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South Africa’s Rebellion of the Poor

By Carin Runciman

On 30 June to 1 July the Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC) and the University of Johannesburg held a two day seminar in Pretoria examining community protests in South Africa and comparatively between Egypt, Turkey and the Ukraine. The seminar was attended by scholars, students, officials from local municipalities as well as high-ranking South African Police Service (SAPS) officers and the Deputy Minister for Cooperative Governance and Traditional Affairs, Andries Nel. Information and presentations of the two day proceedings can be found on the HSRC website. This blog post shares some of the key findings from the ‘Rebellion of the Poor’ project based at the South African Research Chair in Social Change, University of Johannesburg led by Peter Alexander, Trevor Ngwane and myself. It then goes on to situate this analysis within the current political context to understand the connections between protest in South Africa and elsewhere in the world. Finally, this post considers the prospects for a new progressive social movement to emerge.

Analysing the rebellion

In 2010 Peter Alexander published the article ‘South Africa’s Rebellion of the Poor – a preliminary analysis’ (log-in or register here to read the article). This article was a first attempt at trying to understand and grapple with the wave of community protests that had been growing since 2004. At the time, Alexander described the protests as ‘widespread and intense, reaching insurrectionary proportions in some cases’ and directed towards ‘uncaring, self-serving, and corrupt leaders of municipalities’ about issues of service delivery. This article has now been viewed over 3,700 times and cited in 269 academic papers, setting the tone for debate and analysis of the ‘rebellion’.

Since the publication of this article, a research team based at the South African Research Chair in Social Change, University of Johannesburg, have been working to develop the analysis of community protests in South Africa further. This has involved both quantitative and qualitative research methodologies, compiling the largest community protest event database in the country, containing over 2,500 media-reported protests from 2004 onwards, and undertaking over 300 interviews with protesters and non-protesters across the country.

In addition to this, through the use of the Promotion of Access to Information Act (PAIA) the research team, with assistance from the South African History Archive (SAHA),  gained access to 156,230 records of crowd management incidents recorded in the Incident Registration and Information System (IRIS) maintained by the Public Order Police.

This was a significant breakthrough in our research as IRIS data has been commonly used by academics, politicians and the media alike as a proxy for the numbers of protests. Through close analysis of the data we were able to provide clarity on what IRIS data is, and is not, as well as using this data to estimate numbers of protests.

 Our first research report, demonstrated that crowd management incidents are not protests, although protests may be incidents, and that the categories of ‘peaceful’ and ‘unrest’ used to classify incidents did not refer to incidents of violence but the presence or absence of police intervention. Where the category unrest (on average only 10% of incidents a year) means police intervened in some way in an incident, whether that be making an arrest, pushing back or the use of tear gas, for example. Furthermore, we were able to demonstrate how IRIS data has been publicly misrepresented by a number of government officials, including the Minister of Police, and by a Lt. General in SAPS as part of a motivation for a R3.3 billion additional expenditure on Public Order Policing. Co-author of the first report, Boituemlo Maruping, summarises our arguments in this article.

Having clarified the purpose of IRIS and the nature of the incidents recorded therein it was then possible to work with the data to provide an estimate of the numbers of protests recorded by the police between 1997- 2013, the years for which we were able to access data for.   

The second research report, findings from which were presented at the seminar, provided a perspective on protests spanning nearly the whole of the democratic period. It found,

  • Nearly half (46%) of all police-recorded protests (PRPs) were labour protests.
  • Nearly a quarter (22%) were community protests.
  • That community protests had been declining between 1997 and 2004 and then increasing from 2005 onwards, with a peak in 2012.
  • That the vast majority (80%) of protests are orderly in nature, but there has been an increasing trend towards disruptive and violent protest action since 2008.

This kind of empirical work is essential if we are to build a comprehensive picture of protest activity that goes beyond the impressionistic media accounts that often dominant the public (and often the scholarly) imagination. However, such figures tell us little about the politics of such protests.

The Politics of Community Protest in South Africa

Grappling with the politics of this protest wave is complex given its fragmented and often transitory nature. In South Africa community protest is generally located within the ‘militant particularisms’ of a specific geographical community, most frequently disconnected to other nearby struggles and despite the similarities in demands have not cohered around a central target or demand as happened in Tahir Square, Gezi Park or the Maidan protests. This has led scholars such as Shauna Mottair and Patrick Bond to characterise such protests as ‘popcorn’ protests, reflecting the way in which they rapidly spring up but often equally as rapidly subside. Drawing out the analogy further, Bond has also argued that the popcorn nature also illustrates the ease by which protests can press for progressive demands but just as easily be blown towards reactionary tendencies, such as xenophobia.

But the use of this term is, I argue, deeply problematic. It dismisses the political content of these protests, with all their fragmentations, simply because they have not, as yet, coalesced into a movement. While, at the same time, it fails to critically unpack and engage with the political and structural issues that shape the protest wave and arguably inhibit the emergence of a new movement. It also neglects an appreciation of the disruptive power and the political impact this protest wave has had, as I will explain in more depth later.

Another analysis that is commonly made is to locate the community politics of protest as a reflection of local entanglements with the governing African National Congress (ANC), sometimes referred to as ‘patronage politics from below’. In this reading, by Karl Von Holdt and others, protests have a dual nature, combining internal power struggles with the ANC with popular struggles for service delivery and municipal accountability. Within our own research, we too have often found how these dynamics where strategically in the interests of an ousted councillor, for example, may come together with that of the community. However, in both our quantitative and qualitative data we find this to be a minority tendency.

Another approach seeks to situate the struggles in South Africa as part of a global countermovement. Michael Burawoy (2015) argues that in the current period of neoliberal capitalism, forces of marketization are generating contemporary forms of resistance and in so doing produce common political repertoires, which although national in their specificities are globally connected. One of the global repertoires that Burawoy argues unites disparate struggles across the world is the generalised critique that ‘electoral democracy has been hijacked by capitalism’. Indeed, it is perhaps this critique, reflected in many of our interviews, that ‘democracy is only for the rich’, that unites all the thousands of fragmented protests happening across South Africa.

Drawing connections between South Africa and Egypt, Sameh Naquib, highlighted that the 2011 Egyptian revolution did not come from nowhere but was proceeded by at least a decade long protest movement located in a number of different sections of society: from anti-war protests, pro-democracy protests and strikes by workers. Naguib, however, posed the question, how do protests move from quantity to quality? In other words where might a new movement emerge?

A new movement?

The 2016 Local Government Elections are due to be held on 3 August and the results will be interpreted as a test of the ANC’s strength and durability. These elections come against a backdrop of escalating protests, such as those seen in Vuwani and Tshwane. Polls by Ipsos-Mori have highlighted the likelihood that the ANC may lose three key metropolitan municipalities, Johannesburg, Tshwane and Nelson Mandela Bay. While the ANC may continue its trajectory of fragmenting hegemony it is not clear, as yet, what forces may arise in its place.

An increase in the support for the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) is one possible avenue. The party has sought to capture popular frustrations and has actively supported community protests. While critics have highlighted the elitist, authoritarian and possibly even fascist tendencies of the party, it has been the first split to the left of the ANC. However, current polling figures do not put the EFF higher than 10% of the vote in the key municipalities of Johannesburg, Tshwane and Nelson Mandela Bay.

Another possibility, much debated in left circles, is the role of the National Union of Metalworkers South Africa (NUMSA) and the United Front. The resolutions at the December 2013 Special National Congress to withdraw support for the ANC and to establish a United Front opened new potential avenue for a movement to be built and many social movement organisations, like the Democratic Left Front (DLF), have rallied behind it. But the birth of the United Front has been fitful. The official launch has frequently been delayed. It has not, as yet, made substantial connections to community struggles and its most substantial campaign has been around a centrist anti-corruption platform. Trevor Ngwane, in an interview published on this site, drew attention to the bureaucratic, top-down politics NUMSA brings to the United Front which is at odds with the community-based organisations it seeks to link up with. Whether the United Front can overcome these challenges remains to be seen.

The student movement that emerged in 2015 (see Heike Becker’s blog), that also made important connections to the struggles of outsourced workers, may provide another channel through which struggles can even unite but the road ahead looks difficult. There has been, as yet, little connection between student and community struggles, despite the fact that many students may come from these very same communities. But the scale of the class and political divide between these struggles was apparent at the International Labour Information Research Group 2016 April conference held in Athlone, Cape Town. The conference brought together community and student activists to discuss their struggles. Political tensions emerged between the Black Consciousness ideology used by student activists and the politics of non-racialism, which most community activists held. The debates were passionate but each left in almost incomprehension at the others politics. For the unemployed activists present this seemed to underscore the divide between themselves and their potential ‘future bosses’, in the words of one activist.

At present, there seems to be no clear or single trajectory through which a new movement may emerge. Nonetheless, community protests are generally increasing and becoming diffuse across the country, from urban to rural areas, with a higher proportion of them tending towards disruptive or violent acts. The major question would appear to be, to what extent can these protests break from the politics of the ANC and form a progressive movement for social change? A question that can only ultimately be answered through the process of struggle itself.

Dr Carin Runciman is a Senior Researcher at the South African Research Chair in Social Change. Carin’s research specialises in the politics of protest and social movements in post-apartheid South Africa. 

 

 

 

Popular Protest & Social Movements – Part 4

In the latest installment of the Popular Protest and Social Movements project for ROAPE David Seddon profiles Equatorial Guinea, the Saharan Arab Democratic Republic and Cameroon, to look at those already long in power who have sought to extend their term of office, either successfully or not, either through the ballot box or by other means. Seddon examines the political response to these moves, and attempts to draw some general conclusions.

By David Seddon

Our introductory piece in this series (1) ended with a comparison of three countries – the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Burundi and Burkina Faso – in which the president had recently tried to extend his period of office and there had been significant popular protest against this move from democracy towards dictatorship.

In our second piece (2), we examined recent events in those three countries in particular and then began to consider the wider implications of the erosion of democracy where elected presidents have extended – or attempted to extend – their term of office beyond the limits defined by the Constitution, as is the case in all too many African countries, drawing attention to the large number of African heads of state who have remained in power for far longer than anticipated, often by authoritarian and repressive measures

In the third (3) piece in the series, we returned again to the three countries initially considered, to examine the very different trajectories followed by them over the last six months, and extended the comparison to include two others – Congo (Brazzaville) and Rwanda – also in Central Africa.

In this piece (no. 4), we extend the comparison still further to three more of those Africa countries or territories in which the head of state has exceeded two decades, and consider the political dynamics that have allowed this to occur. I am particularly interested to examine the popular response to what might be seen as a gradual slide towards de facto and often (where supine or acquiescent legislatures have agreed to change national constitutions) de jure one party states and dictatorships in these countries, even if many of them retain a notional multi-party regime.

Introduction

As we remarked at the end of the second piece in this series (no. 2): ‘these three cases (DRC, Burundi and Burkina Faso) reveal three very different processes in the way in which attempts by African presidents have sought in recent years to extend their period in office and thus their power, and in the way popular protest at this has emerged and evolved, and three very different outcomes. It would be premature … to try to draw too many conclusions from these three cases, although two things are clear: first, that there has been in recent years a general tendency for presidents and prime ministers in African countries, whether elected or not in the first place, to attempt to over-ride or change their country’s constitution if necessary, to enable them to extend their period in office and so in power; and second, that there will be popular protest, in a variety of forms, by various sections of the population in opposition to these efforts to move from democracy to effective dictatorship.’

We drew attention (at the end of no. 2) to the large number of African countries whose rulers have been in office for more than ten years, many of them with questionable legitimacy. We did not include in this list a number of other African rulers of shorter duration but who have attempted to extend their period of office beyond what is permitted by the constitution of the country concerned. These include President Nkurunziza of Burundi, who has recently attempted to extend his period of office beyond the two terms allowed by the constitution of Burundi, with the consequences we have described in previous pieces in this series; and President Blaise Compaoré of Burkina Faso, who also tried to extend his period in office, again with the consequences described above and in previous pieces in this series.

