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Brexit and the Revival of Françafrique

Dirk Kohnert considers the consequences of Brexit for Africa and sees the possibility of a revitalisation of the corrupt, murky French network, known as Françafrique, developing and expanding across the continent.

By Dirk Kohnert

Whereas the impact of Brexit on Anglophone Africa was a major issue in the controversial British discussions on the pros and cons of Brexit, possible repercussions on French-speaking Africa have been rarely mentioned. At most indirect general effects were declared, both concerning the former British Empire in Africa and for the former French colonies as well. On the other hand, British Brexiteers have not tired of yearning for the re-establishment of the so-called glory of the British Empire, conceivably based on a euphoric and over-ambitious multi-expert report of the UK‘s Africa All Party Parliamentary Group, financed by the Royal Africa Society, on the post-Brexit Africa-UK trade and development cooperation relations (the report can be read here).

For an evaluation of the impact of Brexit on Francophone Africa it is necessary to consider the long and conflictual history of Britain’s and France’s rivalry for supremacy in (post-)colonial sub-Sahara Africa, notably in West Africa. Although the empire of so-called ‘Françafrique’ has been out-matched by British dominance in Africa, it is still very much alive today. It is an integrated political, military, economic and financial system of venality across the continent by which French and African political and business elites scratch each other’s backs at the expense of their citizens. It is walled-off by a special currency, the CFA franc, assured restricted competition and extraordinary gains for all parties involved (See Ndongo Sylla’s blogpost ).

Thus, post-colonial dependence continued, including the looting of raw materials, with the complicity of corrupt African heads of state, sometimes maintained at great expense, but also aware of their power over the former metropolis. Examples are the escapades of infamous  ‘emperor’ Bokassa of the Central African Republic in the 1970s, or the pillage of the resources over decades by late Omar Bongo in Gabon (succeeded after his death in 2009 by his son Ali Bongo) and general Eyadéma Ganssingbé of Togo, continued by the heir to his throne, Faure Gnassingbé, who is still in power.

All this, despite repeated announcements of French presidents, from Nicolas Sarkozy, to François Hollande and Emmanuel Macron, of the departure from its established policy of ‘Françafrique’ since the controversial Dakar-declaration of Sarkozy in 2007. Some experts have even observed a further and deeper degeneration of ‘Françafrique’ into a mafia-like network of high ranking French and African politicians and businessmen.

In the context of the lack of the countervailing power of Britain within the EU in the case of Brexit, the murky network of Françafrique or alternative shadily networks of corruption, trafficking and money-laundering in Francophone Africa could become re-vitalized and consolidated, notably in the resource-rich countries like the Democratic Republic of Congo.

The impact of Brexit on a ‘second liberation’ of Francophone Africa

However, Brexit could also inspire Africa in re-launching a debate on its sovereignty, including judicial and monetary issues. For example, concerning the long-standing controversy on the ill-adapted and increasingly anachronistic CFA franc. In fact, the debate has already begun, including on the pages of roape.net. This has been assisted by internationally renowned African officials and critics of the CFA franc, including Togo’s Kako Nubukpo (previous head of the Central Bank of West African States  – BCEAO – and former Togolese Minister), Senegal’s Sanou Mbaye (formerly a senior official at the African Development Bank), and Guinea-Bissau’s Carlos Lopez (formerly executive secretary of the UN Economic Commission for Africa), as well as African bankers like Henri-Claude Oyima (President-Director General of BGFI Bank).

In addition, for some years, a social movement has developed to demand the withdrawal of African states from the CFA. On 7 January 2017, for example, an NGO set-up and run by the activist Kemi Séba, backed by ‘SOS Pan-Africa’, organised anti-CFA demonstrations in several African and European cities. In Senegal, the France Dégage group has been campaigning for the ‘monetary sovereignty’ of the CFA countries.

Besides, there could be also more direct impact from Brexit. For example, the Ivorian Prime Minister, Amadou Gon Coulibaly, cautioned about possible unintended consequences of Brexit on West African coca-farmers within the Francophone West African Economic and Monetary Union. For example, any fall in the value of Sterling against the Euro once Britain leaves the EU would have damaging consequences for Ivorian public finances because cocoa is priced in Sterling and the CFA franc in West Africa is linked to the Euro.

Conclusion

Contrary to widespread opinion, available evidence suggests that Brexit will impact considerably not only on the English-speaking African Commonwealth but on Francophone Africa too. The range of possible effects is impressive, from direct influence on farm-gate cocoa-prices in the CFA-currency regions and subsequent repercussions on the state budget of these countries, to more indirect effects, e.g. on the cooperation between the Economic Community of Central Africa States, the West African Economic and Monetary Union and the EU concerning European Development Fund-programs of which Great Britain has been a major contributor so far, to the enforced re-negotiation of controversial Economic Partnership Agreements.

However, the Brexit-vote stimulated progressive social networks in Francophone Africa to demand more political and economic sovereignty, for example with respect to the increasingly anachronistic CFA currency. Finally, the turmoil caused by Brexit could offer new opportunities, both for those Francophone governments that flirt with the idea of joining the African Commonwealth, and the ‘remainers’ in Francophone Africa. This would allow for renewed negotiations between African governments on the one side and the UK, EU and other global players, like China, India, Brazil and Turkey, competing for African resources and markets on the other.

On the other hand, we may see the revival of apparently already written-off murky socio-political networks like that of Françafrique or alternative new webs of transboundary corruption, trafficking and money-laundering. It goes without saying that these developments would take place at the expense of the great majority in both Europe and in Africa.

Yet, the lessons of frustrated high-flying hopes for increased grass-roots political democratization in the wake of the ‘second wind of liberation’, stimulated by mass protests and upheavals across Francophone Africa in the early 1990s, alert us to the dangers in the lack of democratic participation to seize the initiative on behalf of the majority. Increasing nationalism and populism, stoked by mounting internal and external pressures across sub-Saharan Africa, is one distinct political outcome for the continent as a result of Brexit and the forces it has unleashed.

Dirk Kohnert is Associated Senior Expert at the Institute of African Affairs (IAA), German Institute of Global and Area Studies, Hamburg, Germany. He is also the retired deputy director of IAA (1991-2011) and former editor of the journal Africa Spectrum.

If you are interested in learning more on the impact of Brexit on Francophone Africa, then we will be publishing a full Briefing by Dirk Kohnert in an issue of the journal ROAPE later this year.

Featured Photograph: Photo published by The Observers in 2010

Fighting from Below

In this review of R.W. Johnson’s latest book on South Africa, Fighting for the Dream, David Seddon commends an analysis that criticises the ANC as having learned little or nothing from the experience of African nationalism elsewhere on the continent. Although Johnson adopts an approach that explicitly draws on the Marxist tradition, Seddon argues that the ‘top-down’ perspective he adopts does not allow him to see the ordinary people of South Africa as actors and agents in contemporary politics.

By David Seddon

Written and published before the elections of May 2019, this book is nevertheless timely and well-worth reading. Those familiar with R.W. Johnson’s writings on South Africa will know that he is a cynical and partisan observer of South African politics; a self-declared ‘liberal’, committed (as he explains in his brief Foreword) to keeping the liberal spirit and tradition alive in a country he clearly loves. In this analysis of the current situation in South Africa, however, he adopts an approach that explicitly draws on the Marxist tradition.

The book is written in an accessible style. It starts with ‘The Moment of Truth’, on 17 December 2017, when the ANC rejected Jacob Zuma as president in favour of Cyril Ramaphosa and the ‘old ANC exiles’ in favour of those who had stayed behind and fought apartheid on the home front. This, Johnson argues, was the last chance for South Africa to avoid chaos and disaster. ‘For any liberal, communist or African nationalist, indeed for any democrat’, he suggests, ‘the awful possibility now exists that majority rule – the goal so long fought for – will go down in history as a sad failure’. The stakes could hardly be higher. This book is about is ‘how it came to this’, ‘what are the real problems’, and what will be necessary to ‘fight for the dream’.

In Chapter Two, Johnson considers developments since May 1994 when Mandela took office as president but effectively became South Africa’s international representative, leaving the government of the country to an inexperienced team under Thabo Mbeki. It was during this period that the policies of affirmative action and cadre deployment, according to Johnson, led to the expansion of the public-services and the bureaucracy but to a decline in its quality and in its capacity to implement policy. This, combined with the policy of Black Empowerment which favoured the emerging black middle class, led to the creation of a bureaucratic bourgeoisie ‘with fateful implications for the ANC and for South Africa as a whole’.

Also, flawed policies were pursued. The initial Reconstruction and Development Programme (RDP) based on a Keynesian strategy of public expenditure (which Johnson suggests was never much more than ‘a vast, unbudgeted wish list’) was effectively junked, under pressure from the World Bank, in favour of a programme of Growth, Employment and Redistribution (GEAR), which called for sharp cuts, budget-balancing and privatization, much as the IMF might have demanded had they been allowed to intervene. On the crucial subject of land reform, the government simply turned to the World Bank, which advised that a target of 30 per cent redistribution to black farmers might be reasonable, without any consideration of the practicality of this and its possible effect on the viability of the agricultural sector.

In education, a key area for the future of the country, experienced teachers were encouraged to retire, to be replaced by party cadres and less-skilled teachers, while a controversial outcomes-based education (OBE) system was introduced which eventually ‘collapsed in a shambles.’ Many educationalists, Johnson remarks, felt that OBE had done as much damage as Bantu Education under apartheid. In other sectors too, the search for campaign finance, the advancement of party cadres and private interests encouraged growing corruption. Johnson refers to arms deals in 1997 which effectively paid for the ANC’s election campaign in 1999, and to the establishment of the ANC’s own investment company, Chancellor House, which benefited from insider deals with state-owned enterprises (SOEs), as in the notable case of the local subsidiary of Hitachi and the $2-billion plan to build a power station for Eskom.

All of this took place under Mbeki, and on Mandela’s watch. But Jacob Zuma, whom Mandela had effectively supported again Mbeki, was to continue and deepen this corrupt and inefficient way of governing the country and running the economy after his coalition – of Zulu supporters, the Congress of South African Trades Unions (COSATU), the Communist Party (SACP) and the ANC Youth League (ANCYL) – had swept away Mbeki at the Polokwane Conference in 2007. Under Zuma, Johnson argues, the state came to resemble a mediaeval kingdom in which the monarch (Zuma) stood at the apex of a huge pyramid of patronage that provided the sinews of the state.

This was possible because the ANC, the bureaucratic bourgeoisie, the security services and the national prosecution service, under the effective control of Zuma henchmen, backed him. Under Zuma, corruption became all-pervasive. This resulted in an investment freeze as foreign and domestic investors recoiled from its toxic mix of corruption, lawlessness, state intervention and over-regulation, and a deepening economic crisis ensued. Zuma’s response was to blame white monopoly capital and to promise radical economic transformation, encouraging what Johnson calls ‘a populist downward spiral’.

This was further encouraged when Julius Malema, the leader of the ANCYL, who had backed Zuma but then turned against him, was suspended from the party for five years in February 2012 and went on to form the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) in July 2013. In May 2015, Johnson argued in his book, How Long Will South Africa Survive? that this downward spiral would see the South African economy down-rated to junk status by the credit-rating agencies within two years. In fact, within 23 months two agencies had already done just that, while a third hovered on the edge.

As the ANC approached its five-yearly conference in December 2017, Zuma was largely focused on staying out of jail for the 783 counts of fraud, corruption and money laundering with which he was charged, but courted the ANC faithful with an increasingly populist diet of policies, including that of land expropriation without compensation (EWC), a policy effectively stolen from the EFF. Ramaphosa, in the meanwhile, who had hitherto said remarkably little about the endemic corruption of the Zuma regime, now spoke openly of ‘state capture’ and of how Zuma had ‘hocked the state’ out to the Guptas (an India business dynasty) and other corrupt fixers in return for personal gain.

In Chapter Three, ‘The Contest’, Johnson examines the 2017 ANC presidential contest in some detail and explains how and why ‘the dominoes began to fall’ as they did for Jacob Zuma and his chosen successor, his ex-wife, Nkosazana Clarice Dlamini-Zuma. In Chapter Four, ‘The Conference’,  he reports on the twists and turns of the conference, including the debate over land reform, and the final outcome in which Ramaphosa was elected president of the ANC but declared his own acceptance of expropriation without compensation (EWC), even though he and his faction had earlier argued passionately against  it. The chapter ends with the eventual resignation of Zuma on 14 February 2018 and the ‘Ramaphoria’ that greeted the new president of the Republic.

Chapter Five (‘The New Struggle Begins’) starts ominously with the observation that ‘Ramaphoria did not last long’, but then goes on to document some of the early successes of Ramaphosa and his allies (including notably Pravin Gordhan – described by Johnson as ‘a true believer in the old ANC vision’) in purging corruption. Johnson notes, however, the continuing, indeed arguably the increased, relevance of divisions, factional, ethnic and geographical, within the ANC, particularly in KwaZulu-Natal – where Zuma continued to be ‘the pied piper’, but also in the Eastern Cape. He describes how Ramaphosa was obliged to manage growing divisions within the ANC over the control of land in Kwa-Zulu Natal by ‘traditional’ chiefs by effectively confirming their rights, and how badly this went down with the populists in the party.

Meanwhile, unemployment reached 9.6 million. Even old ANC stalwarts spoke of the movement having ‘just one last chance’. The damage was increasingly clear in the polls. A survey in September 2018 found that the EFF had doubled its support to 13 per cent, reducing the ANC to just 52 per cent, despite the fact that land reform EWC – previously a key EFF platform and now adopted by the ANC under Ramaphosa to draw their fire – was mentioned by only four per cent of black voters as a significant issue.

At this point, the book turns to a more fundamental analysis of the structural problems of the South African political economy. In a lengthy chapter (‘Why Did South Africa Copy Africa’s mistakes’?), Johnson argues that not only have the ANC’s nationalists learned little or nothing from the experience of African nationalism elsewhere on the continent or, by comparison, of the similarities and differences of their own struggle, but also that South Africa in fact shares many features of African nationalism elsewhere.

Crucially, they share the fact that they are ruled by a bureaucratic bourgeoisie or rather an elite status group, rather than ‘a real bourgeoisie’ that might have invested in sustainable economic and social development and tended instead to bleed the country dry for personal gain. He sets out the features of the ‘typical’ African nationalist state, pointing out that ideology was a misleading guide and that self-declared ‘socialist’ regimes were ‘just as likely to steal’ as avowedly capitalist regimes. Also, their foreign policies might be neutralist or even pro-Soviet during the Cold War, but in reality, their biggest foreign investors, trading partners and aid ‘donors’ were Western capitalist countries.

Johnson suggests that ‘this was, so to speak, the script, and the ANC followed it almost word for word’. There were, of course, differences – the South African economy and infrastructure was more developed than that of other African countries – but it was also the case that South Africa was more integrated into the global capitalist world economy and more open to it. However, it is the case, Johnson argues, that ‘what is happening in South Africa is essentially a repetition of what happened a generation and more ago in the rest of Africa’.

