in the packet (see right) shows that the postmaster (“… your obedient servant, etc.”) had thoughtfully omitted the 1/4d or 1/2d stamps, thus fulfilling my ridiculous request in the original letter of April 8, and saving me three-quarters of a penny for the unnecessary duplicates …

Dear Reader, if you have made it this far, I congratulate you for your patience and forbearance. There is one more little twist to this tale of international philatelic protocol, circumstance and whimsey. It involves yet another, thick envelope from British Guiana, also preserved in my Worldwide Covers album (see right). This one arrived April 3, 1962.

Before revealing the contents of this envelope, I must provide some context, starting with a request for stamps I sent Oct. 16, 1961 to  Ascension Island, a tiny British Crown Colony in the south Atlantic, hundreds of miles off the coast of West Africa whose capital is … wait for it … Georgetown.

My diary entry for Oct. 16, 1961 notes: … Went to P.O. and sent M.O. to Ascension.
My diary entry for Jan. 1, 1962 notes receipt of a letter from Ascension, as follows: No stamps in the Ascension thing. They said that maybe I could send the money order inside the letter.

The envelope and letter from Ascension, preserved in my Worldwide Covers album (see right) and dated Dec. 4, 1961, reads:  “Dear Sir, Thank you for your letter of the 15th October.

I regret to inform you that you did not enclose the money order mentioned in your letter, and until I receive it I cannot fulfill your order.

There is no airmail service from here to Germany. Yours faithfully, APDunne (sp?) p.p.Postmistress”

My diary entry for Thursday, Jan. 4 notes: … M. sleep till 8:30. Got up early so that I could have breakfast and not have to clear the table. In late morning got off shopping. Sent a correct M.O. (NOT a Postanweisung) to Ascension at the American Express. Aft. stayed around and worked on my album from Pa. …

I presume this means I absorbed the cost of the first money order, which would have been quite a blow, given my limited resources. The next diary entry I can find involving this matter is Tuesday, April 3: M.S.A.U. (diary code for “morning school at usual”). Home about 1:30. Letter from Br. Guiana for Ascension. All messed up. Night bed 9:30-45.

This is the thick letter I described earlier. As to its contents: I presume there was a cover letter, but maybe not. How to explain the bizarre  circumstances of this mailing in terms suitable to an “obedient servant”? The heavy bond envelope went via London, whose circular date stamp of March 29 is on the back. It  contains three items:

** My envelope mailed Jan. 4, 1962 to “Postmisstress (sic), General Post Office, Georgetown, Ascension.” On the back is a circular postmark inscribed,  “Jan. 7, 1962 — G.P.O., British Guiana.”

** An envelope “On Her Majesty’s Service,” inscribed, “Jan. 12, 1962, G.P.O. Georgetown, British Guiana,” addressed to “The Postmaster General, General Post Office, Georgetown, Ascension.” This envelope presumably included the envelope I had intended to send to Georgetown,  Ascension, but which ended up in Georgetown, British Guiana — just like my earlier letter to George Town, Cayman Islands. On the back of this second envelope was another circular date stamp, inscribed “22 Ene (Jan.) Aeropostal – Paraguay,”  indicating that my letter had been misdelivered once again, this time thousands of miles south of British Guiana — to Paraguay!

** The third envelope was a larger size, white and flimsy, certainly large enough to contain both my original letter to Ascension and the follow-up envelope from British Guiana. It carried a circular date stamp, inscribed, “Aeropostal, Paraguay, 10 Feb. 1962.” This envelope, like the second one, was addressed to “Postmaster General, General Post Office, Georgetown, Ascension.” Interestingly, “Georgetown” was crossed out — apparently some official decided there were just too many Georgetowns involved! A registration sticker identified the sender’s location as “Asuncion, Republica del Paraguay.” And here comes a real shocker: A rubber stamp in the lower right corner declared: “Missent to British Guiana.” (see enlargement, right;  apparently this happened often enough that it warranted a rubber stamp!) Sure enough, on the back of the envelope from Paraguay was another circular date stamp confirming arrival in British Guiana, inscribed, “Registered Airmail, 21 Feb. 1962.”

“All messed up” is right! Here’s a quick recap: It seems my first letter to Ascension, mailed way back on Oct. 16, 1961, arrived at its intended destination without the accompanying money order. My second letter, sent

Jan. 4,  1962, with a new money order, went to Georgetown, British Guiana instead of Georgetown, Ascension. (There was no way British Guiana in South America could be a way-station for mail to Ascension Island, well over 2,000 miles away in the South Atlantic Ocean.) Then the letter that was supposed to be forwarded from British Guiana to Ascension ended up in Asuncion, the capital city of Paraguay! (Ascension/Asuncion, get it?) Penultimately, the same letter, forwarded from Paraguay to Ascension Island ended up — back in British Guiana! Finally, postal authorities there disposed of the matter by packing all three letters in that heavy-bond  envelope and sending it back to me, in Heidelberg.

This might have been enough to discourage a less intrepid philatelist. But not FMF! The day after receiving this confusing correspondence,  Wednesday, April 4, 1962, my diary notes matter-of-factly: M.S.A.U. … Out 1. Home 1:30 on streetcar.  … Smoked a cigarette, but it didn’t hurt, cause I didn’t inhale. Bed 9:30, after learning  Deutsch  poem. … Letter to Ascension.

I must have settled in for a patient wait, since the postmistress of Ascension Island already had forewarned me that there was no airmail service to Germany. Happily, the envelope from Ascension — with stamps — finally arrived June 6, 1962. It was worth the wait: In addition to containing a complete Elizabeth II set of 1953 (which has increased 20-fold in value since then), the envelope carried the set complete to the one shilling, with crisp circular date cancels inscribed “Ascension, 21 MY 62” —   perhaps applied by a very accommodating Postmistress Dunne herself?Notice the “By Air Mail” sticker. You may recall that six months earlier, the postmistress wrote there was no air mail service between Ascension and Germany. Notice, too, that I apparently requested the letter be sent via the diplomatic APO address through New York City, which obviously did enjoy mail service from Ascension. My diary entry noted, rapturously: “… LETTER FROM ASCENSION! WONDERFUL. 10 stamps on the cover! Bed 9:30.”

TO BE CONTINUED

next two should come together rather quickly, then maybe we can get back to … Bechuanaland Protectorate?