Other rulers of Central African countries who have attempted recently to extend their periods of office, include President Denis Sassou Nguesso of the Republic of Congo (Brazzaville), who received the go-ahead, from a political forum on the future of the country’s institutions held in July 2015, to run for president in elections to be held in 2016, and President Paul Kagame of Rwanda, who, in the same month as Sassou Nguesso was able to gain the support of virtually all of the members of the Rwandan parliament for a further term in office. In the third piece (no. 3) in this series, we considered recent political events in these two countries – Congo Brazzaville and Rwanda – and concluded with a quotation from The Economist (12 December 2015) which said, of the DRC, that ‘Congo’s problems are a grander, more dangerous version of what is happening in neighbouring countries’ and referred to both Congo Brazzaville and Burundi.

The Economist failed – strikingly – to mention Rwanda, or indeed any of the other countries where we believe a broadly similar process is occurring albeit with different trajectories and outcomes. We now turn, therefore, to a broader consideration of other African states in which those already long in power have sought to extend their term of office, either successfully or not, either through the ballot box or by other means, examine the political response to these moves, and attempt to draw some general conclusions.

Long Serving Heads of State

The list of long-serving heads of state is indeed itself remarkably long. In this issue of the ‘popular protest’ project we will consider the cases of Mohamed Abdel Aziz of the Saharan Arab Democratic Republic (SADR), who assumed office as President in 1976, remained President until his recent death at the end of May 2016;  Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo of Equatorial Guinea (who assumed office in 1979 as Chairman first of the Revolutionary Military Council and then of the Supreme Military Council before becoming president in 1982) has been in power for 37 years; and Paul Biya of Cameroon (who is 83) has been in office (first as Prime Minster from 1975 to 1982 and then as President since 1982) for more than 40 years.

Mohamed Abdel Aziz of the Saharan Arab Democratic Republic

Mohamed Abdelaziz, who died on 31 May 2016 at the age of 68, was for 40 years – effectively without challenge – president of the self-declared Saharan Arab Democratic Republic (SADR) and leader (secretary-general) of the POLISARIO (Popular Front for the Liberation of Western Sahara and Rio de Oro). The POLISARIO has now fought – unsuccessfully as yet – for Saharawi independence for 43 years since its formation in 1973, during the Spanish colonial occupation, when the territory was known as ‘the Spanish Sahara’.

Born in 1948 in the town of Smara, which currently lies in the Moroccan-occupied part of Western Sahara, Abdelaziz joined the POLISARIO Front movement as a student and was elected to its political bureau at its founding congress in 1973. After 1975, when Spain abandoned its colony, independence was declared and the SADR was established in 1976. Almost at once, however, Morocco invaded the territory and attacked the POLISARIO, forcing many Saharawis to flee east across the desert to set up refugee camps near Tindouf in Algeria.  The POLISARIO continued to resist, through its People’s Liberation Army (PLA), interventions by Mauritania (from 1976 until 1978) and Morocco (from 1976 until the present day).  Abdelaziz was selected as its secretary general in 1976, after the death in combat of the front’s founder and military leader, Al Ouali Mustapha Erraqibi. Later that year, he was elected president of the self-declared Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic.

Backed by Algeria and with support from Cuba, and at one point up to 70 other developing countries, the POLISARIO and the PLA continued to fight for Saharawi independence over a period of nearly 15 years until 1991, when a ceasefire was agreed between Morocco and the POLISARIO after the UN promised a referendum on the issue of independence. In 1982, the SADR became a member of the African Union, at which point Morocco withdrew from that organisation. By the 1980s, however, Morocco – which claimed Western Sahara as an extension of its national territory – had already effectively occupied a significant area in the west and constructed a fortified wall across the desert to protect its occupation. (The similarities with the case of Israel and Palestine are intriguing and little discussed).

The Saharawis were now divided geographically between the Moroccan-occupied territory in the west and the area to the east along the borders with Algeria and Mauritania that the POLISARIO claimed to be ‘liberated’.  The Saharawis in the east were obliged to live in tented camps in the vicinity of Tindouf in Algeria after they were forced out of the western territory in 1976 by Moroccan armed forces. Their economic life was of the most basic, relying on international and foreign aid to supplement pastoralism and the very limited cultivation that was possible in the central Saharan desert. They have now lived there, under the most inhospitable conditions and with limited support from the outside, for 40 years.

The POLISARIO was – and still is – the only political organisation of the SADR, making SADR, in effect a one-party state. Early POLISARIO propaganda portrayed it as a secular modernist movement along the lines of Algeria’s early democratic-socialist nationalism, with aspects of 1950s pan-Arabism, not unlike the original PLO, and some similarities to Qaddhafi’s unique brand of ‘socialism’. Many sympathetic commentators compared POLISARIO with the early FRELIMO under Eduardo Mondlane or with Amilcar Cabral’s PAIGC. Significantly, POLISARIO’s founder, El-Ouali Mustapha Sayed, was influenced while studying in Morocco by the writings of Frantz Fanon.

The political, diplomatic and material support provided by Algeria and a number of other radical/socialist states, including Libya, Cuba and Vietnam, tended to alienate the West and the more conservative Third World countries. POLISARIO never identified itself as ‘Marxist’ or indeed anything of the kind, and preferred to argue simply that as a national liberation movement it had to be unified – as a broad church but one which did not allow the kinds of political division that the leadership, including Abdel Aziz believed would develop under a multi-party regime. Democratic representation has been assured by elections to the 53-seat Saharawi National Council and by the regular General Popular Congress, which is held every four years, and by a structure which reaches down to people’s cells at the grass-roots.

This structure has been largely maintained over the entire life-time of the SADR, although a political crisis in the top leadership and discontent in the camps in the late 1980s generated a concerted effort at the 8th General Congress in 1991 to reduce the ‘distance’ between the grass-roots and the executive. This Congress also, significantly, was the first to include representatives from the Moroccan-occupied territory. It adopted a new Constitution, replacing the Executive Committee, the Political Bureau (politburo) and the Council for the Command of the Revolution (CMR) – which often included the same personnel – with an elected National Secretariat. It also called for a multi-party democracy and free market economy after independence.

The internal political crisis was weathered in part it must be said by new hopes aroused by the UN, which managed to achieve a ceasefire in 1991, based on the promise of a referendum. Successive Congresses, however, continued to elect Abdel Aziz as leader of POLISARIO and President of the SADR. Externally, President Mohamed Abdelaziz was seen as a ‘moderate’ voice, who generally managed to reconcile differing tendencies within the POLISARIO, supported efforts by the UN to find a peaceful resolution to the dispute with Morocco, and overruled military hard-liners in the movement who pushed for a continuation of war. With the promise of a referendum, it seemed at the beginning of the 1990s that this strategy might prove effective.

But as the years have passed, with little progress achieved, there has been a decline in support from outside (apart from Algeria, which remains a key ally of the POLISARIO) and increasing concern among the Saharawi people with regard to the effectiveness of a diplomatic approach and the viability of the camp-based aid-dependent economy. There have also been indications of growing tensions along generational lines, as those who have lived all their lives in the camps begin to challenge the authority of their ‘elders’. The creation of a new body, the Consultative Council of Shaykhs, at the General Congress in 1999, reflecting the key role played by the shaykhs (traditional tribal elders) in the voter-identification process that was supposed to define the electorate for a referendum, had introduced a new bi-cameral structure, which some found problematic.

In mid-2004, a reform movement within POLISARIO, Khatt al Shahid (Line of the Martyr), became the first identifiable faction within POLISARIO. It was popular among young Saharawi militants in the camps, in the occupied territory and among the diaspora in Europe. There was evident frustration at the lack of progress in negotiations and towards a referendum. Khatt al Shahid called for a return to basic principles (‘all the homeland or martyrdom’), new faces in the political leadership and a complete separation of the POLISARIO (party) from the SADR (state).

It accused the leadership of ‘propagating corruption, clientelism, tribalism, and for bargaining with the sufferings of the Sahrawi people and the martyrs‘ blood’, of having ‘no strategies to respond to international developments’, of being ‘unable to implement internal reforms’, of having ‘insufficient contact with the Saharawis in the Moroccan-controlled part of Western Sahara’, and with simply exploiting their “intifada“’ and finally, for ‘refusing to hold the national congress demanded by Khatt al-Shahid, where the POLISARIO leadership would be held to account for its policy, seeing this as a sign of the undemocratic leadership of the POLISARIO Front’.

But despite these indications of internal dissent, Khatt Abdelaziz has always presented itself as a movement within and not opposed to the POLISARIO, and Abdelaziz has been re-elected by successive General Congresses (in 2003, 2007, 2011 and 2015 respectively). The influence of Khatt al Shahid remains limited, particularly as it suffered a major defection in 2006, by its former leader Mahjoub Salek, who in 2011 called for a boycott of the 13th General Congress, an expression of support for the ‘Libyan revolution’ and acceptance of the Moroccan proposals for autonomy rather than independence.

On 18 August 2015, however, the Sahara News online bluntly asked: ‘Will the 14th (General) congress, scheduled for the end of this year, be the last one to be attended by Mohamed Abdelaziz as the leader of the separatist front?’ It went on to report that ‘Abdelaziz, who is suffering from lung cancer, had called, according to a Sahrawi website, for “the election of a new leader and a new leadership” during the 14th Congress. In fact, despite his illness, he was, once again, elected as president. The death of President Abdelaziz on 31 May 2016 came at a time of renewed friction between Morocco and Algeria over the disputed region after the secretary general of the United Nations, Ban Ki-moon, visited a Saharawi refugee camp in Algeria and rightly described Morocco’s presence in Western Sahara as ‘an occupation’. Morocco reacted by expelling 84 civilian members of the United Nations peacekeeping mission from its territory, and some Saharawi leaders have warned of a possible return to armed conflict.

The President of Algeria declared a week of mourning and the POLISARIO Front announced that Khatri Abdouh, president of the National Council, and one of Abdelaziz’s closest friends, would serve as interim leader. After a 40-day mourning period for the former President, a new secretary general will be elected at a special congress. The death of Mohamed Abdel Aziz comes at a critical time, when the people of Western Sahara wait for the restoration of MINURSO (the UN Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara) and attempt to gauge the degree of commitment of the UN and the international community.  There is a growing sense of frustration, particularly among the younger generation, with diplomatic negotiation – which they feel has brought little progress and obliged them wait a further 15 years for the promised referendum – and apparently a willingness to entertain a return to armed conflict.

At this point, the future of the POLISARIO and the SADR, and indeed of the Saharawi people, still remains unclear. A full assessment of Abdelaziz’s presidency – his successes and his failures – remains to be made. The relative lack of popular dissent and resistance to the highly centralised and arguably authoritarian structure of the SADR under his presidency is explicable in large part by the very particular and extremely demanding circumstances of the struggle for Saharawi independence, and the fact that he lived among his people – in a tent like them – in the harsh and demanding conditions of the refugee camps. Whether the new president manages to command the same degree of respect among the Saharawis and the international community remains to be seen.

Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo of Cameroon

Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo (born 5 June 1942) has been President of Equatorial Guinea since 1979. He joined the military during Equatorial Guinea’s colonial period and attended the Military Academy in Zaragoza, Spain. He achieved the rank of lieutenant after his uncle, Francisco Macías Nguema, was elected the country’s first president. Under Macías, Obiang held various jobs, including governor of Bioko and leader of the National Guard. He was also head of Black Beach Prison, notorious for the severe torture of its inmates. After Macías ordered the murders of several members of the family they shared, including Obiang’s brother, Obiang and others in Macías’ inner circle feared the president had become insane.

Obiang overthrew his uncle on 3 August 1979 in a bloody coup d’état, and placed him on trial for his actions, including the genocide of the Bubi people, over the previous decade. Macías was sentenced to death and executed on 29 September 1979 by the new Moroccan presidential guard (required to form the firing squad, because local soldiers feared his alleged magical powers). Obiang declared that the new government would be very different from Macías’ brutal and repressive regime. He granted amnesty to political prisoners, re-opened all closed places of worship, and ended the previous régime’s system of forced labour. His own role in the atrocities committed under his uncle’s regime was not mentioned.