Apart from outright corruption, the new bureaucratic and political elite have sucked up money from the white, coloured and Indian minorities by redistributive taxation of every kind, while black capitalists have been protected and privileged. Traditional leaders in the former Bantustans have been brought back into the fold and effectively transformed into a wealthy landlord class, while their civil servants, soldiers and policemen have been incorporated into the corresponding national institutions. At the same time, their border industries have been simply deprived of their preferential tax rates and made to pay the same wage rates as in the big cities, as a result of which the life has been drained out of many smaller and more remote towns, and thousands of jobs in the private sector have been lost.

The Black Empowerment policies have tended to promote the development of a privileged black elite, far more interested in how many directors of large companies are black than in black advancement at lower levels. The vast majority of casual, informal and part-time workers, and the mass of the unemployed – which has reached almost 30 per cent and is far higher among young men – have been almost entirely neglected by government policy. The only real attempt at ‘redistribution’ towards the poor has been the system of social grants, paid for by the minority of tax-payers which keeps the majority of the poor from starving, but also serves as a break on social unrest.

Despite this, however, social unrest is pervasive: the level of public and private violence is high, with ill-treatment by the police and other security services (which have expanded significantly, like other sections of the bureaucracy) commonplace both in the streets and workplaces when there is social unrest. The massacre at Marikana during the mineworkers’ strikes in August 2012 is the most graphic and horrific example of this process.

Like other African nationalist states, South Africa under the ANC had a vision of development through industrialization; like them (for the most part) the vision was not realized. ANC policies have actually had the effect of de-industrializing the economy; on its watch, manufacturing has almost halved while mining – the jewel in the crown, one would have thought, of the South African economy – has seen thousands of jobs lost: by 2018, employment in the gold mines had fallen by 30 per cent (48,000 jobs) since 2009, and less than 20 per cent of the remaining mines were profitable.

As for the energy sector, a crucial element in any development strategy, Johnson refers briefly to the grandiose hydro-electric schemes of many African nationalist states, but does not (at this point) discuss the disaster that is ESKOM (although he does later in the book). ESKOM is a massive poorly-managed state-owned enterprise on which millions of producers and consumers relied for electricity that in February 2019 owed 420 million Rand, had a credit rating deep into junk status but was effectively ‘bailed-out’ by Ramaphosa in early 2019.

Finally, he turns to the land question and compares the recent adoption in 2018 of the policy of land expropriation without compensation by the ANC – following the EFF – with the land policy of Zimbabwe under Mugabe, which arguably crippled the Zimbabwean economy for years after its adoption there.

All of this is explained (in detail in Chapter Seven, ‘The Leaderless World of the Bureaucratic Bourgeoisie’) by the fact that there is no national bourgeoisie in South Africa committed to real investment in capitalist development as the foundation for an eventual National Democratic Revolution (NDR), despite the rhetoric and ideology of the ANC and the SACP (which he considers ‘happily stuck in the 1950s and 1960s’) and the designation of the emerging black middle class as a ‘patriotic bourgeoisie’ struggling against a predominantly white ‘comprador bourgeoisie’.

Johnson cites Marx to argue that the classic case of a government acting ‘as the executive committee of the ruling class’ to promote capitalist development does not apply in South Africa under the ANC. Government remains ‘a spoils system, pure and simple’, like other African ‘kleptocratic states’.

Nor is there any commitment by the ANC government, despite the rhetoric of its historical ally, the SACP, to improving the condition of the working class as a whole, even if it is allied in important respects to the trade unions – which Johnson identifies as institutions of a labour aristocracy rather than vehicles for working class struggle. He suggests that ‘the anti-working-class bias of the new regime was both severe and consistent’ and that ‘soon the rot spread to the unions, where union leaders revelled in high salaries, pillaged pension and union investment funds, and where corruption became endemic’.

The explanation for all of this lies partly in the distinctive class structure of South Africa, in which it resembles other African nationalist states, and partly in what Johnson terms ‘Magical Thinking’– which means ignoring reality in favour of illusions or being divorced from reality. The two are linked, for he sees ‘magical thinking’ as ‘a reflection of the leaderless state of South African society’- the ‘vacuum at the centre’. The new ruling elite has no settled relationship with the forces of production in the way that a class of farmers or industrialists might have – and here Johnson accepts that ‘again, Marxist terms are useful’. The new ruling class is ‘a comprador class’ if anything; inevitably it is opportunistic and feeds off the state – it is a bureaucratic bourgeoisie. He does not use the term ‘rentier state’, although he sees this group as ‘an artificial creation existing only on the taxes paid by old productive businesses and the white middle classes’.

What does distinguish South Africa from other African nationalist states, in Johnson’s view, is the Constitution that guarantees a multi-party system, an independent judiciary and a free press, and the fact that it continues to protect the continuing effective operation of these crucial features of the South African state. Given this, and the preceding diagnosis of the serious condition of South African political economy under the ANC, what is the prognosis and recommended treatment?

Johnson, as a died-in-the-wool liberal looks, of course, first to the Democratic Alliance, a classically liberal party. He is largely dismissive of the DA’s prospects, mainly because in his view it has abandoned its liberal principles and its espousal of ‘advancement by merit and initiative’ in favour of a strategy that increasingly courts the black vote by supporting ‘black advancement’ both within the party and in the country as a whole. For Johnson, the contradictions between the ‘old’ liberal principles and the ‘new’ African nationalist principles surfaced powerfully during the latter part of Helen Zille’s leadership of the DA when she attempted, disastrously to re-launch the party as ‘the Democrats’ with Mamphela Ramphele as party leader, and were sharpened still further by the election in 2015 of Mmusi Maimane as party leader.

Johnson has little time for Maimane as a leader and fears that he may be presiding over ‘a stage in the DA’s disintegration’. For now that the DA has departed from its liberal principles ‘it is difficult to see why is should not become the same sort of vehicle for patronage, racial and ethnic politicking, and the same Big Man behaviour one sees in the ANC.’ It may remain as a possible coalition partner at the national as well as at the local level, thereby contributing a more fragmented political dynamic and the growth of coalition politics but ‘if one is looking to the DA to remedy to lack of a new, post-apartheid ruling class, one will look in vain.’

The last four chapters address the situation currently facing South Africa and South Africans. Chapter Ten considers Ramaphosa’s first year as president and underlines both his political weakness and his whole ‘mistaken’ corporatist approach which together ensured that the kinds of structural reforms that Johnson considers essential were not undertaken: ‘it was perfectly clear that all of these reforms could only be achieved by cutting Gordian knots – in the teeth of strong resistance from vested interest at every point. But that in turn would require a strong and determined government, while the Ramaphosa administration was weak and uncertain’.

Johnson explicitly contrasts this with the recommendations made by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) – advice of which he broadly approves but which was not so much ignored as rejected – and suggests that there could now be a period of low growth and social misery before the government is eventually forced to have recourse to a bail-out by the IMF after all. ‘Fingers in the dyke’ will only postpone the inevitable. ‘Parasitic greed and its accompanying populism are capsizing the state and the economy. There seems to be no force capable of reining them in or even of keeping order: the police are corrupt, incompetent and unmotivated to intervene, while the armed forces are in a desperate state of disrepair’. In most African states, Johnson suggests, this would have triggered a military coup d’etat, ‘but this does not seem to be an option in Pretoria’s case’.

So, Johnson asks, echoing Lenin’s famous question, ‘What is to be done?’ He suggests first, under the heading ‘let my people go’, the liberalization of the labour laws, to undermine the restrictions on the labour market imposed by the trade unions and the labour aristocracy and to provide opportunities for the nearly 10 million unemployed and even larger numbers of low paid workers in the informal sector. He recommends acceptance of ‘the inevitability of globalization’ and the need for market liberalization, breaking up the cartels he believes dominate the South African economy and removing taxes on investment.

He maintains all of this at the same time as arguing that he is not ‘a free-market ideologue’ but a social democrat. He recognizes that ‘under present conditions even free-market competition needs iron-fisted policing and regulation’. Despite the fact that South Africa signed the African Continental Free Trade Agreement in March 2018, which calls for free movement of capital, goods and labour throughout the continent, he suggests that immigration control would be necessary to prevent the mass inflow of migrant labour from abroad, as ‘for South Africa, any agreement to the free movement of labour would constitute an almost suicidal triumph of ideology over common sense.’

He also argues that BEE should be abolished, as should all rules resulting in racially directed procurement, the Mining Charter and other industry charters; indeed, he suggests that all ‘affirmative action’ should go. He recognizes that ‘this would doubtless produce some resistance’ but hopes that ‘once it became clear that these changes would vastly increase the number of jobs, that would soon fade away’. He believes that the government should be quite explicit about the reasons for all these reforms and convince people that they would benefit the vast majority, including the working class and the middle classes, and would be part of a ‘great transformation’ – arguably, he says, a national democratic revolution – and a continuation of the ‘liberation’ process begun in 1990.

The same market principles need to be extended into health and education. Education could become the engine of growth, but would require a confrontation with the teachers’ unions, and ‘that battle would have to be won’. Johnson is very explicit on this point and suggests that ‘it is a sad fact that sometimes progress cannot be achieved except by breaking a union determined to retain restrictive practices’ and refers, tellingly, to Rupert Murdoch’s brutal battle with the print unions and Margaret Thatcher’s with Scargill’s miners. The apparatus of the state itself would require radical reform: ‘this effort would need to begin with a cleansing and upgrading of the police and the judicial and prosecutorial system’. Also, there would need to be quasi-military measures taken against urban gangs, in the name of law, order and security.

Local municipal government would have to be re-organized to combat administrative and financial inadequacy and wide-spread corruption. This, Johnson suggests, could be done by replacing bankrupt councils by a system of prefects appointed by provincial government supplemented by small elected advisory councils. The system of national salary scales for municipal workers should be ended so that poorer communities would not be forced into bankruptcy by having to pay what rich ones can afford.  Municipal corruption is endemic even in the metropoles; indeed, because they have larger budgets, the scope for corruption is greater. Here too, hopeless cases might have to be put under administration. But even so, Johnson argues that the metropoles should all be given greater autonomy to develop their economies.

He briefly discusses the need to stamp out corruption in the public utilities and argues that a World Bank funded programme of privatization could be launched to recycle water in all the major cities, under provincial monitoring. Water scarcity is such, however, that most major cities will never be able to pay the economic price for water and Johnson seems to envisage a massive relocation to the coast where de-salinization will provide the answer.

He also has ideas about the way to revitalize the former Bantustans by cutting back the power of ‘traditional’ chiefs to grant land and by redistributing land as individual freehold property to residents to create a new class of small farmers and market gardeners, working in cooperatives. It would take the popular rhetoric of land reform espoused by the ANC and EFF – involving expropriation without compensation – in a new direction, while presumably maintaining the large commercial farms as the core of South Africa’s agricultural capitalist economy.

He even has proposals for the development of the eastern seaboard from the Mozambique border to Buffalo City (East London) as a major tourist destination – South Africa’s Costa Brava or Costa del Sol – with year-round sun and swimming, game reserves and other recreational facilities, all in the same time zone as Europe. This could be a separate development programme, involving mass re-settlement of existing populations but done with environmental and architectural sensitivity, and making the preservation of wildlife and the natural physical environment on land and sea a priority.

Johnson sees this programme requiring a capacity for planning that he argues the ANC lacks. The RDP, he suggests, was merely a wish list; the GEAR was the only proper plan ever produced, but it was hugely unpopular with COSATU, the SACP and the ANC left, was never properly explained and justified, was not consistently implemented in any case, and was not followed by successive governments. The NDP unveiled in 2012 was ‘another huge, uncosted wish list’. He argues that ‘the elite wants power not in order to use it to achieve various policy goals but simply in order to possess it, to be in charge, to get rich, and enjoy the perquisites of office’. The government has no broader economic strategy. The result is blundering. A proper economic planning unit is needed.

Johnson argues that the chances of all his ‘recommendations’ actually occurring are small, but depend now on Ramaphosa ‘escaping from populism’ and from the forces on the left, exemplified by Julius Malema and the EFF, that have encouraged the ANC to maintain the strategy-less populism that has undermined the economy and impoverished the black masses whom it claims to ‘serve’. Given his popularity, ‘Ramaphosa’, Johnson argues, is uniquely well positioned to draw upon the Mandela myth in support of his mission to ‘save the dream’ – he compares his situation to that of Charles de Gaulle in 1958.

He recognizes that this would be  ‘a new political adventure’, splitting the ANC and giving further opportunity for the EFF to recruit support, and relying on a coalition of ANC Ramaphosa loyalists and DA representatives in government; but he also sees this as the only way to ‘refound the New South Africa on a more sustainable and democratic basis’.  The alternatives, which are briefly considered in the final chapter, include having recourse to the IMF or simply ‘dragging along the bottom’ and hoping to avoid an ultimate crisis.

Interestingly, there is no distinct section, let alone chapter, in the book in which he systematically analyses the EFF and its current role in South African politics. Instead, it is dismissed effectively throughout as marginal – even as its ‘malign influence’ is recognized and side references to it and its activities permeate the text. This is to my mind, a major failing of the book and its analysis, for the rise of the EFF since its formation in July 2013 has been both dramatic and hugely significant.

Referred to at one point as ‘the tiny EFF’, Johnson himself cites the survey of 28 September 2018 which suggested that the EFF had doubled its support since 2014 to 13 per cent, reducing that of the ANC to 52 percent (with the DA on 22 per cent), and now posed a clear political threat. Johnson is also aware of the millions of unemployed young people and the fact that the leader of the EFF is a former ANC Youth League leader; he is also aware of the support for the EFF among younger voters, including students (the EFF students’ association won the 2018 Student Representative Council elections at the universities of Cape Town and Zululand as well as at the Mangosuthu and Durban universities of technology).

In the May 2019 elections, the EFF increased its share of the popular vote from 6.3 per cent in 2014 to just over 10 per cent, reaching double figures and what some have regarded as a possible ‘tipping point’ where it may have secured a momentum going forwards. The ANC received 57 per cent of the popular vote, a decline since 2014 (when it received 62 per cent) but more than predicted by the survey of September 2018 (52 per cent). The Democratic Alliance (DA) received about the same percentage as it had five years before (around 21-22 per cent).

The evident rise of the EFF is something that requires a more considered analysis, as does the slow erosion of support for the ANC (both why it is taking place and also why it is taking place so slowly). Johnson seems incapable of carrying this out.

Finally, something that is almost entirely lacking in Johnson’s discussion, but which is highly relevant to any analysis of contemporary South African politics, is the role and significance of the continuing poverty and marginalization of the majority of black South Africans. This is a major lacuna in Johnson’s account.

Some 7 million young people eligible to do so did not vote in the recent elections. But apathy has its limitations, and the decision not to vote does not necessarily indicate apathy but often frustration with and rejection of the alternatives offered. The importance of ‘non-party’ politics in the form of local collective action, whether through informal associations and social movements or through more structured non-government organizations (NGOs), which has been documented elsewhere by activists and researchers, finds no place in Johnson’s analysis.

