Most former European colonies in Africa, Asia, and the Caribbean became formally independent between 1947 and 1980 — flags raised, anthems composed, UN seats taken. The economic relationships often did not change. Trade flowed along the same routes; commodities went out raw and came back finished; debt sat in European and American banks; the technical experts running the customs houses, the central banks, and the oil concessions were frequently the same individuals — sometimes literally — as before independence. France went further still, binding fourteen African states to the CFA franc, a currency pegged to Paris and partly held in the French treasury well into the 21st century. Independence without economic sovereignty got its name in 1965, from Ghana's Kwame Nkrumah, in a book whose title became the word for the thing: neocolonialism.
The neocolonial argument comes in two strengths. The strong version says political independence was a façade — the real decisions stayed in London, Paris, and Washington — and that decolonization changed almost nothing. The moderate version says decolonization changed a great deal, but that the structural inheritance of the colonial economy (extractive sectors, single-commodity export dependence, weak state capacity, infrastructure built to reach ports rather than connect regions) handed former colonies a disadvantage that took decades to overcome and in many cases hasn't been overcome. The moderate version is broadly right: the data on terms of trade, capital flight, brain drain, and structural-adjustment debt all support it. A copper economy like Zambia's, or a cocoa one like Ghana's, rose and crashed with a price set in Chicago and London, not Lusaka or Accra. The strong version overstates how cohesive Western policy ever was and understates the agency of post-independence governments — many of which nationalized clumsily, borrowed recklessly, or made catastrophic choices of their own. The mechanisms most often named: commodity dependence and the price-volatility it breeds; odious debt run up by dictators such as Mobutu and serviced by their successors; IMF conditionality that traded loans for surrendered policy autonomy, forcing currency devaluations and the dismantling of state marketing boards; and covert intervention and coup-making — the CIA's hand in Iran 1953, Congo 1961, and Chile 1973 the canonical cases, where elected or nationalist governments threatening Western assets were removed. Together they describe not a conspiracy but a structure in which sovereignty was real on paper and constrained in practice.
Today's debates over African debt, climate finance, fair trade, vaccine access, and the governance of the IMF all run on neocolonial vocabulary, often without naming it — as does the long campaign that finally pushed France to begin unwinding the CFA franc in 2020. China's African investment programmes are both a counter-narrative to Western neocolonialism and, increasingly, the target of the same critiques: debt-trap accusations, resource extraction, and resented expatriate workforces. Whether the post-colonial economic settlement can be genuinely renegotiated this century — or whether dependence simply changes creditors — is one of the unresolved questions of the global system, and one the global South increasingly presses in the language of reparation rather than aid.