The country returned officially to civilian rule in 1982, with the enactment of a slightly less authoritarian constitution, but with only a single party – the Democratic Party of Equatorial Guinea (PDGE). Obiang was elected to a seven-year term as president; he was the only candidate. He was re-elected in 1989, again as the only candidate. After other parties were nominally allowed to organize in 1992, he was re-elected in 1996 and 2002 with 98 per cent of the vote in elections condemned as fraudulent by international observers. In 2002, for instance, one precinct was recorded as giving Obiang 103 percent of the vote. He was re-elected for a fourth term in 2009 with 97 per cent of the vote, again amid accusations of voter fraud and intimidation, beating opposition leader Plácido Micó Abogo.

Aside from the ruling PDGE, political parties in Equatorial Guinea fall into three categories: those aligned with the government to provide a façade of democracy; the Convergence for Social Democracy (CPDS), which is allowed to operate openly but is still repressed; and those parties which are not registered with the government and are therefore illegal. Genuine opposition is barely tolerated; indeed, a 2006 article in Der Spiegel quoted Obiang as asking, “What right does the opposition have to criticize the actions of a government?” The opposition is severely hampered by the lack of a free press as a vehicle for their views; there are no newspapers and all broadcast media are either owned outright by the government or controlled by its allies.

Although opposition parties were legalized in 1992, the legislature continued to be dominated by the PDGE, and there was almost no opposition to Obiang’s decisions within that body. There have never been more than eight opposition deputies in the chamber; at present, all of the deputies but one either belongs to the PDGE or is allied with it. The constitution grants Obiang sweeping powers, including the power to rule by decree. Most domestic and international observers consider his regime to be one of the most corrupt, ethnocentric, oppressive and undemocratic in the world. In 2008, American journalist Peter Maass identified Obiang as ‘Africa’s worst dictator’, worse than Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe.

Like his predecessor Macías, and other African dictators such as Idi Amin and Mobutu Sese Seko, Obiang has assigned to himself several creative titles. Among them are ‘gentleman of the great island of Bioko, Annobón and Río Muni’; he also refers to himself as El Jefe (the boss). Obiang has encouraged his cult of personality by ensuring that public speeches end in well-wishing for himself rather than for the republic. Many important buildings have a presidential lodge, many towns and cities have streets commemorating Obiang’s coup against Macías, and many people wear clothes with his face printed on them.

In an interview on CNN, Christiane Amanpour asked Obiang in October 2012 whether he would step down at the end of the then-current term (2009–2016), since he had been re-elected at least four times in his reign of over thirty years. In his response, Obiang said he categorically refused to step down at the end of the term, despite the term limits in the country’s 2011 constitution.

Equatorial Guinea is made up of a mainland territory called Rio Muni, and five islands including Bioko, where the capital Malabo is located. An oil producing country since 1995, the country has a per capita gross domestic product of $37,478.85 – the highest wealth ranking of any African country and one of the highest in the world. GDP growth between 1996 and 2006 averaged almost 40 per cent a year; but little of this wealth trickled down. Equatorial Guinea ranks 144 out of 187 countries in the Human Development Index that measures social and economic development. As a result, it has by far the world’s largest gap of all countries between its per capita wealth and its human development score. Unemployment has hovered around 20 per cent for years and the World Bank estimates that some 78 per cent of the population lives below the poverty line on less than $2 a day, with many living on less than $1 a day (see The World Factbook).

Despite its resources and exceptional national wealth, government spending on health and education lags far behind most other African countries, with less than a quarter of public investment going on education, health and social services combined. Consequently a large portion of the population lacks access to quality healthcare, decent schools, or even reliable electricity. Net enrolment in primary education was only 61 percent in 2012. About half of the population lacks access to clean water and basic sanitation facilities, according to official 2012 statistics. Childhood malnutrition, as seen in the percentage of children whose growth is stunted, stands at 35 percent, according to the United Nations Children’s Fund, UNICEF. Equatorial Guinea also has very low vaccination rates, including the worst polio vaccination rate in the world – 39 per cent, according to the World Health Organization. As of mid-2014, five cases of polio were confirmed there, prompting a belated vaccination campaign.

Obiang and his large family, however, have managed to accumulate enormous private wealth. In 2003, Obiang told his citizenry that he felt compelled to take full control of the national treasury in order to prevent civil servants from being tempted to engage in corrupt practices. To avoid this ‘corruption’, Obiang deposited more than half a billion dollars into accounts controlled by himself and his family at Riggs Bank in Washington, D.C., leading a U.S. federal court to fine the bank $16 million dollars for allowing him to do so. Later scrutiny by a United States Senate investigation in 2004 found that the Bank took $300 million on behalf of Obiang from Exxon Mobil and Hess Corporation. Publicity regarding this relationship would later contribute to the downfall of Riggs.

Beginning in 2007, Obiang, along with several other African heads of state, came under investigation for corruption and fraudulent use of funds. He was suspected of using public funds to finance his private mansions and luxuries for both himself and his family. He and his son, in particular, owned several properties and supercars in France. In addition, several complaints were filed in US courts against Obiang’s son, Teodorín. Their attorneys stressed that the funds appropriated by both Obiangs were taken quite legally under national laws, even though these laws might not conform to international standards. In 2008, the country became a candidate for the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative – an international project meant to promote openness about government oil revenues – but never qualified and missed the April 2010 deadline. It has since re-applied.

According to Human Rights Watch, the ”dictatorship under President Obiang has used an oil boom to entrench and enrich itself further at the expense of the country’s people”. The corruption watchdog Transparency International has put Equatorial Guinea in the top 12 of its list of most corrupt states. The US Department of Justice has alleged that Obiang and his son have appropriated hundreds of millions of dollars through corruption. In 2011 and early 2012, many assets were seized from Obiang and his son by the French and American governments, including mansions, wine collections, and supercars. Obiang, his cabinet and his family are alleged to receive billions in undisclosed oil revenue each year from the nation’s oil production.

This has declined significantly in recent years (and slumped in the last three years) as oil prices have collapsed, but still enables the Obiang family to live relatively well. In 2013, Forbes estimated that, despite the Riggs Bank fiasco, Obiang retains some $700M of the money earned from his country’s oil wealth in American banks. In 2014, the US Department of Justice forced his son, Teodorín, to sell off a Ferrari, his $30 million residence in Malibu and six life-size Michael Jackson statues in a money-laundering settlement.

Despite all this, Obiang continues to enjoy the support of the USA. In 2006, Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice hailed President Obiang as a “good friend” despite repeated criticism of his human rights and civil liberties record by her own department. More recently President Barack Obama posed for an official photograph with President Obiang at a New York reception. There is also relatively little criticism from other African heads of state, and Equatorial Guinea hosted the African Cup of Nations football championships in 2012. There is little scope for opposition within the country, which is heavily repressed; but Obiang faces a separatist movement and a ‘government in exile’.

Paul Biya, President of Cameroon

Paul Barthélemy Biya’a bi Mvondo, born 13 February 1933, has been the President of Cameroon since 6 November 1982. He rose rapidly as a bureaucrat under President Ahmadou Ahidjo in the 1960s, serving as Secretary-General of the Presidency from 1968 to 1975 and then as Prime Minister of Cameroon from 1975 to 1982. In June 1979, a law designated the Prime Minister as the President’s constitutional successor and, when Ahidjo unexpectedly announced his resignation on 4 November 1982, Biya accordingly succeeded him as President of Cameroon on 6 November. After Biya became President, Ahidjo initially remained head of the ruling Cameroon National Union (CNU). Biya was brought into the CNU Central Committee and Political Bureau and was elected as the Vice-President of the CNU. On 11 December 1982, he was placed in charge of managing party affairs in Ahidjo’s absence.

During the first months after Biya’s succession, he continued to show loyalty to Ahidjo, and Ahidjo continued to show support for Biya, but in 1983 a rift developed between the two. Ahidjo went into exile in France, and from there he publicly accused Biya of abuse of power and paranoia about plots against him. The two could not be reconciled despite efforts by several foreign leaders. After Ahidjo resigned as CNU leader, Biya took the helm of the party at an “extraordinary session” of the CNU, held on 14 September 1983. In November 1983, he announced that the next presidential election would be held on 14 January 1984; it had been previously scheduled for 1985. He was the sole candidate in this election and won with 99.98 per cent of the vote.

In February 1984, Ahidjo was put on trial in absentia for alleged involvement in a 1983 coup plot, along with two others; they were all sentenced to death, although Biya commuted their sentences to life in prison. Biya survived a military coup attempt on 6 April 1984, following his decision the previous day to disband the Republican Guard and disperse its members across the military. Ahidjo was widely believed to have orchestrated the coup attempt, and Biya is thought to have learned of a plot in advance and to have disbanded the Republican Guard as a reaction, forcing the plotters to act earlier than they intended, which may have been a crucial factor in the coup’s failure. Northern Muslims were the primary participants in this coup attempt, which was seen by many as an attempt to restore that group’s supremacy; Biya, however, chose to emphasize national unity and did not focus blame on northern Muslims. Estimates of the death toll ranged from 71 (according to the government) to about 1,000.

In 1985, the CNU was transformed into the Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement/Rally (RDPC) in Bamenda, the political capital of the north-west region, and Biya was elected as its President. He was also re-elected as President of Cameroon on 24 April 1988. He initially took some steps to open up the regime, culminating in the decision to legalize opposition parties in 1990. According to official results, Biya won the first multi-party presidential election, held on 11 October 1992, with about 40 per cent of the vote; the second placed candidate, John Fru Ndi of the opposition Social Democratic Front (SDF), officially received about 36 per cent. The results were strongly disputed by the opposition, which alleged fraud. In the October 1997 presidential election, which was boycotted by the main opposition parties, Biya was re-elected with 93 per cent of the vote; he was sworn in on 3 November.

Biya won another seven-year term in the 11 October 2004 presidential election, officially taking 71 per cent of the vote, although the opposition alleged widespread fraud; Biya was sworn in on 3 November. Elected National President of the RDPC in 1996, he was re-elected at the party’s second extraordinary congress on 7 July 2001 and its third extraordinary congress on 21 July 2006. In 2004, at the time of the presidential elections, annoyed by the criticisms of international vote-monitoring groups, he paid for his own set of international observers, six ex-U.S. congressmen, who certified his election as free and fair. After being re-elected in 2004, Biya was barred by a two-term limit in the 1996 Constitution from running for President again in 2011, but he sought to revise this to allow him to run again. In his 2008 New Year’s message, Biya expressed support for revising the Constitution, saying that it was undemocratic to limit the people’s choice. The proposed removal of term limits was among the grievances expressed during the demonstrations and violent protests that took place in Cameroon’s largest towns and cities between 25 and 28 February 2008.

The government claimed that it had learned in January 2008 that the Social Democratic Front (SDF), the main opposition party, had formulated a plan they dubbed “Operation Kenya” to bring instability to Douala, Cameroon’s biggest city and chief port. In response, the government indefinitely banned street demonstrations in the Littoral Province, where Douala is located. Undeterred, by this, it was claimed, SDF leaders met at the Bamenda home of party chairman John Fru Ndi in late January, with the aim of organising street demonstrations across the country, with party members from both the government and civil sectors participating in the protests. Meanwhile, the SDF allegedly offered training to young people in how to stage an effective street demonstration. Fru Ndi and the SDF rejected the government’s claims, citing several peaceful SDF-led protests in the past. Fru Ndi told the government to look at their own policies as the cause of the unrest and said that he had information that implicated government officials in ‘[manipulating] the State apparatus and its information system’ in a bid to deflect attention from their own corruption.

On 23 February 2008, an unauthorised protest by several hundred demonstrators in the Douala suburb of Newtown, opposing Biya’s proposed constitutional reforms, was broken up by police who allegedly turned tear gas and water cannons on the demonstrators, killing at least one person. Conditions in Douala were peaceful the following day until that evening, when gunfire was heard near Douala International Airport. Two days later, a strike by the urban transport union, which consisted of bus, taxi, and lorry drivers, angered over the rise in fuel prices and poor working conditions in Cameroon, took place as scheduled on 25 February 2008 and in the days that followed, large groups of mainly young men took to the streets of Douala, Yaoundé, Bamenda, and other major cities, looting and vandalising property.