He may be a committed liberal, but the largely ‘top-down’ perspective adopted does not allow him to see the ordinary people of South Africa as actors and agents in contemporary politics. A consideration of the South African economy, society and politics ‘from below’ might have rendered his account even more depressing; but it also might have provided the basis for a very different sense of the underlying dynamics and prospects for the realization of ‘the dream’ to which he refers.

Fighting for the Dream by R. W Johnson (Jonathan Ball Publishers, 2019) is available here.

David Seddon (criticalfaculty1@hotmail.co.uk) is a researcher and political activist who has written extensively on social movements, class struggles and political transitions across the developing world.

Featured Photograph: An Abahlali baseMjondolo protest in Durban (2005).

 

Commercialising Africa: Money, Values and Neoliberalism

We bring together five researchers who are speaking at the European Conference on African Studies in Edinburgh, Scotland, to discuss capitalism, money and commercialisation on the continent. Marine Al Dahdah explains that sub-Saharan Africa has been at the epicentre of mobile money and an experimental terrain for the mobile economy. Adam Rodgers Johns argues that the entry of capital into Tanzanian football has been embraced by local actors as a positive move towards greater professionalisation and legitimacy, but all is not as it seems. Olivier Graefe and Antje Schlottmann look at the complexity of commercialisation of wildlife in Namibia and the implications for humans, nature, and animals. Fatimah Kelleher argues that consumerist interpretations of market access as a panacea for African women’s income inequality present ethical concerns that need an urgent feminist response. All authors look at the commercialisation of previously-less-commercialised sectors as  key developments in neoliberal Africa (the five contributors spoke on a panel convened by Jörg Wiegratz and Catherine Dolan on ‘Commercialising Africa: money, values, visions, dissonances’). 

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‘Top up your health access’: when a mobile phone delivers health coverage to sub-Saharan Africa.

By Marine Al Dahdah

Ann has just arrived at a clinic in Kibera (Kenya) – the largest slum in Africa – this is the first time she has not given birth at home. She showed her mobile phone to get to the workroom without spending money, a revolution in her country where from transportation to birth certificate, women have to pay to deliver a baby. But to get free health insurance, Ann has to use a specific mobile app. Indeed, generous donors in exchange of health data collected by the app are paying for Ann’s health coverage. Our research is focusing on mobile-based projects that promise to improve financial accessibility of healthcare. It compares different programs, like this one, deployed by Telcos in Africa in the past years to finance access to healthcare through mobile money services.

Mobile phones are the world most used information and communication device. During the last five years, many health actors as well as mobile phone operators have promoted the potential benefits of mHealth and launched numerous mobile digital projects throughout the world. According to their promoters, mobile technologies offer tremendous improvements in the health sector. Presented as a cost effective technology, it will rationalise and even reduce health expenditures, it will simplify payments and avoid unpaid bills and irrecoverable entitlements for health institutions. By avoiding unnecessary hospitalisations, over-consumption of health products or costly treatment interruption, mHealth will be a source of significant savings. In developing countries where banking enrolment is lower, mHealth is matched with mobile banking services – called mMoney or mBanking – mobile services that allow individuals to pay or cover their health expenses via their mobile money: a service in which the mobile phone is used to access financial services.

For the past years, sub-Saharan Africa has been the fastest growing market for mMoney both in terms of registered as well as active accounts, hosting more than half of them. Across sub-Saharan Africa, one in three mobile connections is linked to a mobile money account. Of all sub-regions, East Africa recorded the highest level of mobile money penetration (55%), which is more than twice the level of smartphone penetration (19.4%). Kenya showing the highest level of mMoney penetration rate in the world with 58% of adults using mMoney and the vast majority of them through the Safaricom M-PESA wallet. Nineteen Sub-Saharan countries had more mobile money accounts than bank accounts in 2015. Thus, sub-Saharan Africa has been the epicentre of mobile money and an experimental terrain for many stakeholders of the mobile economy.

The conjunction of mHealth and mMoney is giving birth to a new form of health coverage recently flourishing in sub-Saharan Africa. Mobile money for health advocates offer to improve access to healthcare, through creating public-private partnerships (PPP) and interoperability across systems, such as between businesses offering micro-insurance products and public institutions like the National Hospital Insurance Fund (NHIF) in Kenya. According to them, mobile money will help to perform faster, more transparent and targeted health payments through health e-vouchers and dedicated mobile health savings wallets but also to process insurance claims, allowing healthcare consumers and providers to interact more efficiently. I analyse two different programs deployed in Kenya launched by the two most prominent mobile operators: Safaricom the Kenyan subsidiary of Vodafone (UK), and Bharti Airtel the Indian mobile operator.

In one of the most ‘uninsured’ parts of the world, these programs constitute a commercial response to a burning international public health issue: universal health coverage. Shedding light on the lack of a welfare state, these services promise their first health coverage to Africans that fall into debt to cover medical costs. Because mobile markets in Africa are dominated by prepaid users – 90% of customers buy credit as they go and repeatedly switch operators – mobile based health insurances are strongly related to the construction of sustainable and profitable mobile markets in a competitive and unstable African context. Indeed, health coverage comes here as a ‘stickiness’ program; a bonus for loyal customers and a way to keep them. Our research analyses strategies, and resistances that characterize these programs and highlight the market implications. Based on qualitative research, I analyse strategies, achievements, failures and detours that characterise these mHealth programs.

Marine Al Dahdah is a sociologist, an IFRIS fellow at Cermes3, Paris, France, and a research associate at CSH-Delhi, India. She holds a PhD in Sociology from Paris Descartes University. She has been working on the use of mobile phones and digital tools to improve health in Asia and Africa.

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Commercialisation of Football in Tanzania

By Adam Rodgers Johns

In the social science literature on commercialisation in Africa, we see commercialisation portrayed as a negative force: transnational corporations coming in from the outside, appropriating the local and controlling the local economic environment. Similarly, the literature on football portrays commercialisation of the ‘beautiful game’ as a negative force, profit making, privatisation and rising ticket prices leading to the sanitisation of the atmosphere in stadiums. However, in the context of football in Tanzania, we see a very different story of commercialisation.

Instead of the portrayal of capital as curse, the entry of capital is embraced by local actors as a positive move towards greater professionalisation and legitimacy. There is very little anti-corporate sentiment among supporters, who believe that success is only possible through increasing commercialisation and the investment of capital.

Football in Tanzania has long been synonymous with the national rivalry between Simba and Yanga, support which roughly divides the nation in half. These teams originally operated a supporter owned model, relying on membership for donations, however they are currently transitioning to a privately owned model: selling shares and becoming companies. The privatisation of these supporter owned clubs is embraced by fans as a move towards economic self-reliance and independence, away from a dependence on contributions.

There is irony in the fact that these clubs are depending on private investors in the hope of being independent in the future. This begs the question, although private investors are enabling the team in the present, will they ever be truly self-reliant?

The concept of self-reliance – ‘kujitegemea’ in Kiswahili – is deeply embedded in Tanzanian history. Julius Nyerere’s postcolonial socialist state called for the ‘self-reliance’ of the nation from European powers. Furthermore, the self-reliance of the individual is central to neoliberal ideology. It’s clear that there are different types of self-reliance which must be considered in conversation on the commercialisation of football in Tanzania.

The limitations of commercialisation have been brought to the fore recently with the takeover of Simba by Mohammed “Mo” Gulamabbas Dewji, CEO of MeTL Group, one of Tanzania’s largest companies. His investment led to an initial period of success, as Simba reached the quarter final of the African champions league for the first time in 20 years. He has the support of the majority of the fan-base, who believe his love of the club and desire for it to succeed are genuine. However, there are also suggestions that he wants the club to remain reliant on his capital and to be unable to function without him.

Moreover there are significant political limitations to commercialisation: the protection of political interests which are threatened by these developments. For example, it is widely known that the ruling party CCM is heavily invested in the rivalry between Simba and Yanga: for decades it has served them as a means of influencing the masses for their own political agenda. Many believe Simba and Yanga are unable to be self-reliant because they are too deeply embedded in domestic politics. This is perhaps most evident in the case of Yanga, who more so than Simba are considered the ‘team of the people’and inherently political. In the build up to independence, the Yanga clubhouse was used as a safe space for the revolutionary TANU party to hold covert political meetings. They are also wear the same green as the ruling party. The club recently held elections and there was an outspoken desire for a move towards privatisation – from an ‘amateur’ to a ‘professional’ system – however there are reservations about whether this will be possible.

The supporters desire increasing commercialisation, and the professionalisation and economic independence this promises, but in reality interested parties do not want to lose their influence. Those in charge at Simba and Yanga are intimately connected to national politics and are reluctant to relinquish their authority over the nation’s most loved institutions. Furthermore private investors are able to utilise their investment as a means to improve their own self-interests, in the form of government contracts and national prestige.

The transition from supporter owned to privately owned football clubs is a clear example of the commercialisation of a previously ’national’ sector. The supporters themselves embrace the process of commercialisation as a positive move towards financial independence and ultimately success. However, there are emerging dynamics – such as the political limitations to commercialisation and the importance of understanding local histories – within which these developments must be understood.

Adam Rodgers Johns is a freelance writer and postgraduate student in African Studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London.

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The commercialisation of wildlife in Namibia: selling nature to save it

By Olivier Graefe  and Antje Schlottmann

It is estimated that 80 % of the wildlife in Namibia is now in possession of private game farmers and private parks. But here is good news. The number of elephants have tripled since independence in 1990 and Namibia now has the biggest national population of Black Rhinos while the species was nearing extinction in the 1980s. Hence, the devolution of rights over wildlife to private landowners and custodians since the mid-1960 is unmistakably a success in terms of wildlife conservation and growth of the animal population.

So, what’s biting? At the same time, wildlife conservation has turned into a source of profit and attracts many actors like private entrepreneurs and  companies but also nature conservation NGOs. Competition is fierce. The trade for animals developed immensely not only in form of auctions for hunting concessions, trophies and live animals for breeding, but also for wildlife tourism in private game reserves. In short, there is a new complexity of commercialisation of wildlife going on with yet unidentified implications for humans, nature, and their relationships.

Our purpose is to understand the potential as well as the implications of the commercialisation of wildlife from a political-ecological perspective. Therefore, as a complement to use and exchange value, we employ the concept of ‘encounter value’ introduced by Donna Haraway. The relationship in form of an encounter between humans and animals becomes a commodity, of which the value depends on the behavioural dispositions and (co-)performances of humans and animals.

As a first thought, understanding encounter-value means to consider that the value of animal behaviors, visual appearances and performances respond to very selective imaginations of wildlife. In this context certain animals with a particular appeal are better off, at least as regards consumer demand. In the long term, the question arises to what extent such imaginations shape future wildlife populations, their survival and possible extinction. As some advocates of the marketisation of wildlife conservation put it, the higher value species like rhinos, elephants and buffaloes, the better it will be for the future of wildlife conservation. However, this framework might have fatal consequences on the choices of species protected and the definition of what species is worth protection.

Seen from a socio-ecological perspective, another implication comes into focus. The commercialisation and increasing privatisation of wildlife conservation have repercussions on the accessibility of ‘encounters’. Many private game parks aim for the upper market segment and wildlife hunting counts among the most lucrative business today. Who is and will be entitled to hold, hunt or even experience wildlife, in particular certain wildlife species, today and in the near future?

A further consequence of the increasing encounter value of wildlife is the reproduction of the inherited land tenure systems from the apartheid period with very little possibilities to engage with a substantial land redistribution of commercial farms. Game farming is widely seen as the only sustainable alternative to livestock farming, especially cattle farming, in the age of climate change. However, using the willing seller, willing buyer principle for the redistribution of commercial farmland, the success of game farming and private wildlife conservation parks limits the number of farms available for redistribution in favour of the historically disadvantaged people.

Last but not least, from a post-colonial perspective, the ‘encounter value’ largely prioritises the Western gaze over the value of animals given by the local communities. Conflicts especially with elephants and big carnivores show the underlying conflicts of interests. The local population, however, is often presented as uninformed and in need of education in order to understand wildlife protection issues.

In conclusion, wildlife is recovering in Namibia, but the type of wildlife produced follows the logics of commercialisation.  Encounter value is a key concept for understanding the problematic transformations in human-animal relationships. Game farming and private wildlife conservation parks resemble increasingly big zoos, with all the ethical, social and political implications such institutions entail.

Antje Schlottmann is professor of geography at the University of Frankfurt and is doing research on visual geography and nature-society relationships. Olivier Graefe is professor of human geography at the University of Fribourg and is doing research on the political ecology of natural resources, especially water and nature conservation.

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Women, gender targets and purchasing power: a feminist position on ethical concerns surrounding market systems programming

By Fatimah Kelleher

Market systems programming is playing a significant role in Africa’s donor-driven private sector development landscape.  Known previously and more widely as markets for the poor (M4P), it aims to promote ‘market linkages’ by focusing on the ‘changing the structure and characteristics of markets to increase participation by the poor on terms that are of benefit to them’.  In practice this means investing programme funds in private companies through interventions that will help reach a wider consumer base, including those on the lowest incomes. Identifying and restructuring market blockages that prevent consumer engagement are part of this facilitation approach.  For example, in the agricultural sector one of the most successful M4P interventions has been support to agro-input companies to repackage fertiliser into smaller, more affordable bags that allow poorer farmers to access the product. A successful ‘market linkage’ is therefore also reliant on the successful sale of goods and services, and a sustained increase in demand and supply.  Expectation that ‘beneficiaries’ – poor or otherwise – spend money in order to engage with the market is intrinsic to the model.

More recently, women have started being more explicitly targeted as part of a wider donor response to the gender equality agenda.  However, simplified frameworks that boil-down women’s economic empowerment to women’s increased production and consumption of products dominate.  Target numbers are often extremely high as the ability to scale interventions is a critical part of the market systems blueprint.  As such, genuine gender transformations within the economy are not part of the mandate, as tackling patriarchal, systemic economic inequalities and negative social norms that inhibit women’s economic empowerment and justice require layered approaches that cannot be rushed or easily scaled without investment in socially transformative practices that challenge those inequalities.  These often fall outside of private sector needs.

But women face greater social and economic constraints on their access to resources and economic opportunities compared to men. This inequality unjustly limits returns for their productive capacities, and also makes them economically more vulnerable, particularly among the poorest. That vulnerability extends to their role as consumers within markets. Many women that fall within the lowest income brackets in Africa are engaged in horizontal, cash-based, survivalist enterprises, or small-scale subsistence farming that’s disproportionately less secure than men due to land and resource inequalities. This also makes them often more vulnerable to economic shocks.

And as market systems also seek to move into more volatile humanitarian environments concerns around programming that promotes increased commercialisation and requires women’s expenditure – whether an agricultural input, milling services, or a financial product such as micro-credit – need serious interrogation.