The mass protests began on 25 February 2008 in Douala. Because of the transport strike scheduled for that day the streets were empty of all traffic but the transport used by government forces. Heavy gunfire was reported that morning, and youths burnt cars, tires, and vegetation to block off major roads and bridges; the city was filled with plumes of smoke. Meanwhile, groups of young people looted and vandalised property, including petrol stations and a retail store. Reports on national radio said that a finance ministry building, a town hall, and other government structures were aflame. IRIN reported seeing a firefight between protesters and police at the airport and witnessing victims of gunshot wounds in the city. Police responded with widespread arrests.

On 26 February, the government agreed to a reduction in petrol prices of 6 francs CFA (less than 1 US¢) per litre, and the transport union called off its strike that night. The head of the taxi union, Jean Collins Ndefossokeng, told Radio France International that ‘it is no longer a good time for the strike with the current vandalism’. On 27 February, the government reduced fuel costs. By then, however, the protests had spread to 31 municipal areas in five of Cameroon’s ten provinces: the Centre, Littoral, Northwest, Southwest, and West. The government claimed that the SDF collected and transported youths between hot spots, including Bafoussam, Bamenda, Douala, and Yaoundé. Government forces allegedly stopped such convoys outside major cities between 25 and 27 February.

The government flooded the streets of the capital with soldiers. In Douala, demonstrators threw stones and erected flaming barricades. Government forces responded with tear gas. Troops were stationed throughout the city and at petrol stations, and barricades were set up. Similar methods were used in other cities, and troops in Douala used water cannons. Meanwhile, looting and burning continued, and witnesses reported victims of gunshot wounds lining the streets. According to a BBC reporter, troops confronted about 2,000 demonstrators on a bridge in Douala, and some 20 individuals fell into the river.

Witnesses reported heavy gunfire in Yaoundé on 27 February. One resident reported rioters looting and burning a market. In Kumba, demonstrators marched with posters demanding Biya’s resignation and for the government to reduce the cost of fuel and petroleum products. In Bamenda, some protesters reportedly targeted boarding schools, where the nation’s elite send their children; allegedly armed with bottles of petrol, rocks, and sticks, they threatened to burn the school down unless the students came with them, possibly for use as human shields against government forces. One boarding school reported that 200 teenage boys were taken by the protesters but the rest of the children were allowed to stay. Reports indicate that similar scenarios took place at other schools. Most of the children managed to escape back to the school or their parents’ home. The government accused the mayor of the Njombe-Penja Council of leading a group of demonstrators in an attack on a gendarme station in his town. The mayor was later suspended for this act and for alleged mismanagement of council funds.

The government sent in troops to crack down on the unrest, and both protesters and troops were killed in the clashes that followed. The official government tally was 40 people killed, but human rights groups claimed that the total was closer to 100. Government figures place damage to property at tens of billions of francs CFA (15.2 million euros or US$23.4 million). Government forces also claimed to have arrested more than 1,600 people, including government officials, and to have prosecuted 200. Human rights groups and defense attorneys, on the other hand, claimed that more than 2,000 people had been arrested in Douala alone and decried the trials as overly swift, secretive, and severe. The government also cracked down on artists, media outlets and journalists it accuses of threatening national stability.

On 7 March 2008, in response to the protests, Biya suspended duties paid on basic commodities such as cooking oil, fish, and rice. He also declared a rise in pay of 15 percent for civil service employees to take effect from 1 April and raised the pay of military personnel. The government reduced the custom duty paid on cement from 20 percent to 10 percent to address a shortage of building materials. It also announced plans to look at bank and telephone charges. The political turmoil had been made worse, however, many argued, by President Paul Biya‘s announcement that he wanted the constitution to be amended to remove term limits; without such an amendment, he would have had to leave office at the end of his term in 2011. Nevertheless, on 10 April 2008, the National Assembly voted to change the Constitution to remove term limits.

Given the RDPC’s control of the National Assembly, the change was overwhelmingly approved, with 157 votes in favour and five opposed; the 15 deputies of the SDF chose to boycott the vote in protest. The change also provided for the President to enjoy immunity from prosecution for his actions as President after leaving office.

After this upsurge in protest in 2008, things went relatively quiet over the next year or so, although real GDP growth and income from remittances both declined, in part because inflation also decreased and earlier proposals to reduce subsidies on basic goods were not implemented, so that the cost of living remained fairly stable. Even so, the IMF noted in 2010 that ‘social discontent could re-emerge as in 2008, ahead of the presidential elections in 2011.’

In the October 2011 presidential election, Biya secured a sixth term in office, polling 78 per cent of votes cast. John Fru Ndi, his main rival, polled 10 per cent. The opposition alleged wide-scale fraud in the election and procedural irregularities were noted by the French and US governments. In his victory speech, Biya promised to stimulate growth and create jobs with a programme of public works which would ‘transform our country into a vast construction site’. On 3 November 2011, he was sworn in for another term as President – his sixth.

In his book ‘Tyrants, the World’s 20 Worst Living Dictators’, David Wallechinsky named Biya,  together with Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe, Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo of Equatorial Guinea and King Mswati of Swaziland, as one of the ‘top 20’. He describes Cameroon’s electoral process in these terms: ‘Every few years, Biya stages an election to justify his continuing reign, but these elections have no credibility’. As Augusta Conchiglia remarked (in the New Left Review, no. 77, Sept.-Oct. 2012, p. 134), ‘in fifty two years, Cameroon has had only two presidents, who have held this country of 19 million in an iron grip: behind a fraudulent electoral façade stands a highly repressive regime which has imprisoned or killed its opponents, muzzled the press and salted away trillions of dollars in oil revenue. The balance sheet is catastrophic. Corruption is pervasive, from the apparatchiks of the ruling Rassemblement Democratique du Peuple Camerounais – until 1990 the only legal party – down to local traffic cops.’

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

 

 

 

 

Fraud, Corruption and Neoliberalism in Africa

By Jörg Wiegratz 

Fraud and corruption are widespread in the contemporary world, in Africa and elsewhere. Also, as we know neoliberalism is widespread. Yet, we have relatively little scholarly analysis concerning how these two phenomena are interlinked, that is, how neoliberal reform and transformations have affected the levels and forms as well as the political-economic and socio-cultural underpinning of fraud and corruption in various countries. While we have sparse empirical data and analysis about ‘neoliberal fraud’ in general, we know even less about the moral economy of fraud in a neoliberalised societal context, not only but especially in Africa. Globally, there are not many scientists who can offer a data-based analysis on this sort of topic. And yet for various reasons, having a more advanced understanding and discussion about fraudulent practices and the norms, values, beliefs, attitudes and material structures that underpin them in our current world of neoliberal capitalism is important. Together with David Whyte I have worked for two years with a group of nearly 20 scholars to produce an edited collection that for the first time sheds more light on exactly this topic: Neoliberalism and the Moral Economy of Fraud.

The book shows how neoliberal policies, reforms, ideas, social relations and practices have engendered a type of socio-cultural change across the globe which is facilitating widespread fraud. It investigates the moral worlds of fraud in different social and geographical settings, and illustrates how contemporary fraud is not the outcome of just a few ‘bad apples’. Notably, the book is interdisciplinary and almost entirely case study based. Our contributors are from a range of disciplines including sociology, anthropology and political science, social policy and economics. There are three Africa specific chapters: ‘Entrepreneurialism, Corruption and Moral Order in the Criminal Justice System of the Democratic Republic of Congo’, by Maritza Felices-Luna (Ottawa); ‘Murder for gain: Commercial insurance and moralities in South Africa’, by Erik Bähre (Leiden), and ‘Seeking God’s Blessings: Pentecostal Religious Discourses, Pyramidal Schemes and Money Scams in the Southeast of Benin Republic’, by Sitna Quiroz (Durham). Other chapters have country case studies from Latin America, Western and Eastern Europe and Central Asia. No matter the country or region studied, each chapter offers useful insights into the phenomenon of concern that are then summed up in the conclusion ‘The Moral Economy of Neoliberal Fraud.’

That said, regarding Africa in particular, tracing the socio-cultural including moral repercussions of neoliberal restructuring – pushed by the IFIs and other donors, NGOs, companies and other international and local actors – is a topic in its own right. But here as well, to understand how this neoliberal push has affected matters of honesty and deception, or fairness and callousness in the human pursuit of income, survival, wealth, and power provides crucial insights into the operation and consequences of contemporary capitalist societal order across the continent. In the context of the scarcity of critical scholarly analysis on this issue (donors and governments in Africa seem to have hardly commissioned any research into neoliberal moral change!), this edited book contributes to  various global and continent-specific debates on neoliberalism, moral change, fraud and corruption, in the same way as my own forthcoming and detailed study on neoliberal moral economy and fraud in Uganda

That said, the collection has received notable reviews from a range of senior scholars across disciplines. Jean-Pierre Olivier de Sardan for instance notes: ‘Three very stimulating arguments are at the core of this book and open the door for productive debates and fresh investigations: (a) Fraud is a structural feature of neoliberalism (not only on the margins), and must be explored empirically; (b) Fraudulent practices are neither value-free nor in a desert of norms, but they have their own set of moral and practical norms; (c) Capitalist normative structures not only come from a top-down process,  but also from bottom-up dynamics.’ For interested readers: the introduction of the book ‘Neoliberalism, Moral economy and Fraud’ is available for free access on the book website (see Look Inside function). Routledge has also offered a 20% discount up to the end of the year for individuals purchasing print copies via the publisher’s website. For review copies please contact cara.trevor@tandf.co.uk.

Finally, to mark the publication of the book, as editors, we have produced an opinion article titled ‘How neoliberalism’s moral order feeds fraud and corruption’. This article is reproduced below from the website The Conversation. For any questions, comments and suggestions regarding these publications please email J.Wiegratz@leeds.ac.uk. 

How neoliberalism’s moral order feeds fraud and corruption

By Jörg Wiegratz and David Whyte

Corporate fraud is not just present, but is widespread in many neoliberalised economies of both income-rich and income-poor countries. Volkswagen’s emissions cheating scandal is perhaps the most recent and most startling example, but the automobile industry is only one of many sectors, including banking and the arms industry, where scandals have become commonplace. Certain practices and norms that many people in the global North considered shocking only a while ago have become routine in public life.

The financial industry, whether in the US, UK, or Germany, has become characterised for years now by extensive and escalating fraud. Arguably, bankers have never been as unpopular as they are right now. It is not difficult to see why. The most vulnerable in society have suffered the most as a result of public sector cuts in western Europe. You can draw a straight line between these cuts and the post-2008 bank bailouts and market-saving interventionism of governments.

One interesting indicator of the strength of popular censure aimed at the bankers can be found on the front pages of some traditionally right-wing newspapers; newspapers that hardly have a track record of critiquing capitalism.

Symbol crash

These headlines are not, however, a fundamental threat to the actual status of the bankers. They, and other powerful elites, can withstand such criticism without lasting impact because the system of power that sustains them is not vulnerable to this kind of symbolic moral criticism. It provides an extensive set of moral claims that is much more complex (and difficult to detect and untangle) than questions of whether bankers earn too much or not, or whether they are immoral or not.

We argue that bankers have a very clear and highly sophisticated moral compass that guides them in their daily work. This can apply more broadly too, and pulls in other controversial professions: property speculators, landlords, politicians, top CEOs, or bosses of sports associations.

This sounds counter-intuitive (how can bankers be moral?). But it is not useful to explain away deception and criminality in our economy with glib muttering about a weakening of morals or an absence of morals. This position typically suggests that people who harm others through fraudulent practices, have either lost their values or have no morals at all. In some of the least sophisticated analyses, it is assumed that in a battle between good and evil, corruption is simply “bad”, or a pathological flaw, or a symptom that something has gone wrong in the management of a state.

Order, order

Notably, each of the last three British Prime Ministers have at different time issued appeals for a more moral capitalism (Tony Blair and Gordon Brown), or more moral business sector (David Cameron) in response to a range of problems including bribery, high risk financial activities, interest-rate fixing and rising executive pay. That idea of simply needing more morality, or less immorality is deeply flawed.

Economic practices (including the use of deception, intimidation or violence while earning a living) are already supported by a set of specific moral views, understandings, priorities and claims. In other words, our current neoliberal economy does constitute a moral order whether we like the dominant morals or not.

We can define neoliberalism here as a means to promote the rule of the market, and drive the transfer of economic power from the public to the private sector. And in pursuing neoliberal models of growth, a huge amount of government energy is spent. We are told that support to big business is needed to secure the future, and that what is good for business is good for society. That rhetoric emphasises the social importance of free markets, flexible workers, freedom, open societies, and, more recently, fairness. All this adds up to a moral grammar of everyday life. In short, neoliberalism is underpinned by particular social values, norms and beliefs.

So how is this “common good” projected? Well, first of all, neoliberals make major claims in defence of what they call economic freedom. This claim is generally made from an anti-state and anti-collectivist position and stresses the economic freedom of individuals. Collective trade union freedoms and social rights are, from this perspective, constructed as the enemies of freedom as are state interventions in markets on behalf of the broader social or public interest.

Claims like this are normative, since they seek to position neoliberal policies as being in the public interest (driving competitiveness, growth, exports), and making a contribution to a “good” society. Thus, neoliberal constructions of market freedom simply tie the public interest to that of the market and of the private sector.

These ideas seek to infiltrate our entire moral view of the world. Neoliberal restructuring is therefore a political-economic and moral project that targets not just the economy, but also society and culture, in its ambition to re-create societies as ever more crass capitalist market societies. As Margaret Thatcher once rather chillingly said in an interview with the Sunday Times: “Economics are the method, but the object is to change the soul”.

And what kind of soul was it Thatcher wanted us to have? One based upon materialistic individualism and a self-interested outlook of course. So, if we want to understand why conditions for fraud are now ripe across all capitalist countries and across all levels of society, we must recognise that it is not because of the lack of soul or the absence of morals, but because at the heart of the neoliberal project, there exists a very clear set of norms, values and attitudes that have been actively encouraged, that we voted for, and which now we find so hard to rationalise or understand.

Jörg Wiegratz is lecturer in Political Economy of Global Development, University of Leeds and David Whyte is Professor of Socio-legal Studies, University of Liverpool.

To the Rhythm of Militancy and Freedom: Shahenda Maklad

Shahenda Maklad (1938 – 2016), was an Egyptian activist, defending the rights of farmers and taking up many grassroots causes. She was the founder of the independent Peasants Union, and under her helm, Kamshish – a village located in the heart of the Nile Delta – became a symbol of struggle against oppression, and also a source of guidance and inspiration for other villages. On June 3, 2016, Maklad passed away after a battle with cancer.

Widowed at the age of 27 in 1966 Shahenda Maklad had been married to Salah Hussein, who was assassinated on 30 April by members of a feudalist family in Kamshish. An educated son of the village, Hussein had been engaged in leftist politics and in nationalist anti-colonial struggles before 1952. He later switched the focus of his activity to a family of landlords that had long subjected the village to a rule of terror and oppression. It was during this struggle that he was shot dead.

We republish an interview conducted by Yasmine Moataz and Reem Saad which first appeared in ROAPE in 2011.

So, tell us the story of Kamshish and its significance in the farmers’ struggle in Egypt. You could use 30 April 1966 as an entry point.

On 30 April 1966, martyr Salah Hussein was assassinated by the feudalists. His funeral was transformed into a demonstration that called for a trial against feudalists. In the following years, April 30th became a day of remembrance and commemoration, where Kamshish farmers and activists meet and discuss pertinent farmers’ issues in Egypt, as well as drafting an agenda for action.

Who is Salah Hussein?

Salah Hussein is my husband. We got married in 1957. He was the local leader for farmers’ struggle in Kamshish, and led them through various battles against feudalism. Kamshish is a village dating back to the times of the pharaohs, and you can find this in reference books. It has a land area of around 2000 feddans.

Historically, Kamshish had small land ownerships, and consisted of small and medium farmers’ households. It was relatively recently that Kamshish saw large ownerships and witnessed the emergence of feudalism. One of Kamshish’s men betrayed the ’Orabi Revolution in the late nineteenth century, which resulted in his moving from being a small farmer to a large landlord, seizing lands and forcing people to give their lands away, including members of his own family. And this was when farmers’ struggle and resistance started to emerge in Kamshish.

In 1951, martyr Salah Hussein, my husband, and one of the village sons, joined armed resistance groups against the British in the Suez Canal area. There, he met with Wasseem Khaled and Hussein Tawfiq, an armed resistance group that was involved in the assassination of Amin Osman.

Together with his fellows, Salah Hussein decided to fight feudalism in Kamshish, with the belief that the first step towards the liberation of Palestine is to liberate Egypt and to get rid of feudalism first. Between 1951 and 1952, they made a plan of how to achieve their goal in Kamshish. Armed resistance was common at the time. So, the first step was to form an armed resistance group from the village, and for this, they needed to recruit people. Salah and his fellows started to carry out small tests, through which they could identify potential fellows for their resistance plan. The first thing they did was to ask school pupils to take off the hats that were imposed on them by the feudalist, and to pray by the side of, rather than behind, the feudalist. It was through these small acts of rebellion that Salah and his fellows were able to form a small group of activists, who were commonly called in the village ‘al-talaba’ or the students.

As the revolution took place in 1952, the idea of armed resistance became irrelevant; however, the political cause itself remained active.

Just before the passing of the 1952 agrarian reform law, Salah Hussein started using mosques, wedding ceremonies and funerals as occasions to call people to claim their rights, their land, to refuse obedience, and to end existing inequities and inequalities. New forms of passive resistance emerged. Kamshish farmers started to respond to Hussein by disobeying the feudalist; they refused to work as corvée labour, to which they had been subjected for a long time. This was followed by a series of small battles. One of the things they did, for example, was to sabotage a canal route dug by the feudalist in the middle of their lands to ensure that his land was well irrigated. The feudalists knew, so they shot at the farmers, injuring 17 of them, and of course, the canal route remained in the middle of the lands. After this event, the feudalist remained in power, and nothing has changed, so Kamshish people felt that the revolution did not help them in any way. Salah and his fellows knew that they had to introduce the taste of victory among Kamshish people. So they decided to break a dam built by the feudalist that ensured that his land was irrigated before the Kamshish farmers. They went armed and broke the dam, and when the feudalist came to check what was going on, they pointed the weapons at him, so he got scared and left. This incident stimulated resistance among Kamshish people.

To counter the farmers’ resistance, the feudalist recruited outlaws to threaten the farmers; they were armed and used to stand in the middle of the road to control Kamshish streets and to threaten its people.

One day, Kamshish people decided to get rid of the outlaws, so they left them shooting until they felt that they ran out of bullets, and then all the village attacked them, killing all four of them. That was in 1953. As a result, a curfew was imposed on the village, and Salah was banned from travelling outside Alexandria Governorate.

So Anwar El Sadat came to try to bring about a reconciliation between the Kamshish people and the al-Fekky family. At the time, he was a member of the Revolutionary Council. He made several attempts to reconcile both parties, but it did not work out. There was a split in the village between those who wanted reconciliation, and those who did not. Sadat went to the village, and met with Kamshish representatives and al-Fekky. He tried to talk to witnesses in Kamshish, but couldn’t find any, so he got upset and threw 25 farmers in prison, believing that this would get rid of a ‘deviant’ minority. He went to the house of Sheikh al-Balad [a local leader], and when Kamshish people knew that he was there, they held a demonstration, and burned the house where he was staying. So he realised that reconciliation had not been achieved.

So my father stepped in. At the time, he was the chief of police in Beni Soueif. He called Sadat, and asked him to release the prisoners. So they both went to Kamshish, and Sadat gave a speech and promised to release the prisoners.

A series of fights then began, all about land. The 1952 first agrarian reform law was not implemented in Kamshish because the feudalists managed to evade the expropriation of their land. Al-Fekki had seized people’s lands, however, on paper, the lands were registered under the name of small farmers, so that they could not claim for lands that, according to the papers, they already held. Only 50 feddans were distributed to the farmers. So we had to fight for the lands. In 1958 I ran for a seat in the local council, and I won. So I and other local leaders in the village became involved with the Committee to take the seized lands back. We did field visits to verify land ownership. This was a big fight; [the Al-Fekkis] were giving bribes and we were sending telegraphs to Gamal Abdel Nasser. This fight lasted from 1958 to 1962. So after the separation of Egypt and Syria, Nasser started to pay more attention to our cause. The lands were sequestrated, and then distributed to 199 beneficiaries. We followed our own rules in land distribution and not the Committee’s; we established a local committee whose members were knowledgeable about the real situation, like who actually worked on the land, who had six children and who did not, and so forth.

Then we started to discuss the issue of access to land and poverty. The question was: ‘Did we solve the problem of poverty by gaining accessing to the land?’ The answer was no. So we thought of developing the movement by investing in new crops, and it was then that the idea of establishing a cooperative began, meaning that we would cultivate the land together. People started to join the cooperative, and a developed political mobilisation movement emerged in the village. We wanted to transform the feudalists’ houses and lands into service centres for the village, and this was a step further in the movement. So [the Al-Fekkis] found no alternative but to kill Salah. They made several attempts, and eventually killed him on 30 April 1966. I often say that before Salah’s killing, our enemies were Kamshish feudalists, and after Salah’s killing, our enemies became all the feudalists who escaped the agrarian reform. That’s why the campaign against us was intensified later on. In 1967, many people were arrested, that’s why we didn’t commemorate the anniversary that year.

We did the first commemoration for Salah on 30 April 1968. Everybody came to Kamshish; Abdel Rahman al-Sharkawy, Loutfy al-Khouly, Zaky Mourad, Nabil al-Helaly, Youssef Hegab, al-Abnoudy, members of all social, intellectual and political forces in Egypt. The Kamshish cause started to attract media attention. It became a focal point for activists from all over Egypt. We used to hand-write the invitation, and send it from various post offices across governorates. We did not send all the invitations from one place for fear it would be easily tracked by the government.

I received numerous invitations to speak in different governorates, and the groups of Kamshish supporters became so numerous that the security officers wanted to remove me from Kamshish. The purpose of the commemoration was twofold – first to talk about problems that farmers face, and, second to solve these problems.

Read the full interview on the ROAPE page of the Taylor and Francis website.

Yasmine Moataz, a social anthropologist who recently completed her PhD at the University of Cambridge and Reem Saad is Associate Professor of anthropology at the American University in Cairo.

If its not fixed, we didn’t break it

By Graham Harrison

Business as usual

Mainstream understandings of capitalism share a faith that it can be stripped of its crisis tendency through the right policies, politics, and regulations. To sustain this faith, there is often a focus on moments when, it is claimed, everything was working well. There are three main candidates for capitalism’s belle époque: the late Nineteenth Century’s ‘golden years’; the post-Second World War social democracy; the post-Cold War ‘end of history’. Each of these serves as a basis to imagine how capitalism might become permanently stable and socially-just, generating questions like ‘what went wrong’ or ‘how can we retrieve a model or strategy from this period to address crisis now?’ But, placed in a longer history of capitalism, each of these decades of contentedness (no longer than that) was based on exceptional circumstances, not problems solved. Furthermore, unless one considers it valid to exclude the majority of the world’s population, none of these ‘never had it so good’ interludes was in any way universally ‘good’. Each happy portrait is framed by national, racialised and gendered exclusions so obvious that one can only understand the reminiscences for happier times as no less problematic than the occasionally-reported Russian nostalgia for Stalin or the grey-bearded Mozambican farmers I spoke to who said things were better when the Portuguese ruled.

Lamentations for a better time when capitalism worked are, then, both empirically shaky and selective, ways of dreaming that the system can be made to work for everyone and then wondering what’s going wrong. A more balanced and inclusive way of seeing capitalism’s history is that it is intrinsically crisis-prone and that any ‘righting’ of this tendency is a partial and momentary success, a lapse. Crisis is permanent.