Women’s experiences from conflict-affected North East Nigeria, where market recovery has become a recent focus, and more broadly from across rural northern Nigeria, indicate that ethical concerns regarding women’s fiscal vulnerabilities in relation to purchasing power need an urgent spotlight. The North East of the country has experienced violence, community displacement, loss of livelihoods, and food insecurity, all resulting in a cashless credit economy following the flight of the financial sector.  Women – disproportionately without the resources to weather spoilage  and defaulting customers – have also found themselves subsequently carrying a disproportionate burden within this failed economic context.

These gendered realities are often fall under the market systems radar, firstly because power dynamics and possible consequences of women’s consumer/purchasing engagement is rarely fully understood.  Secondly, with many programmes focusing on indicators such as increased yields/sales/income increase, pushing further productivity within such a context could very easily exacerbate women’s risk burden.

But even non-humanitarian contexts are a cause for ethical concern, as women with the lowest incomes across northern Nigeria and Africa more broadly find themselves dealing with fiscal fragility and risk burdens within value chains being pushed towards commercialisation. The proliferation of commercialised agro products is another case in point.  While some women may indeed need improved links to agro companies (having already engaged their farming practices with commercial products previously), most women currently farming are using agro-ecological practices and have yet to tie-in their (often small plots of) land to the repeat purchases necessary once virgin soil is sown with commercial products. Even more pressing are challenges to women’s seed sovereignty as commercial hybrid ‘super seeds’ are aggressively promoted instead of locally owned seed bank initiatives.

Ultimately, whilst improved market access is widely viewed as a panacea to women’s economic inequalities, presumptions that access simply confers power within market engagement is flawed. Women’s engagement with the market varies greatly on contextual power relationships (both inside and outside of the market) that – broadly – market systems programming is not investigating, or is simply uninterested in at worst.  Lack of power and economic injustices can manifest differently depending on whether women sell or buy, and for the latter ‘women’s purchasing power’ has become a popular mantra within commercial expansion, likely to lead to even further consumer targeting by private sector programs. The implications of this across other commercialising sectors in Africa, such as health, where products such as insurance are being actively promoted, are significant. African women’s increasing exposure to commercialisation and consumer culture within donor programming has never been in more need of a feminist and ethical focus.

Fatimah Kelleher is a women’s rights technical adviser and strategist working primarily in the areas of women’s economic empowerment and justice, and education.  Her work covers Africa, with a specialist focus on Nigeria.

Featured Photograph: Mobile banking in Uganda (12 March, 2011).

 

Another False Messiah: The Rise and Rise of Fin-tech in Africa

The rise of a global technology industry to support financial services, known as fin-tech, has grown enormously in Africa in the last decade. Across the continent many commentators have proclaimed fin-tech as the solution to poverty and development. Examining the case of Kenya’s celebrated fin-tech model, M-Pesa, Milford Bateman, Maren Duvendack and Nicholas Loubere reveal a flawed system that is not an answer to poverty, despite the wild claims of some academic commentators. Quite the contrary, fin-tech offers Africa a further case study of how contemporary capitalism continues to under-develop Africa.

By Milford Bateman, Maren Duvendack and Nicholas Loubere

In both the global investment community and the international development community one of the most talked-about issues today is fin-tech (financial technology). Defined as ‘computer programs and other technology used to support or enable banking and financial services’, the last decade or so has seen the rise of a new global fin-tech industry, a development that is widely regarded to be positively changing the world in a variety of ways. Thanks to almost daily reports of major new investments, especially in Africa, many investment professionals are of the opinion that something akin to a new ‘gold rush’ is clearly underway. At the same time, the fin-tech model is also touted as an innovation that will greatly benefit the global poor, with enthusiastic supporters claiming that a new golden age of ‘inclusive capitalism’ is upon us.

By far the most well-known example of the fin-tech model to date is Kenya’s M-Pesa – the agent-assisted, mobile-phone-based, person-to-person payment and money transfer system. M-Pesa is widely seen as the first fin-tech institution to conclusively demonstrate that it is possible to make a profit while also very meaningfully improving the lives of the poor. Taking inspiration from M-Pesa, many in the international development community now regard the fin-tech model as a potentially game-changing private sector-funded driver of development and poverty reduction in the Global South.

In the academic community the apparent combination of poverty reduction with profit generation proved to be a very seductive pro-capitalist narrative that many mainstream economists were only too willing to engage with. The most well-known academic economists examining the impact of M-Pesa are Tavneet Suri, based at MIT, and William Jack, based at Georgetown University. With extensive funding from Financial Sector Deepening (FSD) Kenya and the Gates Foundation, since 2010 Suri and Jack have produced a series of outputs extolling the benefits of M-Pesa. Suri and Jack’s generally positive findings have resulted in mainstream media attention and large numbers of citations. This has played an important part in galvanising the international development community into supporting the fin-tech model as a development and poverty reduction intervention.

In particular, their 2016 article published in the prestigious journal Science, entitled ‘The Long-run Poverty and Gender Impacts of Mobile Money’ has played a considerable role in sparking the imagination of the international development community. This is mainly because of its sensational claim that ‘access to the Kenyan mobile money system M-PESA increased per capita consumption levels and lifted 194,000 households, or 2% of Kenyan households, out of poverty.’ According to this article, M-Pesa was not just making profits, but the evidence seemed to show it was also making an astonishing ‘bottom-up’ development and poverty reduction contribution. This poverty reduction claim, often cited in full in media articles, quickly became the centrepiece of the evidence used by many in the international development community to justify its increasingly strong support for, and investment in, the fin-tech model.

Unfortunately, all that glitters is not gold. As we write in a Briefing just published in the ROAPE Suri and Jack’s hugely influential signature article actually contains a surprising number of errors, omissions, poor logic, and methodological flaws. Crucial labour market evaluation parameters, such as business failure (exit) and the impact of new businesses on existing ones (displacement), were entirely over-looked. The core issue of individual over-indebtedness, which in Kenya is now approaching crisis levels and which has a clear and direct link to the operation of M-Pesa, was not even mentioned as a possible downside of the fin-tech development model. For such an important and well-financed project, the methodology was also weak, diverging from many of the standard ‘best practices’ in the impact evaluation field. The important issue of causation was also raised, but in a way that we found to be questionable at best. In many ways, therefore, Suri and Jack’s analysis appears to misrepresent and vastly over-state the development impact of M-Pesa.

Fin-tech represents a new form of resource extractivism

One of the most disturbing aspects of Suri and Jack’s flawed analysis, however, is that they completely bypass the crucial equity and distributional issues that arise from the operation of M-Pesa and other similar fin-tech corporations. This is inexcusable because there are clear warning signs today that the fin-tech model possesses the potential to extract immense value from the poorest communities in the Global South, with potentially calamitous long-term consequences. Like the gambling, sub-prime mortgage and payday loan industries in the United States and UK that before and after the financial crisis of 2008 were able to grow rich by expertly extracting massive amounts of value from the communities of the poor. One might argue that Kenya’s poorest communities are also being drained of much of their needed collective wealth.

M-Pesa has essentially perfected a form of ‘digital mining’ that captures and extracts a small tribute from each and every one of the growing number of tiny financial transactions made by the poor through the platform (which has become ubiquitous and very difficult to avoid). This includes microloans, money transfers, grant disbursement, credit card usage, pension payments, and so on. One simply cannot escape from the fin-tech ‘net’ that is gradually being lowered on to the poor. As more and more governments and elites are brought in as allies by the fin-tech industry, this value extraction process is only likely to speed up and intensify, with cash transactions being increasingly jettisoned and ever more transactions being mediated by fin-tech organisations.

By the same token, given the profit motive at play, it is inevitable that a range of services and products will end up being pushed on to the poor even though they largely do not need them, are not able to productively use them, or do not have any means to repay debt associated with them.[1] The value realised through such ‘digital mining’ techniques is then extracted from the local community and deposited into the hands of the fin-tech entity’s owner(s). However, with so many fin-tech entities backed by foreign capital from the Global North, the chances are that a large proportion of this ‘digitally mined’ value will head abroad to the world’s leading investment locations.

What we have here, therefore, is a value extraction process that contains the potential to progressively undermine the development process in local communities in the Global South. It does this in two important ways: first, it denies the local community an extremely valuable aggregate amount of local spending power, which is instead appropriated by wealthy individuals and institutions, many of which are located abroad. This renders an important endogenous growth trajectory inactive, since it is rising local demand that often provides the initial impetus for local enterprises to emerge in order to meet this demand. Second, fin-tech institutions also starve the local (re)investment cycle by siphoning value out of the community, and thus make it more difficult for local businesses to access the meaningful amounts of capital needed to establish sustainable commercial operations. Experiences in Asia with local banking from 1945 onwards, for example, show that reinvesting/recycling the bulk of locally-generated value back into the local economy has significant potential to kick-start economic growth.[2]

Fin-tech could, therefore, be seen as a revised version of the natural resource extraction paradigm that was largely responsible for under-developing Africa and other colonised countries over the last four centuries. The ‘resource’ increasingly being extracted from Africa today might no longer be a physical one – such as diamonds, gold, platinum, or silver -and the process might not require slavery, the employment of ultra-exploitative waged labour, or involve horrendous working conditions, but the eventual negative outcomes of ‘digital mining’ could very well be the extension and continuation of under-development.

M-Pesa thus provides us with a valuable case study of how contemporary platform capitalism operates in neoliberal Africa and how ‘digital mining’ might actually affect Kenya’s potential growth and development. In recent years, Safaricom (M-Pesa’s parent company) has become far and away Kenya’s largest company, now accounting for a massive 40% of the total stock market valuation on the Nairobi securities exchange. Safaricom is also famous for its spectacular profits. In 2019 it set a record by registering profits of around US$620 million, which would be an impressive result in even the richest countries of the Global North. To put this into perspective, this figure is slightly more than the Kenyan government spends on the entire healthcare system in the country. However, along with an additional bonus paid out in 2019 to shareholders amounting to around US$240 million, a large percentage of this US$620 million in profit was paid out as dividends to foreign shareholders. The main beneficiary was the majority shareholder (at 40%) of Safaricom, the UK multinational corporation Vodafone. Other beneficiaries are a variety of mainly foreign investors located in ‘tax-efficient’ locations (the Caribbean mainly) and who hold a 25% stake. The Kenyan government also holds a further 35% stake in Safaricom.

This demonstrates that significant value is being created by M-Pesa based on the tiny transactions of the poor, but most of it is spirited abroad via dividend payments to foreign shareholders. This helps explain why M-Pesa has become a beacon for global investors and financial institutions all seeking their own spectacular fortunes in Africa while framing their thirst for profits as altruism. Indeed, by embedding the fin-tech model in Kenya, the international development community is complicit in the establishment of a high-tech extractivist infrastructure similar to colonial-era equivalents.

‘Digital mining’ in Kenya and the foreign appropriation of the wealth generated by those languishing at the bottom of the pyramid is a less directly brutal undertaking than the value extraction process carried out in colonial times.  However, the extractivist logic, the wealth transfer, and the determination to accumulate on the back of the poor have a similar character to colonial-era economic regimes, and similar potential to seriously damage socioeconomic development in the long-term.

Furthermore, as in colonial times, a local elite has been allowed significant freedom to manage this ‘digital mining’ on behalf of the foreign owners. As with Capitec Bank in South Africa, it is no secret that the CEO and senior management at Safaricom have been able to use the company as a vehicle through which to extract fantastic rewards for themselves, enjoying Wall Street-style levels of remuneration in recent years and with several becoming multi-millionaires as a result.[3] However, this also provides the obvious incentive to grow Safaricom as fast as possible because in that way the personal rewards attributable to those at the top are maximised. As a result, Safaricom’s CEO and other senior management have pushed growth to the limits and are now encountering problems in several areas on account of reckless over-expansion, including with regard to the company’s wilful engagement with gambling. In addition, in the early stages of M-Pesa’s growth, certain still unidentified members of the local Kenyan elite were able to secure for themselves a sizeable shareholding in Safaricom, which they later sold off for massive capital gains.[4] Pointedly, the impact on inequality in Kenya arising from these narrow elite enrichment mechanisms has been very significant.

In short, an effective value extraction process involving ‘digital mining’ has been established in Kenya, which has been misleadingly framed by many in the international development community as contributing to ‘bottom-up’ development. This process has ensured the stratospheric enrichment of a narrow group of foreign investors, Safaricom’s own senior managers, and a section of the Kenyan elite. However, this value has effectively been appropriated from M-Pesa’s overwhelmingly poor clients via their growing bundle of tiny fin-tech-mediated financial transactions.

Despite the benefit that some individuals in poverty undoubtedly enjoy as a result of M-Pesa’s services, universal financial inclusion has come at a very high longer-term price for Kenya’s poor overall. Safaricom appears to have become a classic example of the ‘cathedral in the desert’ syndrome – a vastly profitable entity that exists only by ignoring the impoverishment it is helping to create in its wake. As fin-tech spreads across Africa, it is likely we will see similar deleterious extractionist scenarios emerging.

Might we not then consider M-Pesa to be the canary in the coalmine?

Parallels with the failed microfinance revolution?

Our analysis of Suri and Jack’s hugely influential 2016 article shows that it simply does not stand up to scrutiny. One might conjecture that this has something to do with the fact that much of the funding for their work over the past decade has come from FSD Kenya and the Gates Foundation, two of the world’s leading advocates for the fin-tech model.

In this context, it is interesting to recall how the now largely discredited microfinance movement got a game-changing boost back in the 1990s thanks to a study by two high-profile World Bank economists – Mark Pitt and Shahidhur Khandker – claiming that microfinance in Bangladesh was generating major poverty reduction benefits for women Pitt and Khandker’s work was much later shown to contain many serious errors and its conclusions were unsound. Nevertheless, Pitt and Khandker’s work more than served its immediate purpose, which was to galvanise support within and around the international development community for an intervention that the World Bank desperately wanted to see go forward on ideological grounds. We might therefore pose the obvious question here with regard to the misrepresentation of M-Pesa’s impact: are Suri and Jack the new Pitt and Khandker?

Milford Bateman is a Visiting Professor of Economics, Juraj Dobrila University of Pula, Croatia and Adjunct Professor of Development Studies, St Marys University, Halifax, Canada. Maren Duvendack is a Senior Lecturer in Development Economics at the University of East Anglia, UK. Nicholas Loubere is Senior Lecturer at Centre for East and South-East Asian Studies at Lund University, Sweden.

Featured Photograph: M-PESA mobile money and Equity agent in Nairobi, Kenya (13 October, 2016).

Notes

[1] As the experience with the earlier market-driven microfinance model demonstrated by creating over-indebtedness crises in many countries, it is not too difficult to push large numbers of the vulnerable poor into purchasing products and services that are against their own best interests. See Milford Bateman. 2010. Why Doesn’t Microfinance Work? The Destructive Rise of Local Neoliberalism, London: Zed Books. See also Isabelle Guérin, Marc Labie, and Jean-Michel Servet. 2015. The Crises of Microcredit (eds), London: Zed Books.

[2] For a general overview of Asian experiences and the importance of local reinvestment, see Joe Studwell. 2013. How Asia Works: Success and Failure in the World’s Most Dynamic Region, London: Profile Books. For the specific experience of China, see Yuen Yuen Ang. 2016. How China Escaped the Poverty Trap, Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press.