This point is only sharpened if one telescopes towards our neoliberal age. Neoliberalism was born in crisis and has reproduced itself through repeated crises, localised in particular countries or expressed through different processes. Plummeting growth, currency crash, massive indebtedness, burst asset bubbles, exposed scandals of systemic corruption and theft in the midst of privatisation, sudden changes in global commodity prices… these are the devices of an insistent reallocation of property, wealth and power towards ruling elites, national and transnational.

Troubled times

The historiography of global capitalism is one of crises, strewn unevenly over territories, generating forms of precariousness, inequality and poverty. Crisis also generates piques of militarism, imperialism, and war. This creates a historiography of profound anxiety in which it is difficult to get a sense of progress that might reassure us in troubled times or more ambitiously provide legitimating narratives about capitalism as a way of life. What political story can we tell about global capitalism’s political forms since the late Eighteenth Century? Unless, again, we resort to speculative and idealistic forms of analysis, the most we can say is that capitalism has been intertwined with the attempted universalization of the modern sovereign nation-state and that this institutional set-up has afforded stability, security, and some legitimate authority for citizens in some countries for some of the time. We can also say that it has generated massive amounts of growth and productivity that have led to very uneven improvements in people’s material well-being and left many others no better off or worse off.

This is the most we can say without taking flight from the evidence, and even this is a stretch. Even allowing for intervals of stability requires heavy work of provincialism, the narration of capitalism in Europe as typical, as the ideal-type of capitalism, its ‘norm’. This was hardly the case in other parts of the world, least of all in Africa. One response to those who explain crisis in Africa as ‘too little’, the ‘wrong kind’, or an ‘incomplete’ capitalism, one is increasingly tempted to say: show me where it works properly? 

In a sense Africa shows the world a future capitalism, one in which the social relations of production are far more extensively defined by contingency, violence, struggle, fraud, unfree labour, environmental pillage, and the politics of organised chaos. None of these features of social life are ‘African’; they are certainly capitalist and they are also global, albeit unevenly distributed in their intensity. It is a dark schadenfreude for those who study Africa’s generation of structural adjustment to find that many explanations for Africa’s ‘dysfunction’ are now right in the mainstream of analyses of mainstream globalisation: tax evasion, fraud, unfree labour, ‘underclasses’, falling risk or credit ratings, balance of payments crises, excessive debt.

Whilst post-colonial theorists continue to talk of Eurocentrism, capitalism Africanises the world, or certainly considerable parts of it. Dilapidated public services, the rise of ‘the precariat’, ghettoization and securitised wealth are the landscapes of the West as well. This ‘Africanisation’ works in a secondary fashion as well, commonly allocating suffering to those racialised as ‘black’, often underpinned by governments increasingly bold and vicious in their demonization of ‘race’.

Destructive politics?

If we telescope in again to think of the new millennium, then, we will likely be seized by a rather intense sense of anxiety: an age currently bookended by the war on terror and the global economic crisis. An age in which state sovereignty is no longer a working assumption of international politics. A world in which we live every day in the midst of a global climatic process whose effects are highly likely to be massive and irrevocable. We are locked into a global politics in which there is a relentless drive for growth above all else. Transnational corporations incrementally dominate politics both nationally and internationally.

This is not misanthropy or dystopian end-of-times stuff. It is simply a recognition of the broad features of our world. It makes more sense to characterise capitalism’s global history as something like a lurching from one crisis to another than it does to say we live in an age of liberal democracy, making poverty history, a new world order, green shoots of recovery, sustainable growth, or any of the ideological zeitgeists that bubble up (and often quickly down) from the media and many public intellectuals.

The entire burden of history suggests that you cannot fix capitalism’s crisis tendencies. And, it seems that the kinds of ideas and institutions that might ‘suture’ them or manage them in some fashion are difficult to identify. All states – in very varied ways – are in part globally-captured by transnational regulations and the influence of international companies. The discourses of governance are depleted of robust ideas of inclusive commonwealth and citizenship of the kind that led to the sliver of hope that capitalism could be managed by national government in other times. In the UK, we have a government that borders on the self-satirising, so deeply elitist, endeared to wealth, and contemptuous of poverty it has become.

Nevertheless, governments around the world readily recognise that there are crises. Their solutions generally revolve around a supine combination of the resourcing and light regulation of finance and investment, and populisms that easily slip into racism and xenophobia. Where unorthodox strategies emerge, they are besieged and often problematic in all sorts of ways as one can see in the ‘pink tide’ of some South American states. The emergence of ‘Corbynomics’ in the UK presents a radical departure from orthodox policy-making but in detail it looks like a strategy that would fit within many moderate Labour administrations of the past. At present, nothing in the world looks like a potential political adversary to capitalism.

Perhaps, then, an argument that is reasonably attuned to our times but deeply unsatisfactory in almost every other respect is that we should start to think about destruction. The political economy of capitalism and crisis is more likely to be broken than it is to be fixed, although it would be disingenuous to suppose that this makes the former likely or easy to imagine.

This is a scary prospect. For all of the obvious inequality, crazy combinations of overwork and unemployment, insecurity, state collapse, environmental disaster and so on, a great many people all over the world have some skin in the game. And, notions of economic growth offer powerful aesthetics of aspiration to millions more people. Capitalism has generated unprecedented processes of poverty reduction, although these are processes too eagerly celebrated and exaggerated. Capitalism is as resilient as it is unstable. It is not going anywhere fast and we have very little idea of what a world without it would look like. Perhaps capitalism’s demise and the kind of world that succeeds it might only be thinkable once the process of breaking it down is under way. Perverse as it seems, as long as there is crisis, there is hope.

Graham Harrison is Professor of Politics at the University of Sheffield and is on the editorial board of the Review of African Political Economy.

Featured Photograph: Banner at the 2012 Republican National Convention depicts Martin Luther King, Jr.

Burkina Faso’s Second Uprising

By Leo Zeilig

In October 2014 the ‘insurrection populaire’ – as it is known in Burkina Faso –unseated the twenty-seven year old regime of Blaise Compaoré, the President involved in the assassination of the radical leader of the Burkinabé revolution, Thomas Sankara in 1987. A transitional government was put in place to oversee the transfer of power to a new government in 2015. But by September, Burkina Faso was once again shaken by profound forces: the coup attempt on 16 September 2015 by security forces and the subsequent popular resistance to it by the population. Based on interviews conducted in March and April 2016, in the capital, Ouagadougou, his blog will look at the events that took place in Burkina Faso during and immediately after the coup attempt last year.

In 2015 Burkina Faso was moving towards elections that had been scheduled for 11 October when a coup was launched by members of the Régiment de sécurité présidentiel (RSP) – the Presidential Security Regiment. The RSP was a ‘private’ army of approximately 1200 heavily armed and trained men created by the former president Compaoré and charged with looking after the security of the ruling political elite. The coup leader was General Gilbert Diendéré, head of the RSP and a loyalist to the former regime. Partly an expression of the exclusion of the Compaoré elite by the transitional government in elections scheduled for October, officially the coup leaders sought to correct what they saw as problematic political imbalance inside the transition. 

On the evening of 16 September it was clear that the Conseil national de transition (National Council of the Transition), charged with preparing the country for elections in October, was under attack. Leading members of the transition were arrested, including President Michel Kafando, and the Prime Minister, Yacouba Isaac Zida. Coup leader Diendéré declared that the coup was suspending elections and ‘restoring order’. Very quickly the streets of Ouagadougou were occupied by the RSP in armoured vehicles. 

The coup represented more than a quibble about the conduct of the next elections. The message was clear: the popular insurrection that had overturned the old government and sent its president of 27 years into exile would not be tolerated by the remnants of the old guard. The young must stay away from the streets, the poor must once again learn their place, i.e. the powerful must be resume their control of the state.

Already by 25 September the coup has been defeated by and the RSP dissolved by the government of the transition, that had taken its place again at the head of the state. Soldiers of the former Praetorian Guard were forced to return to barracks or face the consequences. The coup leaders had either been arrested, were in ‘hiding’ in foreign compounds – Diendéré sought temporary refuge in the Vatican embassy (the Vatican Apostolic Nunciature in Ouagadougou) – or had faded into the undergrowth of Burkina society.

Organising the resistance

The trade unions were a vital element in the success of the resistance to the coup. Major unions organised in the Unite d’action syndicale (United Union Action) called for an unlimited general strike as soon as the coup took place on 16 September. By the end of the month, despite maintaining the strike in order to secure other workplace and social demands, the UAS declared victory, ‘The strong mobilization of workers in all sectors, the strong popular resistance led mainly by young people through the barriers erected in the provinces and barricades throughout the city of Ouagadougou against the putsch, surprised the coup and quickly defeated their project.’

The resistance was also marked by the militancy of the young, many unemployed, who had built the barricades and defended neighbourhoods in the capital from the RSP and supporters of the old regime. The picture was the same across the country.

2016-03-09 15.43.49Graffiti from the protests in 2014. Ouagadougou, March 2016. Photograph: Leo Zeilig

In western city of Bobo Dioulasso, as elsewhere in the provinces, protests against the coup had the tacit sympathy of the army and police, who made no attempt to prevent the demonstrations. Even in the historical bastion of the RSP, the town of Pô in the South, the watchword was the general strike. ‘In the streets of Pô,’ reported the city’s mayor Henry Koubizara, ‘the population has risen as one to the union’s call for a general strike. Shops are closed, the market is closed, there is no economic activity. People are mobilized, they are doing sit-ins.’

Though the mobilisation was led, in part, by trade unions, action in September was called by the many organisations that had a stake in and supported the transition. These groups – including Le Balai Citoyen (The Citizen’s Broom) – had helped to coalesce opposition to the Compaoré regime and played an important role in the protests and transition actions the previous year. Furthermore there was a general call to resist from leaders of the transition, now in hiding. Prominent among these was Cherif Sy, president of the Conseil national de transition, who soon became the ‘underground’ voice of the resistance. Finally, though many radio stations where forced off the air during the days of the coup, others managed to continue broadcasting’ fresh reports. Radio 108 – known as ‘Radio Resistance’ – which was run, principally, as a loudhailer for Sy.

The struggle on the streets

Neighbourhoods across the capital built barricades, following instructions from the transition government but also acting on their own initiative. Tires, rubble, rubbish were dragged across dusty roads, alleyways and major thoroughfares to prevent the RSP from moving freely around the city. One effective technique, widely used during the resistance, was described to me by Bamouni Bertrand Leonce, a forty-five year old militant of the 2014 uprising, who lives in Ouagadougou: ‘to stop the tanks and armoured vehicles of the RSP we attached large cables from one side of the street to another, fastening the ends to lampposts or walls. When the RSP tried to get through, voila, they would be slice in two. We prepared bottles of petrol, with small, torn pieces of cloth which we would light and then throw at the RSP – or those young enough to throw them would.’ Other methods of resistance – such as using scooters to block streets, or encourage neighbourhoods to come out in protest – were adapted and used to good effect. Barricades built in the capital were mobile, so often young militants could control who was allowed to pass, this helped keep to maintain support for the protests ensuring some degree of movement and activity across the city.

Victory

The result of this second massive display of popular mobilisation in less than a year meant the coup quickly fell away. Arguably, the strike was at the centre of mobilisation, even if the uprising cannot be reduced to the strike. Notably, after the coup had been broken and as the RSP was being dismantled, the general strike continued. Yet in the streets, controlling the barricades, launching audacious assaults (such as petrol bomb attacks on armoured troop carriers) on the RSP for days, were the young who had mobilised for the insurrection the previous year. So the defeat of the coup was not a result of a diplomatic triumph linked to the mediating activities carried out by the UN, the African Union and ECOWAS.

The aftermath of the coup: the elections

In the aftermath of the coup, with the liberation of the leaders of the transition, elections were rescheduled for 29 November. The party, Mouvement du Peuple pour le Progres (Movement of the People for Progress) and their candidate Roch Marc Kaboré won the election that took place without major incident, securing victory in the first round. Kaboré himself was a prominent figure of the Compaoré days and emerged as the revolution’s ultimate paradox. However, he had spent years estranged from the regime and was now regarded as an opponent of the old power.   

2016-03-13 11.50.01

Campaign poster for Roch Marc Kaboré from the November 2015 election. Photograph: Leo Zeilig

Still why did a movement of such popular power which had managed to overturn one of continents most deeply entrenched regimes   – a dictatorship despite the veneer of democracy – allow prominent members of the old regime, a recycled elite, to step back into power? What is it about the political economy of Burkina Faso that shapes political action and enables such a political outcome?

We can list some of the relevant issues here: There are fundamental weaknesses of the Burkina Faso’s economy – extractive, export based, low industrialisation – that have remained largely unchanged since independence. The country’s poverty, the extreme suffering of its people, remains staggering: in the United Nations lists Burkina Faso at 183rd of 187 countries in terms of human development. There are enormous income differentiation; while 46 percent live below the poverty line, one in ten of the population own half of the country’s riches.

Almost 92 percent of the labour force in 2014 was employed in agricultural labour, in subsistence farming, and cotton cultivation; statistics largely unchanged since Sankara’s radical experiments at pro-poor development in the early 1980s. Agricultural work contributed 30 percent to GDP in 2012.  In other words, there is very weak industrialisation – thus low levels of proletarianisation – combined with a large agricultural workforce. The recent boom in mining has not altered this set up. However, arguably these figures disguise significant changes in Burkinabé society, so urbanisation has grown as rural poverty drives more people into towns and cities and the political impact of the country’s small working class – employed in mining, the civil service and teaching – is entirely disproportionate to its size.

The successive waves of protest and uprisings in Burkina Faso have been against both the brutality of the former regime and the immediate manifestations of the continually exploitative relationships, both between the country and the capitalist system, and between the country’s highly unequal economic and political classes. Reductions of basic living standards and encroachments on the lives and liberties of the Burkinabé people have been continually resisted, and in 2014/5 – and for particular reasons – acts of great resistance have coalesced into more coherent movements for change that linked the struggle for economic and social transformation to the need for effective political accountability and representation. This has been broadly successful (i.e, there were democratic elections at the end of 2015 that led to the election of a new government), even if there have not been alternate voices and forces – of sufficient strength – to challenge the continued presence of a compromised political class.

Thomas Sankara’s influence

The events described here were inspired by the example of Thomas Sankara, the incorruptible leader of the radical government between 1983 and 1987, even if many of those involved had been born after his murder in 1987. His name tumbled from the lips of activists, or self-defined revolutionaries. For a generation born after his assassination and who were the agents of the recent uprisings who knew only the rule of Compaoré regime, he remained a figure of vital inspiration.

Sankara’s brief period at the helm of the state saw a poor, marginal country attempt autonomous development, endeavour to delink itself from exploitative international capitalism and undertake radical pro-poor reforms. Yet the autocratic tendencies in Sankara’s reforms were also the ‘revolutions’ weakest areas, the vulnerable and dangerous underbelly – in this respect the Sankara years worked against more broad-based popular involvement and initiative. His relationship with autonomous trade unions and independent strike action was authoritarian.

Burkina Faso’s recent, astonishing rebellions, strikes and revolution, complete the real and popular content that was absent, or at best stifled and sometimes repressed during Sankara’s years as a radical reformer. This raises questions: How can we marry the centrally organised project of Sankara’s reforms, its focus on national self-sufficiency – the attempt to break with the structure and logic of global capitalism – with the popular mobilisations we have seen in the strikes, resistance and insurrection in Burkina Faso from 2011-2015?

Would Sankara even have approved of such popular initiative and involvement outside the control of his ‘revolution’ (i.e top down politics)? The Burkinabé insurrection and uprising, present a challenge to the continent: how to marry the popular uprisings, insurrections and resistance with popular and radical political organisation.

Leo Zeilig is a ROAPE editor and the coordinator of www.roape.net 

ROAPE has covered events in Burkina Faso for years, including the Burkinabé revolution in the 1980s. See Victoria Brittain’s article from 1985 from our archive and Lila Chouli’s Briefings on the transitional government is available to readers of roape.net who register and log-in to our members area on the website.

Appeal to Friends of the Nyerere Resource Centre

By Issa Shivji, Director, Nyerere Resource Centre (NRC) and Idris Kikula, Vice Chancellor, University of Dodoma & Member, Steering Committee, NRC.

Since 2012 three colleagues – Issa Shivji, Saida Yahya-Othman and Ng’wanza Kamata – all former or current academics of the University of Dar es Salaam, have been conducting research in a project of writing a comprehensive and authoritative biography of Mwalimu Julius Kambarage Nyerere. As you all know, the existing biographies are either outdated, do not cover the whole of Mwalimu’s lifetime, or are not analytical and comprehensive.

The three researchers were fortunate to interest the Tanzania Commission for Science and Technology (COSTECH) to fund the research. During the course of the research, spanning over four years, the researchers have collected enormous archival and secondary material and conducted over 100 interviews which exist in both audio and transcript form. From the inception of the project, it was the intention of the biographers that the biography ought not to be the be-all and end-all of the project. They wanted, and COSTECH agreed, that one, the material collected be archived and made available to future generations of researchers, and, two, the Archives become a focal point around which discussions and debates be developed on Mwalimu’s ideas, thus giving them life and countering the tendency to museumise the man and fossilise his ideas.  Hence the establishment of the Nyerere Resource Centre imaginatively called in Kiswahili Kavazi la Mwalimu Nyerere, which has given the Centre its unique identity.

COSTECH has provided the infrastructure including the Centre’s office and the Documentation and Reading Room. Kavazi was formally launched by the former president of Tanzania, Mr. Benjamin William Mkapa on 18th March 2015 in a two-day event. The event included a photo exhibition, the delivery of the First Nyerere Dialogue Lecture by Professor Adebayo Olukoshi and a round-table discussion with the former Prime Minister Mr. Cleopa Msuya. During the year, Kavazi organised a night of poems when a booklet of Mwalimu’s poems was launched. It also conducted a full time seven-day course on ‘The Political Economy of Natural Resources’. Dr. Ng’wanza Kamata delivered the second Nyerere Dialogue Lecture, now published under the tantalizing title: Mwalimu Nyerere: Pan-Africanist Nationalist or Nationalist Pan-African?   Another title published by the Centre is a collection of four short essays in Kiswahili called Uanazuoni wa Mwalimu (The Intellectual in Mwalimu).

Apart from the invaluable support offered by COSTECH, the activities of Kavazi are also funded by the Rosa Luxemburg Foundation of Germany. But it is the wish of the founders, with which we are sure you would all agree, that Kavazi become self-sustaining, both to maintain its independence, but more importantly, to uphold Mwalimu’s ideal of self-reliance. Thus we have also established an NRC Endowment Fund (EF), to which the National Social Security Fund (NSSF) of Tanzania made the first contribution of TShs 100 million. The second contribution, which we are very proud of, was made from the bequest of our late friend and comrade Lionel Cliffe. Lionel passed on just two months after we had a wonderful interview with him at his home in Sheffield.

Now we are earnestly writing to you as admirers and friends of Mwalimu,and as members of the post-independence generation who grew up under Mwalimu, to contribute whatever you can to the Endowment Fund. We consider you ‘Friends of Kavazi la Mwalimu Nyerere’ and believe you will not let us down.

Please make your contribution to:

ACCOUNT NAME: NYERERE RESOURCE CENTRE
ACCOUNT NUMBER: 0150440190100
BANK: CRDB BANK PLC
ADDRESS: P.O Box 268, Oysterbay Branch, Azikiwe Street, Dar es Salaam
BRANCH: OYSTERBAY BRANCH
BRANCH CODE: 3397
SWIFT CODE: CORUTZTZ
DENOMINATION: TZS

Please notify us on kavazi.nrc@gmail.com when you make your contribution.

Full address of beneficiary: Tanzania Commission for Science and Technology (COSTECH), P.O.BOX 4302, Ali Hassan Mwinyi Road- Kijitonyama (Sayansi), COSTECH Building, Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Emails.kavazi.nrc@gmail.com,  Director’s email: issashivji@gmail.com  Assistant’s email: ghappiness2@gmail.com  ☎: +255 22 2927540

Alternatives to Neoliberalism

By Adefolarin A. Olamilekan

Pradella Lucia and  Thomas Marois (eds) Polarising Development: Alternatives to Neoliberalism and the Crisis (London: Pluto Press, 2015) 

This book is the result of a collaborative research project to try and clarify a Marxist inspired approach to understanding recent developments across the globe, as an alternative to what has been termed ‘new developmentalist studies’.

The book covers both developments in international capitalism, for example the crisis of 2008, and a range of other challenges to the current economic disorder.  The editors recognise that ‘despite being forcefully challenged, neo-liberalism has proven remarkably resilient’. Since its first practical implementation, as part of the brutal US backed Pinochet dictatorship in Chile from 1973, ‘Neo-liberalism has entailed processes of contested socio-economic transformation.’ It has included an increased level of exploitation and higher inequality, for workers and other popular classes, but also increased oppression for women and various ethnic groups. 

Guiding themes for the book include a recognition that ‘alternatives must be sought in every day and actually existing struggles’ together with ‘a refusal to accept nation-states as self-contained units of analysis’ and that any alternatives for progressive change must be achieved from below ‘through working and popular class agency.’

Although new developmentalists provide an alternative to the dominant paradigm of neo-liberalism, they ‘ignore the exploitative nature of capitalist production relations’ and so ‘set aside capitalism’s inherent tendency towards social polarisation.’  They also uphold ‘an idealised understanding of the state… that can moderate capitalist development for the overall ‘social good’ and rely ‘on methodologically nationalist assumptions’ which ‘point to the national development successes of East Asia, and more recently China, as the dehistoricised, decontextualized and discrete development models seemingly transferable to all developing countries’, as a result,  the ‘new developmentalists underestimate imperialist relations and capitalism’s tendency towards uneven and combined developments.’

In contrast, the editors of this book recognise a range of concrete strategies and principles which they share with the various authors who write in the volume. This includes the importance of worker-led resistances achieving gains through collective mobilisations, a socialist feminist approach which recognises ‘the need to fight for renewed public services to alleviate the unequal burdens women face day in and day out… the struggle to substantively democratise the public sector’ and for a collective struggle for social and environmental justice.

However, despite largely following a classical Marxist analysis, we consider that the second chapter, by Lucia Pradella, one of the editors, is marred by her references to ‘dependent countries’, ‘unequal exchange between nations’ and ‘the periphery’ to refer to the Global South. In contrast, another chapter by her fellow editor, Thomas Marois, emphasises the importance of the democratic and social control of banking and financial institutions and states clearly that the ‘South is inextricably linked to patterns of global accumulation and to the reproduction of global capitalism.’

The terms used by Lucia suggest her support for dependency theory. This economic theory, popular in the 1970s, considers that the industrial countries are exploiting the countries of the Global South through the unequal mechanisms of international trade. Dependency also includes the wider notions of unequal and exploitative relations between the economic centres of global development and ‘peripheral’ countries.

These ideas flourished in the 1970s when they were originally developed by authors such as Paul Baran and André Gunder Frank. Dependency subsequently gained widespread acceptance though the writings of authors such as Samir Amin and Immanuel Wallerstein.  As one authors in this volume makes clear these ideas are ‘still a reference for scholars, policy makers, and social and political movements in Latin America.’

Many readers may consider that dependency and related ideas are part of the Marxist heritage.  However, we see these theories as a distortion of the Marxist notion of the global exploitation of a universal working class. In this respect, dependency theory is a significant move away from the core Marxist ideas of exploitation by those who control the means of production (factories, workshops, mines etc) and employ labour power.  As such, dependency and related ideas provide a theoretical underpinning for Afro-nationalist ideas. These suggest that Africans of all classes should unite against the exploitation they suffer by the industrial countries of the (predominately) north. 

In this volume, Benjamin Selwyn provides a good summary of the differences between strategies of state-led national development (which shares common assumptions with dependency theory and nationalism more generally) and the political economy of labour (or Marxism).  As he points out, state-led development falls into ‘the contradiction where the elite minority advocate the repression and exploitation of the majority in the name of the latter’s benefits.’ Many socialists see national state-led development, with significant areas of the economy under state control, as the only viable way to bring economic development to the Global South and so the first stage towards socialism. But as Selwyn argues, contemporary China illustrates the clash between state-led development and its ‘industrialisation … based upon intense exploitation and repression of its vast industrial working class as source of business profits.’