[3] The long-time CEO, Bob Collymore, and several of his senior managers have become multi-millionaires as a result of the Wall Street-style salaries and bonuses they have enjoyed during their term at Safaricom. See Macharia Kamau. 2018. ‘Report: Safaricom Paid CEO Eye-watering Sh16m Monthly,’ Standard Digital, 8 August.

[4] It was revealed some years ago that unnamed members of Kenya’s elite allowed, through the necessary legislation, the formation of M-Pesa on the condition that the majority shareholder in Safaricom -Vodafone – would allow them to privately benefit as well. Using a special investment vehicle, Mobitelea Ventures, this elite group was given a portion of shares in Safaricom that it was able to sell on later for fantastic financial gains. Pointedly, it was possible for these individuals to hide their identities thanks to commercial confidentiality clauses respected by Vodafone, and also retain almost all of their massive financial gains via the use of Caribbean tax havens. See Xan Rice. 2007. ‘Kenyan Inquiry into Vodafone’s Mystery Partner.’ The Guardian, 16 February.

Daring to Dream with Eyes Wide Open: review of Baloji’s Zombies

In this review of Congolese-born Belgian artist Baloji’s short film ‘Zombies’, Thandi Loewenson celebrates a seductive and mesmerising tour de force that stirs up the fighting spirit in a people and a continent that has resisted colonial and capitalist extinction. This powerful, haunting review is written with Baloji’s lyrics, videos and ideas which weave through the text – linked in italics.

By Thandi Loewenson

roape.net highly recommends watching the film first (click below).

‘Zombies’ is a timely film. In the context of ‘Extinction Rebellion’, and the promise of a ‘Green New Deal’, there is growing fear over the correlation of climate breakdown and human extinction. Yet these actions, born out of movements in Europe and the United States of America, fall short of drawing connections between their own political systems and economies, and extractive, violent colonial histories that are complicit in creating the conditions for such crises to have arisen. They fail to acknowledge the long histories of extinction – threatened and enacted – to which black and brown bodies have been subjected, and the fierce resistance which already exists in our communities.

The New Economics Foundation invokes the language of militarisation in their programme towards a halcyon Green New future – ‘a ‘carbon army’ of workers to provide the human resources for a vast environmental reconstruction programme’ –  and Extinction Rebellion’s actions are already characterised by the violent exclusion and erasure of black and brown bodies and knowledge. It begs the question, when they speak of extinction, to which humans are they referring?

As ever, radical black excellence is on hand to elevate the discourse, and the Congolese-born Belgian artist Baloji’s short film ‘Zombies’ acts as a tonic, providing us with a reflection on how people who have struggled against forces of extinction for centuries are not only crafting creative reconstructions of life, and relations between humans and the earth, but also performing and enacting those reconstruction in the present.

This is not without nuance. There are many incarnations of life, and life in the afterlife in ‘Zombies’. Baloji crafts a narrative through which we find zombies as the passive undead – Brothers in sleep mode who wander through a life where everything’s fuzzy, everything’s fuzzy – and yet we also find zombies, revelling in the possibility of life after – sisters who have rejected an order, a sleeping sickness, that would seek to exclude them from the spaces and means of life. They respond instead with subversion through resplendent, reimagined beauty; the recycling of matter deemed undesirable and unwanted into matter of value; transgression of gender binaries and roles; and a new kind of politics which isn’t part of any ‘Africa rising’ narrative, it’s been there all along, mired in what some might mistake for detritus and waste or – worse – dismiss as ‘mere’ fantasy. There is only one death in Baloji’s film. The zombies we find in this telling of Kinshasa, and the emancipatory world order they perform and provoke, are very much alive. Zombies with nickel-coated feet.

The artist describes the film as set in ‘a hallucinated Kinshasa’. It certainly has the qualities of a hallucination. Colours are bright and saturated, characters are familiar and yet exaggerated, and the beat is hypnotic and dizzying. We jump between day and night in a frame, oscillate between perspectives. The camera lilts as we appear to walk through traffic and then suddenly slides around the scene. Kinshasa was built for 500,000 people and now over 15 million live there. It is a city of contrasts and that is its beauty. At the cutting edge of speculative fiction – as shots of a giant robotic traffic conductor confirm – the city simultaneously crumbles. Yet the refusal to be rendered waste, wasted and surplus to requirement, is alive here. In Kinshasa, and in her inhabitants, we find beings that reached an imposed limit and then, refusing to be contained, burst through one skin and continued to grow in a world composed of multiple sites of presence and absence, stitched together, overlaid, and experienced all at once.

This is not the ‘victorious independence’ that Patrice Lumumba welcomed on 30 June 1960: the first day after independence/ the clock stopped, time itself was ridiculed /justice sank underwater, public money was stolen, promises of the day after, promises of the dawn / where the soil disappears , the laws have replaced the amulets and goats have become carnivorous. In this life-after-the-end-of-time, between militias & rebels, pillages and spoils, we could find a space of the abject, a space of trauma and a space of mourning. Instead Baloji conjures forth a reading of life that is both visceral and poetic in its reflection on the violence of the everyday, whilst also pointing to the characters and terrains through which radical material and social transformation is taking place – cause for optimisme vigilant ! / [in] concrete utopias.

To try and capture Kinshasa, and the myriad experiences and ways of making life in such a city, in a 14:50 minute film is an exercise in brilliant madness. To do the complexity of the city and her inhabitants justice, the result can only feel like the re-enactment of a dream. ‘Zombies’ gives us an insight into the beauty and political potential of such a state.

In the opening scenes of ‘Zombies’ we walk through Kinshasa’s streets, at first through dense traffic and then, at dusk, through narrow lanes, faces illuminated by phone screens. Phones are held unnaturally high – in selfie position or as one would extend trying to reach out for that extra G, to connect with another elsewhere. This is both an inward and an outward condition; we are at once hyper aware of the presence of the body – Light on face oooh / Everybody shine oooh / Stuck to their phones / Just for selfies / Boys and girls / Everyone get the spotlight  – and of the absence of bodies, those who aren’t here (or those who were and have had to leave) and with whom we seek contact.

‘Zombies’ is the first track from the album ‘137 Avenue Kaniama’, named after the house of the artist’s previously estranged mother. My mother’s house was originally on Avenue Kaniama in the Katuba neighbourhood of LubumbashiWhen I tried to meet her after 25 years, I couldn’t find her house number. The street just got smaller and smaller, until it couldn’t even be reached by car, so we thought it was a dead-end. But then I got out and started walking, and in the end, I found her. In a world of stopped clocks, what becomes of the physical body? Perhaps, as these scenes suggest, it swells, holding multiple beings within its folds; the present, the present-but-far, the recent-passed, the long-remembered and somehow, those-yet-to-come too.

Does our skin look repulsive / Or has our sight been affected? Or are you stung / In your disturbed sleep? We leave the club, entering the light of day and following ‘the boss’ through Kinshasa’s streets as she un- and then re-dresses, arriving phoenix-like to work at the salon. A client at the mirror is being castigated. With hair like that, you can receive TV! She is defiant, Mom, wigs are old fashioned. It’s Nappy hair now. As she is crowned with a brass headpiece adorned with three malachite phones, she is resplendent and confident. She dances in front of the salon mirror and the camera lingers on her bare shoulders. Her skin rolls and surges, and becomes a beautiful landscape, constantly in flux. The bold yellow text – REPULSIVE – momentarily overlaid on her body is violently absurd, as is the idea that she might ever have been considered such.

Baloji raps on the track (in French), Brothers in sleep mode / How to see further / Than the end of his joint smoke? In response, we jump between shots. Close portraits of gender fluid characters stare unapologetically down the lens, at turns with piercing blue eyes and perfectly manicured eyebrows, shrouded in yellow flowers and veiled with coloured Perspex gels. The artist looks on from large round malachite framed glasses. The thin, beautifully crafted frames serve as another momentary reminder that we too must view this context through the lens of extractive colonialism which has resulted in subjugated, policed bodies and sexuality, amongst the myriad other intimate, everyday objects of such global violence.

Eyes wide open / Deep sleep / Zombies. Sleep has the potential to dull the senses and render us immobile, but deep sleep – REM – is by definition characterised by movement and vivid dreaming. In Zombies, under the shroud of sleep, memories are consolidated and simultaneously, so too comes the imaginary reconstitution of society and surroundings; the presence and possibilities available to black bodies expanded beyond limit, beyond gravity and beyond binary. Spliced between portraits are full body shots in which our zombies dance, lifting us up and taking us beyond. You’re asleep on your feet, on your feet / Zombies / Bodies are freed and we take flight from the concrete that surrounds us, aided by a finely crafted pair of wings, on top of a 4×4 and through exquisite voguing – in six-inch lace up black stilettos, a grass skirt and headpiece – that would have made even American dancer Willi Ninja’s eyes water.

Dreaming is often misinterpreted as a fanciful act – something that happens elsewhere, distanced from waking life. However, Baloji’s zombies sleep with eyes wide open. This is quite dangerous. In this waking deep sleep, characters emerge that are not only readying for a world to come, but have already built it, imaginatively, around themselves, ready to inhabit.  Fighting spirit, spirit / A bite like a Taser. These zombies are unafraid to come for the demons, tsetse fly, who act as the purveyors of the sleeping sickness and the voluntary servitude that a failure to dream of an alternative induces. Numb all over, we fight against it / Cobwebs forming in our armpits.  

This fight is brought into focus at a procession for ‘Papa Bolo’, a big chef politician, who is marched through the streets on a sedan chair held up by four shirtless men in wigs made of PVC pipe. The scene is opulent and farcical.  An array of weaves – ‘good hair’ – have been mounted onto a timber structure and are paraded through the street. Papa Bolo throws cash out into the crowd, stopping to be lowered for selfies. The old order reign. But even here, amongst a crowd who appear to have been mesmerised by the bling and the promise of cash, there is dissent.

Fighting spirit, spirit / Gives the vapors. Three zombies –  one entirely shrouded in condoms, another in a fabric made of brightly coloured bottle tops, and a third, golden, mineral, and electric, as if risen from the dregs of an e-waste dump (played by the artist Kongo Astronaut) – speak to the terrains of the struggle for a new world. As with these three zombies at the procession, disruptions must strike at the heart of the established order and seek to redress entangled injustices; sexual, biological, economic, extractive and ecological.

Baloji’s film inspires us to embrace a state of deep sleep with eyes wide open for this work – the creative reimagination of relations between people, and between people and matter – to occur. This world and its characters must accost us with the shock of the new, and they must also, concurrently, be rooted in the memories – spiritual, political, mineral and biological – of our region.

While there is space for ‘business’ in Extinction Rebellion (albeit now undergoing a phase of re-‘branding’ towards a ‘close relation’), there cannot be space for Papa Bolo here. The sedan chair becomes unstable. Papa Bolo HAS LEFT THE GROUP.

A merman with a golden crown and sceptre caresses his tail as a funerary procession leads us to a dump by a stream. The tone is gentle after the frenzy – musical, visual, and thematic – which has come before. Papa Bolo, his white suit bloodied, is laid to rest amongst the trash of the city. We are left with a scene of powerful beings in garments of great beauty; that which had been previously discarded, exhausted and undervalued rejecting such a characterisation, and not only sustaining life but, phoenix-like, reinventing it anew. The light indicates that the day could be ending or just beginning.

At the end of Zombies I am left convinced that the sun will rise – sooner or later – on a world entirely reimagined, already present in the bodies and imaginations, in the eyes wide open / deep sleep, of Kinshasa’s zombies. Baloji’s film is an utterly seductive and mesmerising tour de force that compels us to stir up the fighting spirit throughout the region. Because deadly is the routine / The heart’s resigned / Not moving / but sweat’s running in your eyes / Shake an arm / See if you’re alive and kicking / Or if you’re a zombie, zombie. It is now for us to dare to dream with eyes wide open, and to seek out, amplify and support those moments of transgression and creation which are already present amongst and within us.

All images are from ‘Zombies’, written, directed and produced by Baloji, with Popaul Amisi & Gaëlle Kibikonda, 2019.

Thandi Loewenson is an architectural designer/researcher who operates through design, fiction and performance to interrogate our perceived and lived realms and to speculate on the possible worlds in our midst. Using storytelling as a design tool and tactic, she engages in projects which provoke questions, whilst working with communities and policy makers towards acting on those provocations. Thandi is currently a PhD candidate at The Bartlett, UCL, where she is developing these ideas through practice-led research, exploring the extractive agendas driving the urban development of Lusaka.

 

The Struggle against Sanbrado Gold Mining in Burkina Faso

The struggle against the Sanbrado gold mining project in Boudry, Burkina Faso

In a long-standing campaign against the activities of a gold mining company in Burkina Faso, the community has mounted consistent resistance to forced removals, repression, arbitrary arrests and the devastation of livelihoods. In this appeal for solidarity we ask our readers to support the community with any form of support.

Boudry is a rural municipality in Burkina Faso, in the province of Ganzourgou, about 100 kilometres east of Ouagadougou, the capital of the country. In 2002, gold was discovered in the area around the village of Pousghin, and villagers started artisanal mining near the village. Informal artisanal mining at the Pousghin site provided a major source of income for people of the surrounding villages.

Closing down the informal artisanal mining site

The unlicensed artisanal mining site was closed in 2014 in favour of the exploration of West African Resources’ Sanbrado project (previously Tanlouka Project). Shortly afterwards, then President Blaise Compaoré was driven out of office. In response, those artisanal miners who had worked on Pousghin before its closure, came back to work on it again. However, they were expelled by special security forces, la Compagnie Républicaine de Sécurité (CRS). According to local people, many artisanal miners who lived and worked on the site lost more or less everything. Local inhabitants claim that the market was intentionally burnt down, bicycles and motorbikes destroyed, etc. The anger of the people from nearby villages is particularly directed against Pierre Tapsoba, the national director of the Sanbrado Project, who had been a high ranking politician under the Blaise Compaoré regime. They demand the immediate closure of the mine as well as the compensation of all those who had losses in 2014.

Involuntary Resettlement

According to local residents, they were told that six villages shall be relocated for the construction of the industrial mine. Though numerous houses have already been marked by a painted white cross that they shall be resettled, no resettlement plan has been presented. If anything, residents have been offered a lump sum and not – as is the usual procedure – a new house. Local informants clearly state that they are not willing to leave the village, as they have been born there and their ancestors have been buried there.

Social mobilisation and protest

On 30 May, 2016, with the support of the Youth organization Organisation Démocratique de la Jeunesse du Burkina Faso (ODJ), the local population organized a first press conference in order to raise public awareness for the harm they have suffered from since the CRS had forcefully evacuated the artisanal mining site of Pousghin.

Recently, according to local activists, the situation has become even worse. Not only that people have been expelled and not compensated,  but that in addition, they continue to suffer from the impact of explosions used in the mine with dust and pieces of stones showering down on their houses.

After having approached the municipal authorities in vain, on 15 April, 2019, the population organized a demonstration to denounce the behaviour of the Sanbrado mine. On 16 April, a delegation went to the mine to explain to the management how the village’s population was suffering from the mining activities. The members of the delegation were arrested and mistreated by the police and CRS forces and then detained in Zorgo, the principal town of the municipality, for three days, according to ODJ. Moreover, the police gathered around 40 motorbikes and demanded people to pay to have their property returned.

Nevertheless, refusing to be discouraged the population continue to struggle to defend their interests. They have passed a resolution with their demands, which until now seems to have been forgotten by local and national authorities. The latter, until now, have not even bothered to deal appropriately with the claims. In contrast, just recently, the Minister of Mines and Energy, in response to a journalist’s enquiry, spoke of ‘political struggles’ to justify local people’s anguish. The Prime Minister of Burkina Faso, Christophe Dabiré, confirmed the continuation of the work on the mining project on 10 May, 2019.

In the face of this oppression, and the communities heroic resistance to the mining company any form of solidarity and support is welcome.

As a contact for solidarity and any form of support:

Organisation Démocratique de la Jeunesse du Burkina Faso (ODJ)
Bureau Executif National
06 BP 9864 Ouagadougou 06

Ouiry SANOU (Secretary General, ODJ) : +226 70278912

Didier KIENDREBEOGO: +226 74176289

Email: odjburkina@gmail.com

Website: https://odj-burkina.org/index.php/fr/

Translated by Bettina Engels (Engels teaches at the Otto Suhr Institute for Political Science, Freie Universität Berlin, Germany and is a regular contributor to ROAPE).

Featured Photograph: Essakane gold mine is located in north-eastern Burkina Faso.

 

Uprisings and Revolutions: Activists and Researchers Speak

In ROAPE’s final Connections workshop in Johannesburg in December last year we discussed the dynamics of resistance and transformation on the continent. In this blogpost we publish interviews with participants which provides an extraordinary account of the workshop and the struggles, politics and research of the activists who attended.

In a series of workshops held between 2017 and 2018 across Africa, ROAPE and partners, brought together activists and researchers to discuss radical political economy. The final workshop in Johannesburg was held on 26 and 27 November and co-hosted by the Centre for Social Change at the University of Johannesburg and the Society, Work and Politics Institute (SWOP) at the University of the Witwatersrand.

More than sixty activists and researchers attended from Zimbabwe, Namibia, Tanzania, Kenya, Nigeria, Chad, Senegal, Egypt, Morocco, Burkina Faso and Ghana. The workshop mapped resistance across Africa, debated youth and politics, explored the role of trade unions and the working class and the dynamics of struggle in rural areas on the continent. There was also a focus on alternatives to capitalism and the future of radical left politics and organisations.

The workshop paid specific attention to the relationship between popular mobilisations, revolutions and politics. A key question for those attending the workshop was how to sustain and develop the society-wide insurgent uprisings in Africa into a project that can change social relations as a whole. In debates on this question participants highlighted community organising and questions of organisational strategy and alliances as well as the engagement with authorities.

There was a series of interviews with participants conducted by Itumeleng Moabi and Cindy Morillas of the Centre of Social Change at the University of Johannesburg. Below is the entire set of interviews, which provide an extraordinary account of the struggles, politics and research of the activists and scholars who attended ROAPE’s final Connections workshop in South Africa last year  (the programme of the workshop can be accessed here).

The interviews are with Michael Akuupa, from the Nambia’s Labour Resource and Research Institute; Fatou Diouf from Senegal’s Confederation des Syndicats Autonomes; Gacheke Gachihi from Kenya’s Mathare Social Justice Centre; Soraya El Kahlaoui from Morocco’s L’Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Science Sociales; Gavin Capps from the UK’s Kingston University; Grasian Mkodzongi from Zimbabwe’s Tropical Africa Land and Natural Resources Research Institute; Tafadzwa Choto from the Zimbabwe Labour Centre; Gyeke Tanoh from Ghana’s Third World Network; Tina Mafanga from the Tanzania Socialist Forum; Sabatho Nyamsenda from the Tanzania Socialist Forum; Natacha Bruno from Mozambique’s Observatório do Meio Rural; Kamadji Demba Karyom from Chad’s Fédération des Syndicats des Services Publics; Napoleon Webster from South Africa’s Forum for Service Delivery; Naome Chakanya from the Labour and Economic Development Research Institute of Zimbabwe; Orriel Joyce Fortein from South Africa’s Abahlali baseMjondolo; Moshibudi Motimele is a researcher at the University of Johannesburg.

The workshop was filmed by a team led by Mocke Jansen van Veuren, and roape.net will be posting these films in the coming weeks and months.

Pan-Africanism: A History

In a review of Hakim Adi’s Pan-Africanism: A History Mpumelelo Tshabalala celebrates a seminal work on the ideology and content of Pan-Africanism, that also describes the nature and extent of its organisational capacity. Tshabalala sees in the book how ‘Black people all over the world were able − despite state-sponsored repression, erasure, opposition and political assassinations – to network and organise around a Pan-African agenda.’

By Mpumelelo Tshabalala

There is so much to praise in this book. Hakim Adi compassionately straddles the line between fan and critic while telling the story of Pan-Africanism. On the one hand, he describes the foundational identity and ideological content of Pan-Africanism in the most generous and relatable tones – a historian able to make the decisions of people in the past understandable to those of later generations. On the other hand, his writing does not forego the benefits of dispassion – he remains truthful about the conflictual, unfulfilled nature of the ideology and its outcomes. As an activist, I benefited from his glaringly honest account about how ideological division between leading Pan-African actors hampered the ability of the movement to achieve its practical and organizational goals.

Adi begins his historical enquiry by identifying, not the earliest traces of ‘Pan-Africanism’, but movements that desired African unity and liberation. What is referred to as first wave Pan-Africanism, Adi locates in the efforts of African diaspora and Western educated Africans, beginning in the 18th century. Pan-Africanism’s second wave came after 1945, when Pan-Africanist ideals were consolidated on the African continent. Pan-Africanism’s third phase of institutionalisation came with the replacement of the Organisation of African Unity, founded in 1963, with the African Union, in 2002, the latter organisation incorporated and claimed to represent the African diaspora (in addition to the continent).

As an African person resident on the continent, the location of early Pan-Africanism in the diaspora was surprising. How are we to understand Pan-Africanism knowing that it is largely a diasporic construction, as opposed to having been built from the lived experiences of African people resident on the continent? Yet reading history as Adi poses it, helps to make sense of the prominence of the diaspora in the creation of Pan-Africanism. Pan-Africanism rests on the view that it is through African unity that liberation can be best advanced. Africa is not homogeneous; prior to colonial intervention Africans would have understood themselves as coming from various ethnic groups. For those outside the Africa, identification is with the continent as a whole. A consequence of the slave trade was to deprive descendents of Africa of their ability to identify as members of distinct communities. Diasporic activism/mobilisation required a homogenous, nationalistic idea of Africa, consequently erasing differences within the continent itself in pursuit of the more strategic goal of uniting descendants of Africa and the people of the continent itself against a common antagonist – white, colonial, imperial oppression.

This is not to imply that there are no early examples of African-located movements advancing liberation. However, Pan-Africanism calls for a continental unity and a continental view of identity. This realisation leads to another question, is Pan-Africanism fundamentally a concept that only exists because of its relationship to whiteness? This question assumes that identity created from a relational place is somehow less valuable than identity created out of ‘positive content.’ The book helps us address these questions. Adi’s telling of history, discusses various movements − like the Harlem Renaissance, Negritude and Black Consciousness – that primarily concern themselves with expounding such positive content and aim to develop in Black people, self-esteem and respect.

Yet Adi’s location of first wave Pan-Africanism in the efforts of (mostly) members of the diaspora rubs against my identity in other ways. If the aim is to identify movements seeking African unity and liberation, why are there so few examples of movements consisting solely of Black Africans living on the continent and completely untouched by Western institutions? The early Pan-African actors that Adi identifies were Black people with proximity to colonial whiteness – in the sense that they either resided outside of Africa or were educated in Western institutions, in colleges and churches. Does this fact turn Pan-Africanism into a fundamentally elitist project?

In addition, Adi does not shy away from revealing the fact that first wave Pan-Africanism is littered with traces of internal oppression. For example, during this time, those who were the prominent spokespersons of Pan-Africanism were Black men, resident outside of Africa making appeals not only on behalf of the African diaspora but also on behalf of the continent. So, Adi discusses early repatriation movements of the 18th and 19th centuries to West Africa, which resulted in the creation of an elite class in Africa consisting of a Western educated Black intelligentsia who identified much more with one another than with ‘uneducated’ Africans.

Ethiopianism and key diasporic figures of the 19th Century, including Bishop Henry Turner, felt that the ‘Negro’ will be nothing ‘while Africa is shrouded in heathen darkness’ and ‘the creation of the diaspora was part of a divine plan for the “redemption of Africa”’. While the Chicago Congress on Africa, in 1893, held the view that Africa needed ‘civilisation’ to be brought from outside. Marcus Garvey, writing in the 1920s, believed that the main function of the repatriation movement was to civilise the ‘backward tribes of Africa’ where the ultimate role of the diaspora was to save Africa from itself, while protecting Africa from colonial oppression. W.E. B. Du Bois was not exempt from diasporic paternalism, when the League of Nations was deciding what was to become of Germany’s confiscated colonies, he was of the view that African states should be administered on a trusteeship basis by colonialists in consultation with ‘intelligent Negroes’ of Africa and the diaspora. Du Bois believed in leadership by a ‘talented tenth’, an intelligentsia that were the natural leaders of the ‘Backward and Suppressed Groups of mankind’.

The early 20th Century conferences identified by Adi – which all took place outside of the continent – laboured under the assumption that Africans required custodial administration either from colonial powers or African intellectuals. During that time, it was assumed that modernisation was equal to Western governance, perpetuating the norm that whiteness is inherently superior and an aspirational ideal. Early Pan-Africanism was clearly tainted by a diasporic savior complex, distrustful of the ability of Africans to self-govern.

Adi’s survey of second wave Pan-Africanism demonstrates how Pan-Africanism was elevated from a movement to an ideal of governance, first, by Kwame Nkrumah and later by other African leaders. The main governance question concerned the extent to which African states should become politically integrated. This period was characterised by two main points of disagreement: which countries should lead the Pan-African struggle and the role that violence should play in that struggle. On one side of the argument was Frantz Fanon, a vocal advocate at the time in favour of armed and violent struggle. While on the other side of the argument, we could argue that proponents of non-violence were concerned with acceptance by and incorporation into whiteness.

Adi shows that throughout the history of Pan-Africanism its relationship with communism remained contentious. Between the two world wars, the international communist movement saw African agency as vital to its own movement and adopted a Pan-African understanding of African liberation. It also served to internationalise the struggles of working people of the entire world – incorporating people of colour from other countries of the Global South. Later on, prominent figures may have distanced themselves from the communist movement however communism served not only to lubricate networks but to save Pan-Africanism from the dangerous elitist trends that poisoned its foundations.

Throughout the book, Adi consciously makes every effort to tell the story of Black women in his account. Mention is made of a couple of African-located women, but the majority are part of the diaspora. As an example, Adi discusses the contribution of the Nadal sisters, Jane and Paulette, whose efforts in the formation and understanding of Black internationalism and Negritude had largely been erased.

Pan-Africanism: A History is not only a seminal work on the ideology and content of Pan-Africanism, but it also describes the nature and extent of its organisational capacity. Black people all over the world were able − despite state-sponsored repression, erasure, opposition and political assassinations – to network and organise around a Pan-African agenda, prior to the advent of modern technology. It is this organisational capacity that must be maintained for Pan-Africanism to thrive in the future. The cautionary tale is how to ensure that ideological differences do not incapacitate this organisational activism. Adi also shows that we do not need absolute consensus to be able to advance African liberation.

Pan-Africanism is ultimately about African unity, which is essential for advancing African liberation (from colonial injustices) and to create African societies based on equality. I live in an African state where 25% of the population cannot afford sufficient food to cover their daily calorie requirement, unemployment is officially at 27.6%, and the society is the most unequal country in the world.. I am not interested in a Pan-Africanism that does not transform the lives of the poor.

It remains crucially important that we do not forget the historical power asymmetry between members of the diaspora and African people resident on the continent. If the diaspora has been historically prominent in the movement, what is the current visibility of the Black British and Black Americans in the age of globalisation? There is proximity to whiteness that living outside of Africa grants, for example accruing social and linguistic privileges. Physical location alone may also grant access to centres of power. Strategically this means that the diaspora is well positioned to advance a Pan-Africanist agenda on the global stage. However great care must be taken when members of the diaspora seek to speak on behalf of, and work with Africa on the continent. This context should be kept in mind and we must remain vigilant, especially in light of contemporary calls for Ghanaians and Ethiopians to ‘come home’.

Even today, neo-colonialism continues to rear its head. Despite the formal recognition of the political independence of African states, Africans remain dominated by the economic, social, military, technological and political reach of whiteness. Despite its faults, Pan-Africanism remains a useful tool with which to challenge vestiges of colonial and imperial power in a system that has always sought the division and destruction of the continent.

Pan-Africanism has elitist origins, it also accepts colonially imposed identities and tends to fuse complex and intersectional identities. Despite this, Adi provides us with powerful examples of how we should guard against top-down, elitist mobilisation and how framing African liberation as the pursuit of justice can re-centre Black agency. Adi’s seminal work provides guidance on how to organise and further Pan-Africanism’s glorious aims.

Pan-Africanism: A History by Hakim Adi (Bloomsbury, 2018) is available here.

Mpumelelo ‘Mpumi’ Tshabalala is currently pursuing her MSc at the School of Oriental and African Studies in African Politics.  She is an attorney by profession and the founder of Mpumelelo Yesizwe Legal Consulting a South African consultancy advising on how areas of law can be used to transform African societies.

Featured Photograph: Kwame Nkrumah’s Mausoleum and Memorial in Accra Ghana (May, 2008).

 

The Roots of the Crisis in Nigeria: interview with Femi Aborisade

In a wide-ranging interview for roape.net Tamás Gerőcs speaks to the Nigerian Marxist Femi Aborisade. From his early days as a labour militant in the 1970s and 1980s, organsing and building socialist and labour organisations, Aborisade discusses the crisis of capitalism in Nigeria today and the struggles against it.

by Tamás Gerőcs

Tamás Gerőcs: Could you briefly describe your entry point into the labour movement and national politics in Nigeria?

I got involved in labour movement activities through my membership of the Marxist Socialist Youth Movement as a student in The Polytechnic, Ibadan in the late 1970s. I later became the Secretary General of the Movement. The Movement’s tradition was to have an orientation towards the working class. Members were always involved in supporting the struggles of organised and unorganised workers. Our publications  used to be produced by a system of stencil and cyclo-styling, were preoccupied with promoting the interests of workers within and outside the institution, nationally and internationally, particularly in campaigning against apartheid South Africa.

During the compulsory National Youth Service (NYSC) Programme for all graduates in Nigeria, in 1982, I was officially posted to work in a bank in Ondo State. But I requested that I should be deployed to work with the Nigeria Labour Congress, Ondo State Council. My request was accepted by the authorities and so I did my NYSC at the Nigeria Labour Congress inAkure, in the South West of Nigeria between 1982/83. At the Congress, apart from gaining experience in the strike activity organized by public sector workers against the government led by Adekunle Ajasin in 1983, I devoted myself mainly to organising trade union education programmes for affiliated unions of the NLC.

Along with another friend of mine who was deployed in one of the states in the eastern part of the country for his NYSC, I started the production of a socialist publication called ‘Progress’, which was being distributed free of charge to rank and file workers in Ondo State and elsewhere. Before my NYSC programme period formally came to an end, the National Headquarters of the Nigeria Labour Congress based in Lagos announced job openings for graduates. I applied for the position and I was employed as Administrative Officer in 1983. But in reality, I functioned more as an Administrative and Education Officer. The leadership of the Congress at the national level became uncomfortable with the emancipatory education programmes I was organising based on the militancy which rank and file workers who had attended my education programmes were displaying to the leaderships in individual affiliate unions. For this reason, the NLC national leadership sacked me in 1986. But I did not break my links with the rank and file workers. Along with friends, we started the publication called ‘Labour Militant, which was being distributed semi-legally under the military dictatorship (the second junta between 1983 and 1998). As the public face of the publication and its editor, I was arrested and detained several times, starting from 1988.

A national organisation was consequently built in 1989 by socialists and non-socialist human rights activists to campaign for my release. The organisation, initially called the ‘Free Femi Aborisade Campaign Committee’ was later changed to ‘Committee for the Defence of Human Rights’ (CDHR) after my release, which was also based on international campaigns, which the London based Militant Tendency, led then by Ted Grant and Peter Taaffe had built.

I later joined forces with one of the most renowned Nigerian human rights lawyer, the late Chief Gani Fawehinmi to form the National Conscience, as a human rights body, concerned mainly with advocating socio-economic rights. The organisation transformed into a political party, the National Conscience Party (NCP) in October 1994, in defiance of military decrees prohibiting the formation of political parties. The NCP was built as an anti-privatisation political party. The party played a leading role in the formation of the Joint Action Committee of Nigeria (JACON), one of the umbrella organisations that campaigned for termination of military rule in Nigeria. I was the National General Secretary of JACON while Chief Gani Fawehinmi was its National Chairman.

In 2003, I stood for the post of Governor of Oyo State on the platform of the NCP but lost the election. The electoral contest was used mainly to advocate and popularise socialist programmes. For example, I stood on the programme of ‘a Governor on a workers wage, following Lenin’s own approach when he earned only the average salary of a public officer as the Head of the Government in the USSR.

Moving into the current period, can I ask you how the on-going crisis of capitalism in Nigeria – popularly described as neoliberalism – affect the labour movement in the country?

Paradoxically, economic hardship and material deprivations have grown to unprecedented levels even in times of relative plenty. We can measure this collapse in living standards by any governance, economic or social well-being indicators. I think there is no question about this. Even the ruling classes with their parties and media must admit this as a fact. Indeed, currently, members of the national legislature, particularly at the House of Representatives have admitted in resolutions that Nigeria is a classic example of a failed state when all indices of governance, particularly the genocide-like political, religious and ethnic killings are considered.

The federal government is incapable of ending the scourge of insurgency and other forms of insecurity. The economic programme of the capitalist APC (All Progressive Congress)-controlled federal government fuels insurgency by increasing the number of the jobless, hopeless, frustrated, hungry and angry youths. Pervasive poverty over several decades of criminal neglect of the welfare of ordinary people produces the unprecedented insecurity being witnessed today all over Nigeria. The economic programme of the APC called ‘Economic Recovery and Growth Plan’ (ERGP) which reflected the needs of  the private sector, rather than the public sector, being the engine of economic growth is fuelling poverty and by implication, insurgency and other forms of insecurity.

Poverty is also being fuelled by the anti-poor policies of state governments. For example, Kaduna State is one of the most dangerous states in Nigeria to live, work or visit in terms of the regularity of bloodshed, kidnappings and killings by bandits and ethno-religious inspired violence. The level of insecurity in Kaduna State today is a function of unprecedented, cruel anti-workers’ policy of the Kaduna State Government in terms of mass lay of about forty thousand workers in different Ministries, including twenty two thousand teachers, eight thousand workers of MDAs (Ministries, Departments and Agencies), over four thousand workers of local government councils, thousands of medical and health workers,  eight hundred workers of Kaduna State Internal Revenue Service, among many others, all sacked, more or less, about the same time, simultaneously, in different Ministries of the Kaduna State Government in 2017.

The uncontrolled insecurity is therefore the ’harvest’ or product of anti-labour policies. It is a phenomenon that can be explained rationally. The solution does not lie in militarisation of society. If the resources being pumped into military-focused solutions were used instead for implementing poverty reduction policies in order to provide humanising and enduring jobs, social housing units, free medical care in a revamped health care system used by the President himself, free education used by the children of the ruling class, food for the hungry, a policy of minimum income for the weakest in society, care of the aged, etc…, insurgency and physical insecurity would be massively undermined and reduced in ways better than any military focused solution could achieve which the successive governments in Nigeria have been pursuing over the years.

The critical question is what is the way out? If labour could provide an alternative program and platform around issues of poverty, inequality, corruption, insecurity, and so on, we could win the heart of ordinary people, build a broader viable social movement, strong enough to win elections on a nationwide basis beyond local communities and state levels, and with the possible benefit of a long run systemic change not only within the confines of Nigeria but one that would actively support the struggles for systemic change on an international scale.

There are good examples of such movements with specific agendas gaining much attention and popular support. Unfortunately, the tendency of the unions’ top leadership appears is not to have confidence in the capacity of the rank and file of the labour movement to struggle and effect fundamental changes in the system. That is why some of the key figures in the leadership of the unions tend to prefer to contest elections on the platforms of the incumbent bourgeois parties. A good number of top union leaders have won elections on the platforms of bourgeois parties based on the prominence they acquired as unionists. Unfortunately, they usually end up betraying the interests of the working class by implementing anti-workers and anti-poor people programmes and policies.

Despite the weaknesses of the labour movement and its leadership, I am convinced and optimistic that there is a huge opportunity for political intervention and electoral victory of the labour movement. Labour is strategically positioned to intervene successfully in politics, even on the national scale. The progressive wing of the ruling classes which is now in power, the party controlling the federal government, has eroded much of its legitimacy. Its woeful performance, measured in the massive collapse in living standards and unprecedented insecurity since 2015, has shown that there is no fundamental difference between the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) and the main bourgeois opposition party, the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP). Both are built on a neo-liberal programme of privatisation of public assets and the perspective of the private sector being the engine of economic growth.

Is the phenomenon of trade unionists contesting on the platform of bourgeois parties an institutional decision or individual decisions?

It is not an institutional question. The decisions are usually taken by the individuals and not the collective decision of the union. In fact, the union is usually not consulted. It is therefore a reflection of individual motivation and ambition. Indeed, the individual unionists who decide to contest on bourgeois platforms hardly have any meaningful influence or control over the workers or the union, once they take such decisions. The weight of the harsh economic realities tends to be overwhelming so that mass struggles are difficult to suppress even with the presence of a former leading trade unionist in government. Though this does not mean there is an absence of efforts to use their influence to weaken workers’ struggles.

What is therefore required to get out of the political quagmire and bring about decisive political intervention is for the rank and file in the trade union movement to build social movement networks with pro-labour forces, pro-labour political parties, pro-labour intellectuals, community activists, rights activists and other mass organisations that are organising around other wider social issues. If social networking were strongly pursued, even informally, the unions would be better able to take strategic collective decisions on political participation. But the activities of such networking would have to be based on giving support to the practical struggles of different segments of the masses in their day-to-day strivings to defend and improve their living and working conditions. When the masses receive support from such a network of fighting organisations, the labour movement would begin to record more effective electoral participation and electoral victories. However, in the long run, the working masses would inevitably draw the conclusion that their interests cannot be guaranteed or sustained on the basis of capitalism and that there is a need to bring about system change. For tactical reasons, however, the masses should exhaust the electoral opportunities offered by the capitalist system before they are compelled to draw the conclusion that it cannot guarantee their interests on a long-term and sustainable basis.

These are interesting ideas Femi, can you explain what this networking looks like in practice?

Social networking is conceptualized as a civic movement to intervene politically or campaign around social issues from the experiences of the workers and other subordinated groups. These networks could form broader social movements and launch political campaigns as it occurred during the anti-fuel price hike mass protests in January 2012. Political platforms could co-exist simultaneously with the trade unions. While unions are used primarily to advance economic interests of the workers, the political platforms ans networks would be used to mobilise wider sections of the oppressed classes to give political support to the industrial struggles of the trade unions. Similarly, when wider social issues arise such as an increase in the prices of fuel, which affects workers and the poor generally, trade unions could declare strikes to support agitations by the political platforms and networks. This is the concept for the Labour and Civil Society Coalition (LASCO) which is an umbrella organization for Nigerian Labour Congress (NLC), the Trade Union Congress (TUC) and the Joint Action Front (JAF). I would call it a platform for pro-democracy and pro-labour groups where civil society activists and workers can meet, discuss and take practical actions together on the most burning current issues concerning the plight of the masses.

The key weakness of LASCO is that it is more of a coalition between top leaderships of the central labour centres and pro-labour activists; it does not include rank and file workers. The effect is that in any mass action, as it occurred in January 2012 general strike in Nigeria, pro-labour activists have little input in deciding when to call off a strike action. If rank and file workers were involved, it would have been required that resolutions are taken at various levels of the unions and communities, outside the unions, to terminate or continue a mass action. In that way, the national leaderships of the trade union centres alone would not have the power to call or call off mass strike actions without the inputs of rank and file union branches and several other individual communities in action.

Can I now ask you about unity in the labour movement, or what have been some of the historical (and recent) dividing lines?

The division within the trade union movement is usually created artificially at the top level of the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) leadership. The NLC has been the umbrella organization for all the Nigerian trade unions since the 1950s and confronted the military regime strongly (many members were jailed during the dictatorship). The central labour organisation, NLC, has gone through various divisions since then. The current division and the emergence of the United Labour Congress is traceable to the stalemated March 2015 Congress based on the leadership induced election crisis rather than ideological differences. This gave rise to several affiliates forming a new centre called the United Labour Congress (ULC) in December 2016. The ULC is currently led by Joe Ajaero while the NLC is led by Ayuba Wabba.

There have been many attempts to re-unite the labour movement because history has shown that the unity of the labour movement is the key to confront the ruling classes, check the excesses of their governments and curtail attacks on workers’ rights. Although the movement has not been reunited, the two centres tend to form joint action committees (JACs) for collective fight backs on critical social issues whenever necessary. Apart from the NLC, which is the central labour organisation, predominantly for ‘junior’ staff unions, there is the Trade Union Congress for ‘senior’ staff associations. Both the NLC and the TUC have a robust history of joint activities, rallies and protests over wider socio-economic issues affecting the poor generally in the country.

You mentioned the privatization scheme. How do you see the question of property relations in Nigeria?

Besides the question of inequality and poverty, or the low quality of public services there is a need for raising the issue of property relations. However, campaigning on changing property relations seems only possible in the public sector and in respect to public enterprises. This is because the two big ruling parties, the APC and PDP, both have a programme to privatize the state owned Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC), among other public enterprises despite the opposition by some trade unions. In fact, in the last election, the presidential candidate of the PDP openly declared that ‘even if they will kill me, I would sell off NNPC.’ But sale of public assets is actually the policy of the incumbent APC-controlled federal government, as enunciated in its economic programme .

The labour unions, to a large extent, oppose privatization plans and instead favour public ownership. In some past privatisation, particularly in the electricity sector, unions were allocated a percentage of the shares. However, in the context of privatisation and mass layoffs of workers, the allocated shares became meaningless. In one particular instance, a former General Secretary who resigned from the Nigeria Union of Pensioners (Electric Sector) went ahead to form an Incorporated Trustee and channelled the money there although it was originally meant to be allocated for the union collective, . Workers did not benefit a penny from this privatization in the end.

From this experience, it is clear that unions should not support any form of privatisation. The minimum policy the trade union movement should advocate is public ownership based on democratic management and control of the working people, including elected community representatives in the case of the oil industry. Workers should not advocate a policy of co-ownership with private capital.

I like your description of Nigerian elections as a renewed inter-capitalist struggle. Could you elaborate on that comrade?

What we have encountered in the most recent elections was a heated struggle for the control of resources amongst various capitalist parties. International capital with its comprador allies seeks to maintain control over Nigeria’s economic resources, especially in the oil and gas industry. The incumbent APC-controlled government sought to use allocation of licences over oil blocs to maintain its hold on power in its negotiations with international capital and the local comprador bourgeoisie. Such negotiations are therefore not in the interest of workers and the poor but in the interest of national oligarchic capitalist groups and international capital. The President Muhammadu Buhari-APC regime thus threatens not to renew the oil bloc licenses once they expire so they can be allocated to capitalists (local and international) who gave political support to the APC/Muhammadu Buhari’s presidential re-election. His contender, Abubakar Atiku from PDP was supported by local and international capitalist groups with a view to having access to those licenses.

It is interesting to note, however, that Buhari enjoyed the support of international capital in the previous election in 2015 but due to failures of governance coupled with unprecedented insecurity, he lost this support, and international capital appeared to favour another candidate. This was the environment in which Abubakar Atiku could capitalize on the legitimacy deficit, and the subsequent political vacuum. He didn’t succeed, because in these dire economic conditions, the struggle between the capitalist fractions intensified and could not get easily settled. The thing to remember is that the national bourgeoisie is relatively weak in Nigeria, in fact it has no productive basis upon which it could ‘independently’ grow. The social reproduction of this bunch of oligarchs heavily rely on state patronage. Most of them own no factories or no industries, but they are either subsidized by the state or the state outsources functions of the government with allocated funds into the hands of these oligarchs. This is how they can make their fortunes. This could be termed a form of outsourcing public services into ‘private’ hands. These oligarchic groups are also strongly connected and interlinked. We see this network around Buhari now, and this is one reason why he won the election despite the widespread disillusionment and the inter-capitalist struggles. One good example for such a politico-oligarchic national capitalist is Aliko Dangote, the richest man in the continent who specialized and profited in these outsourced and allocated functions. He is a state-fed, state created multi-billionaire oligarch, the biggest amongst the national oligarchic capitalist class in Nigeria.

We must understand that what has been allocated to him and his company group are public companies or economic opportunities the government should have maintain control over through massive investments. But instead they have been outsourced to individuals, which is the typical rent-seeking behaviour of those state-fed oligarchic capitalists. Dangote could however create a productive base with the cement industry which was sold to him. The other important example is that Dangote is willing to build a new coastal refinery which is much needed in West Africa. The state should have been responsible for that, but due to its failure, or maybe even intentionally, this has become another opportunity for the oligarchy. There is a dialectical relationship as well, Dangote must still rely on the state and his business is dependent on the domestic infrastructure, but his business also weakens the state on the other hand. There is a strange interdependence which is characteristic in this global dependency with the dominance of the comprador capitalists, but it is a close enough circle as well for these oligarchic groups to remain both in power and in business. The oligarchy actually controls Buhari but they also depend on his government. These sorts of complexities need to be understood by those seeking to analyse the state and capital in Africa.

For example, one telling moment was when Buhari’s wife, Aisha Buhari expressed this openly in public when she spoke to the media of how a few ‘cabals’ control her husband and his government, which must have been a very shameful but honest moment for Buhari. I would say the build-up of this system is the hotbed for the rent-seeking behaviour prone so much to corruption. What needs to be added is that this system is very fragile, the political oligarchy is tactically behind Buhari at the moment, but they can switch loyalty anytime, if they feel threatened – and this is exactly what they do.

Another lesson for us is that it is not enough to fight corrupt figures, but we must go down to the systemic roots of this problem, otherwise it will be always be reproduced at the expense of the majority of the people. And we will have to do this job sooner or later, because for labour there is just no benefit in the inter-capitalist struggle. The compradors and the national oligarchs are all the same, they pay the same wage and exploit the workers with the same tactics. We must look at their intra-class struggle as a moment of opportunity to intervene on behalf of the people. And not only in the name of the labour movement, but as I have highlighted already to you with the example of the umbrella organizations, we need other political activists, civilians and ordinary people to organise, provide an alternative to change this corrupt system.

What does the future hold for Nigeria, what is the way out of the recent crisis?

Many new parties and movements have been recently formed by young people as a response to the intensification of the social crisis. This is also the result of the political crisis and the political vacuum. The two large parties are clearly not helping the people but enriching themselves and their oligarchic circles. The problem is that both of the two large parties seem so desperate to stay in power that they do not hesitate to deploy violence. This explains the rising tension, especially during times of election. The level of killings and bloodshed and the escalation of violence before the February elections were unprecedented and clearly show the de-democratisation process or how democratic institutions have been hollowed out. Ruling classes have also mobilized enormous electoral money to induce the electorate, to make sure they either displace the incumbents or maintain their hold on power. Ordinary people, in large numbers, were simply excluded from the election. So, the smaller or newer parties had not much chance to challenge this system with little or no means at their disposal. By these explicitly undemocratic methods, the big parties of the establishment managed to stay in power but by doing so they have also deepened the contradictions of the legitimacy crisis.

In terms of what the future can bring let me recall what Antonio Gramsci referred to as the ‘pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will.’ As for the former, within this systemic trap into which Nigeria has been pushed into, no solution seems to arise to tackle this multifaceted crisis, including the social, political crises imminent in this system. It has already produced enormous suffering and social tension in the form of ethnic or religious violence at different levels of the state, and we can anticipate that as the contradiction grows further, the tension will escalate accordingly. To illustrate the extent of the scale of the crisis of political representation, we need to refer to the undemocratic constitutional amendments which members of the two main parties in the national assembly made. For example, they have secretly amended the constitution to the effect that small or new parties that are unable to win seats or certain minimum percentage of votes in elections would be deregistered. This amendment is to preserve the political interest of the incumbent parties of the establishment. The secret constitutional amendments actually show how the old establishment parties feel threatened by the emergence of new political platforms and they are ready to use any means to protect the status quo. This is partly why the repression, authoritarian rule, political corruption and the subsequent organized and spontaneous ethnic violence have been on the rise. I expect the crisis of representation to escalate in the coming years.

Finally, can I ask you what is beyond the confines of politics in Nigeria, where do you see geopolitical constraints?

Nigeria is highly dependent on the export of oil and the price movements have very strong and direct effect on the economy as well as on the state budget. There is always this fear of a new price collapse which could push the economy into severe recession as it had happened several times in the past few decades. My concern though is that whether prices go up or down, the majority of the people still suffer from the same or even worse conditions. The crisis in reality has nothing to do with the price movements, and people tend to misunderstand it when they link Nigeria’s structural crisis to the question of oil. This is just the surface of the problem, but the origin of the crisis is deeply rooted in the global system of dependency.

Obviously, dependence on oil export is a very negative economic legacy whether prices are up or down. One thing that people encounter in this respect is that the oligarchic ruling classes use oil revenues, and even more the ‘ideology’ of the oil economy to justify their misconduct and repressive governance. The Nigerian state uses oil revenues to please the excessive greed of the ruling classes. This is the channel through which they are most closely linked to international capital. So, the way they integrate themselves into the global economy and the way it is linked and translated into the local political dynamics is all organized around the oil industry and embedded in the question of NNPC privatization. In terms of the ideological package, the state and the associated ruling classes only use the ‘oil crisis’ as an excuse to pass the cost and pressure of this very bad legacy onto ordinary working people.

International capital and the national oligarchic ruling class are in an absolute agreement on how to push the burden of the crisis on the working class. This is not just the oil industry, but international financial capital is actively involved. Christine Lagarde, the managing director of the IMF came to Nigeria early this year to argue for cutting fuel subsidies in a country of large oil reserves where people face difficulties to make their living when prices are high. Nigeria has been in the shadow of international finance capital which is one of the most absurd things. Nigeria is not a poor country. Ordinary people are poor because of the theft and waste of wealth by greedy oligarchs. A massive debt is accumulated from time to time to satisfy the greed of the ruinous ruling class and this gives financial capital leverage over Nigerian politics. For example, in the crisis, they wanted to cut subsidies and divest from social infrastructure, but they asked the government to bail out the so-called failed banks. International capital is also behind the privatization scheme especially in the oil industry.

Despite their disagreement and sometimes struggle with domestic oligarchs, international capital and the national capitalist class are in alliance to exploit this country and their people for their own benefit, even though they sometimes fight over the share and distribution of this prey. This is exactly where the roots of the systemic crisis come from. They use what I would call the ‘imaginary economic crisis’ to encourage the government into a debt-spiral which allows them to impose ever stricter conditionality of external financing. Unless we do something about it, the contradictions will worsen, and the violent nature of the crisis both the political and the economic, can go nowhere but escalate further. I believe that there is just no way for Nigeria to improve while remaining a slave to global capitalism. It can only systematically end up trapped in the systemic crisis which we have been experiencing since independence. This is not only our history but also the result of the working of global capitalism.

I have already mentioned the Gramscian framework. This was the pessimistic view stemming from our analysis. But on the other hand, I also have the ‘optimism of the will’ as well. We want to use the moment of the crisis to organize labour and if we do this organizational work correctly, there is a chance that we can change the course of events and intervene in politics for the benefit of the ordinary working people. Yet it is critical to build up the labour movement’s own capacities because the crisis will deepen further and we don’t have much time to resist effectively.

Tamás Gerőcs is a political economist, currently employed as a Research Fellow at the Institute of World Economics, Hungarian Academy of Sciences. This interview was conducted at the University of Ibadan, Ibadan on 12 April, 2019.

Uganda and the Dynamics of Neoliberal Transformation

Reviewing a major new book on Uganda’s neoliberal transformation, Daniel Lumonya writes that the volume is ‘a deep and comprehensive engagement with the dynamics of development in contemporary Uganda.’ Speaking at the launch of the book in Kampala in April, Lumonya was joined by one of the editors of the book and an audience of scholars and activists from Uganda. The launch was filmed for roape.net and the footage is available in the blogpost.

By Daniel Lumonya

I add my voice of congratulations to the authors of the respective chapters and to the editors for putting together a timely and provocative book. For far too long the conversation related to Uganda’s development, policy, impact and trajectories has been dominated by the World Bank/IMF, government bureaucrats, regime sympathizers, etc.  No critical, alternative voices have been heard, at least not as much as they should have been. The editors have so rightly pointed this out. The logic of the free market has been taken for granted. We have consistently been told that private sector led growth was inevitable and the only wise driver of progress. That markets allocated resources most efficiently; that the state was essentially a predator, it bred corruption, inefficiency and so on. Makerere University itself, to take an example, fell in line very early on. Marxist scholarship, from which Makerere University could have offered critical perspectives, was largely eliminated from the social sciences. Within Makerere University teaching the ‘market’ became the primary guide to course development, instruction, etc.

Giuliano Martiniello (Faculty of Agriculture and Food Science, American University of Beirut) and Barnabas Nawangwe (Vice-Chancellor, Makerere University), Sarah Ssali (Dean, School of Women and Gender Studies, Makerere University), John Jean Barya (Makerere University, School of Law), Josephine Ahikire (Acting Principal, College of Humanities and Social Sciences, Makerere University)

Not since Holger Bernt Hansen and Michael Twaddle’s Changing Uganda: The Dilemmas of Structural Adjustment and Revolutionary Change, have we had such a critical and comprehensive engagement with the dynamics and state of development in Uganda. And yet Hansen and Twaddle’s book, published in 1991, engaged a completely different historical context. We have lacked a deep and comprehensive engagement with the dynamics of development in contemporary Uganda, a huge gap that this books now fills. This book therefore intervenes in this debate in a late but nevertheless timely manner. The authors are drawn from a wide array of disciplines and review an equally wide range of case studies: health, forestry, water, race and culture. The book also brings together a quite impressive mix of Ugandan and foreign scholars. The authors have engaged these issues for a sufficiently long time, and one would hope that this serves as the first step of what will become a longer term project examining and debating these issues.

Three epistemological strategies in the book render it a powerful intervention. First the book treats the state and the market as co-constituted, rather than as separate spheres as we see so often portrayed in social science literature. Second, the book reinserts the agency, especially of Uganda’s political elite, into the analysis. Structural adjustment wasn’t simply imposed from above by the World Bank/IMF and received passively by government bureaucrats. Rather local actors, the political elite, were in fact willing and active participants in the making of structural adjustment. The book, especially the chapter by Ron Atkinson, makes this point so well. Consequently, and third, the book provides a thorough and comprehensive treatment of the interplay in Uganda of the internal and external forces or, as the editor’s note, ‘how the country’s position within the global capitalist economic structures of power and the international division of labor impact the country’s development and inhibit or facilitate its abilities to increase the material wellbeing of broad sections of the population.’

Barnabas Nawangwe (Vice-Chancellor, Makerere University)

A book of this breadth and weight is inevitably going to raise some questions of validity and reliability in its arguments. While some of the chapters illustrate and support their arguments with the necessary empirical evidence, others could have done this in more systematic and robust ways. As a scholar drawing upon a critical perspective, I am unwedded to empiricism, given its obvious biases. And yet I do recognize that a debate such as this must be informed by empirical facts, if we should sufficiently engage with the architects of economic liberalization, largely mainstream economists. We have to engage with them on their territory if we are to confront these issues of such critical importance. The question of evidence is important because the book is attempting to associate the social crisis currently unfolding in Uganda, to economic liberalization and structural adjustment programs (SAPs). It is trying to establish a cause-effect relationship. It is perhaps unhelpful to single out cases of insufficient evidence but I point this out to invite readers of the book to review it with this expectation.

Economists will argue that the social crises upon which we base our claims existed prior to the onset of SAPs. Surely, we did have corruption in the 1960s through the 1970s. You also have countries that have liberalized that have a type of corruption much different to the one we see in Uganda, just as we see countries that did not liberalize as much, having just as much or different types of corruption. In addition, Uganda’s social indicators were not necessarily any better than they are now. What confounding variables do we need to eliminate in order to render the argument robust? How do we explain—and we need to ask these tough questions—that a single minister, now having more than he or his children or his grandchildren will ever need, deprives a whole community of infrastructure only because they want to enrich themselves? What tools and what frameworks do we need to engage with the manifestation of what seems like a deeper political crisis?

Further, one could argue that prior to the onset of SAPs, Uganda’s economy was after all moving down a path of failure. Were the import substitution strategies of the 1960s going to lead to an outcome any different to what SAPs have produced? Were those industries, largely built with and maintained by Western technology, going to work into the future and lead Ugandan communities to the Promised Land? In other words, are we looking far and deep enough? Isn’t a focus on economic liberalization distracting our attention from larger systemic issues?

Ruth Nalumaga (Deputy University Librarian, Makerere University)

A different but related issue touches on the experience of Economic Liberalization and SAPs on the ground. I note a tendency with leftist scholarship to be completely dismissive of economic liberalization/structural adjustment programs. Might we be throwing out the baby with the bathwater! I am not sure that a wholly critical perspective on SAPs captures fully the experiences of people on the ground. Take for example, the extent to which the institution of the local chief, what Mahmood Mamdani has called decentralized despotism, was democratized, the astronomical rise of civil society, the women’s movement, the human rights organizations, etc. These, seen from any perspective, were extremely welcome and progressive restructuring, emerging out of SAPs. Surely the popularity of Yoweri Museveni’s regime in the early to mid-1990s, one could argue, was a consequence of the extent to which these policies were seen as progressive relative to the previous situation.

Daniel Lumonya (Cornell University), Vincent Sembatya (Director, Quality Assurance Directorate, Makerere University), Sarah Ssali (Dean, School of Women and Gender Studies, Makerere University), Barnabas Nawangwe (Vice-Chancellor, Makerere University), Giuliano Martiniello (Faculty of Agriculture and Food Science, American University of Beirut), John Jean Barya (Makerere University, School of Law), Godfrey Asiimwe (Head, Department of Development Studies, Makerere University), Josephine Ahikire (Acting Principal, College of Humanities and Social Sciences, Makerere University).

Hence, we are faced with a key question, which I have not seen answered sufficiently in any social science literature on structural adjustment programs: Was the surge in civil society a direct or indirect consequence of liberalization? Were these outcomes intended or unintended consequences of economic and political liberalization? In other words, are the progressive politics we see in the mid-1990s a consequence of or despite SAPs?

It is important to reiterate that this collection is an extremely timely intervention in the debate about the history, trajectory, explanations of the state in which Uganda is at the moment. The book provides sufficient fodder for scholars, policy makers and politicians from either side of the aisle to engage in a lively and healthy debate. Teachers of development economics should find this book indispensable to their courses, as should the wider Ugandan readership, or whoever is interested in a synthesis of Uganda’s contemporary social dynamics.

The full introduction to the book can be accessed for free here

Daniel Lumonya is Academic Dean for SIT Study Abroad, a US based study abroad institution. Daniel lectured for several years in the department of Social Work and Social Administration at Makerere University and consulted for several NGOs in Uganda. Daniel has recently completed his PhD at Cornell University.

Book launch event was funded by Makerere University, School of Women and Gender Studies and ZED books. Book production was part funded by ROAPE.

For 50 years, ROAPE has brought our readers pathbreaking analysis on radical African political economy in our quarterly review, and for more than ten years on our website. Subscriptions and donations are essential to keeping our review and website alive.
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For 50 years, ROAPE has brought our readers pathbreaking analysis on radical African political economy in our quarterly review, and for more than ten years on our website. Subscriptions and donations are essential to keeping our review and website alive.
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