Going back to the writings by Karl Marx, Selwyn argues that workers and peasants in the South should collectively resist their exploitation and not rely on an elusive ‘trickle-down effect.’  He could have gone further to point out that neo-liberalism has led to a huge increase in inequality within countries like Brazil, Nigeria and South Africa.  National development in these countries has meant the economic development of a local elite rather than an improvement in the living standards of the majority of the population.

Andreas Malm considers climate change, arguing that ‘on a global scale, the CO2 explosion is running its course towards biospheric meltdown.’ Increasing emissions of climate change gases mean that average world temperatures are likely to increase by more than four degrees within the next 50 years. It will require, as Malm argues, a mass movement to avoid this disaster.  It is only such a movement, with the working class at its heart that has the potential power to stop global warming and the material interest to do so.  Capitalists will continue to profit from fossil fuel exploitation as long as they can, unless there is a counter-hegemonic movement that can block them.

ROAPE member, Baba Aye, writes in the book that Africa has seen significant economic development since independence.  Nigeria, for example, has experienced sustained economic growth of 6 – 7 percent a year over the last decade. The majority of the population are now urban based and ‘nodes of industrialisation now exist alongside localities with poor productive capacities.’  However, the majority of the population still live in abject poverty and their lives often remain nasty, brutish, and short. There is, Baba Aye writes, an undercurrent of the ideas of state-led development or Keynesianism in the new administration of Buhari in Nigeria. This ‘project’ seeks to use state resources from reduced elite corruption to significantly increase the budgets for education and health and to introduce a minimal social wage for the poorest 25 million.

Yet the organized working class and the wider poors are still knocking at the door.  Most dramatically with the Egyptian revolt and overthrow of Mubarak in early 2011, but also with the 2012 Marikana massacre in South Africa and the January 2012 uprising in Nigeria.  These are just the high points, Baba Aye argues, of a mass strike wave that is continuing to reverberate across the continent.

These social movements will determine the struggle, for example, in Nigeria where a new reformist government is facing economic pressures to make the poor pay for the declining price of oil exports. There are proposals to reduce the already pitiful minimum wage and remove the fuel subsidy.  The outcome of these struggles depends, as in the past, on whether the trade union leaders are yet again able to lead a wider social movement.  This will be needed to reduce the fantastic inequality within Nigeria, but also the real and terrible unevenness that exists between West Africa and Europe.

This book is far from the finished product, but raises a wide range of issues which should be discussed and researched in greater detail.  The editors have successfully brought together a wide range of scholars, broadly working within a radical and often Marxist tradition. Many of the authors are creatively adapting the traditional tools to the current challenges of global inequalities within as much as between countries, to tackle issues such as climate change and the changing nature of imperialist competition. The global reach and non-sectarian approach of the authors provide an accessible introduction to the continued and creative power of Marxist analysis, when wielded in an open and inclusive direction.

The imperative of development for the working and other poor peoples should be emancipatory, many of the authors demand. Liberation from want is essential to this. With the great increases in global wealth now available, no human being should lack the basics of modern life. But development cannot also be reduced to ‘stomach infrastructure’ – emancipation entails freedom fought for, won and defended as an integral part of development, by working people.

Our pathway to such emancipatory development must include demands such as: ‘No to privatization!’, ‘No to deregulation!’, ‘No to commodification!’, ‘Yes to payment of salaries regularly’, ‘For free qualitative and compulsory education and quality health for all!’.  With demands such as these we must build social movements from below to challenge the capitalist state, in its various configurations. This volume will help to clarify many of the challenges we face. 

Adefolarin A. Olamilekan is development researcher based in Abuja, Nigeria.

Armed with Theory: Nigerian Marxism

By Adam Mayer

As I write this entry, the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) just backtracked on a planned general strike against the removal of the fuel subsidy. For readers from Northern national economies, the importance of the fuel subsidy – which allowed for consumer fuel prices to be kept at around N100 [$0.50] – N50 [$0.25] less than the market rate – perhaps seems an unusual reason to call for a general strike in the first place. Nonetheless, if carried through with, this would have been the third such general strike (after 2003 and 2012) that centred on the removal of this vital government subsidy – with a long list of minor strikes before, after and in between. What is crucial is the fact that the national minimum wage is around $90/month, and 70% of people are not in formal employment and thus not eligible even for that sum. Primary school teachers – in formal employment – or wheelbarrow men and market women – not in formal employment – all need to commute to their workplaces – and their commute is never covered by an employer. Thus the removal of the fuel subsidy will increase an average worker’s cost of living by around 25-30% with no real compensation beyond promises — a major drawback! Factional struggles nipped this nationwide strike in the bud – nonetheless the NLC is very far from a spent force.

The NLC’s labour organizers draw on a rich and multifaceted tradition when they call for strikes. Neoliberal charlatans, media pundits and government officials may tell the Nigerian lorry driver, and the unemployed women and men in his compound that the removal of the fuel subsidy will allow for a reallocation of “precious government resources to worthy causes” such as schools, hospitals, nurseries and water towers, it is improbable that they would buy into this hegemonic babble. President Buhari, a man famous for his personal disdain for embezzlement, is at the same time also the man left in charge of a neo-colonial political economy. His credentials in fighting Maitatsine – as Mohammed Marwa was known, Marwa was a radical Islamic preacher, who attracted considerable support in the 1970s – as military head of government in the early 1980s, or Boko Haram as president since 2015 do not make him a progressive. Muhammadu Buhai was elected in 2015, promising to fight endemic corruption and the advances of Boko Haram.

The reason why the NLC can (most of the time) stand up to incredible pressures by the forces of hegemony are manifold – but I am convinced that they include the works of the icons of Nigerian Marxist thought that the NLC is heir to.

Foremost Nigeria expert John Campbell, in the very last words of his famous Nigeria on the Brink visualizes the appearance of a Fidel Castro in Nigeria. He does not elaborate on this, and provides no groundwork for the reader on radical left wing forces in the country. Naija  – local speak for Nigerian – Marxists may be forgotten in the West, but are not forgotten by feminists, labour organizers, and democratic human rights activists in the country.  When I first encountered the theoretical works that were written by Nigerian Marxists, I was immediately taken by their sophistication, wit, and complexity. So struck I wrote a book on them as there was no reference material, no reader, and only very few (and very academic) articles buried in 1980s peer reviewed journals – I thought this situation needed remedy. My book (researched at the American University in Nigeria from 2010 to 2013) put forth the thesis that in Nigeria, Marxist thought has since the 1940s developed to a very large degree. It grew out of, and helped to a great extent, the country’s labour movement, its feminist movement, its academic historiography, social thought, and political economy; and it has been the mainstay of party politics in the case of illegal Marxist party formations, legal anti-feudalist forces, and the NGO sector. Long gone are the days when Marxism meant imported pamphlets and a rootless foreign ideology: Nigeria has produced Marxist thinkers of importance in most fields of political and human inquiry, and Marxism has pollinated a noticeable segment of Nigerian fiction. I argue in my book that Naija Marxisms have been, and still are, the single most important alternative framework that Nigerians have used in their quest to make sense of the world that surrounds them. It is a dazzling antidote to hegemonic neo-liberal platitudes.

The best Nigerian author on neo-liberalism is a Gramscian thinker, Usman Tar – who is a ROAPE Contributing Editor and worked on the journal for a number of years – the Nigerian Guardian’s former columnist is a formidable Trotskyite author, Edwin Madunagu, Eskor Toyo focussed on Maoism’s take on land ownership – a very relevant inquiry in Nigeria where feudal land law is valid today. When it comes to feminism, class based approaches have informed even professedly non-Marxist strands of thought. Women writers such as Ifeoma Okoye are conscious Marxists (see her The Fourth World). Neither has all this been unrelated to the NLC. Hassan Sunmonu  – its former head – published together with Bade Onimode, the leading Nigerian political economist in the 1980s and Usman Tar, on the fate of the NLC in the 1990s, and the unions were the single strongest pro-democracy force under the dictator Sani Abacha.

I propose in my work that we stop ignoring this intellectual tradition and recognize it as more than esoteric politics and academic scribbling – it is all part and parcel of African philosophy, African political thought, African achievement in the social sciences, as well as a tool for organizers. The fact that many of Naija Marxism’s authors, even feminist socialists, did not disavow Lenin, will not change this. I am proposing a new way of looking at entire schools of thought and their value in Nigeria. Nigerian Marxist tomes have disappeared from public libraries in Nigeria and in the UK, even when they had been published by Zed or New Beacon Books in the 1980s. The new NGO paradigm, although fed to a large extent by former and actual Marxists, also diverted attention away from resistance, to charity, and while today’s radicals acknowledge even their Leninist predecessors, some are afraid of being labelled as – hard core – Marxists. My work, after brief introductions on Nigeria, traces the historical trajectories that leftist movements had gone through since the 1940s in the country. This is something that has not been done in similar detail. Then I go on to expose the international context of Nigerian Marxism, from South African Communists to the UK, the USSR and Ghana. In my core chapters, I examine the thoughts of Mokwugo Okoye, Ikenna Nzimiro, Eskor Toyo, Edwin Madunagu, Yusufu Bala Usman, Niyi Oniororo, Bade Onimode, Adebayo Olukoshi, Okwudiba Nnoli, the Nigerian circle of the Review of African Political Economy, Bene Madunagu, and Molara Ogundipe-Leslie. In my last and analytical chapter, I examine the question what unites these thinkers, and also deal with their theoretical and practical relevance on a broadly Lukacsian basis.

Following Usman, I argue that Marxist analyses have provided the single most relevant explanation for the appearance of radical Islam in the country, along with brilliant and succinct analyses of how Nigeria’s neo-colonial economy works. I argue that the most important enemy of radical emancipation has been the sector of foreign corporations – more powerful than the decrepit colonial state of the forties, or the inept and prebendal federal government of ‘flag independence’ even today. Even more importantly, on the basis of Nigerian Marxisms, I posit that corporate rule, religious – and sometimes relatively recent – patriarchy, criminal governance and feudalism have formed a package and that they have been, and still are, fought, with the help of ideologies that derived their most important impetus from Marxism.

While I admire the authors I discuss, I do not think that my work is akin to “The Lives of the Saints.” Some of these authors have been more subtle than others – with especially Oniororo shocking the reader with blunt and surprising statements, but then again, he was rumoured to have studied in North Korea – and I think it is important to provide criticism, which sheds light on the strengths and weaknesses of their respective systems of thought. At the same time, I am convinced that all of them merit discussion (even Oniororo). Only Claude Ake has had a full monograph devoted to his oeuvre, others have been dealt with briefly in articles. While not a microanalysis of every one of their works, rather my own take aims to focus on their most relevant, most brilliant, and most entertaining opuses. All this in the honest hope that this serves those that it aims to serve most: the working men and women of Nigeria, and also their organizations and causes such as the fight for a living wage, the fight for a decent commute, proper meals, and a life that allows for growth, progress, and community – instead of the barbaric political economy of today.

My comrades in Abuja and Benin City, especially Drew Povey and myself, have also started a Scribd site, easily accessible wherever there is Internet, to share Nigerian Marxist originals for free (visit the site here). On the site Eddie Madunagu, Eskor Toyo, Bene Madunagu, Segun Sango, and others may be read in the original. We welcome readers and also further submissions to our site.

Adam Mayer is the author of Naija Marxisms: Revolutionary Thought in Nigeria published by Pluto Press, released in July 2016.

Africa’s Turn to Industrialize?

ROAPE’s Laura Mann discusses a recent workshop held at the London School of Economics on 3 May, which brought together leading economic geographers and political economists to discuss new prospects for industrialization and transformation in African countries in light of shifts in the global economy.

Industrial Policy is back! At least under new names. Given the term’s toxic association among neo-classical economists in institutions like the WTO and World Bank, new words are apparently needed: ‘productive sector policies’ and ‘territorial innovation networks’. Nevertheless, there is hope that policy space is widening for African policy-makers to more strategically engage with global trade and economic growth.

First, the story goes, there are economic reasons to be hopeful. Owing to rising costs of production in China and South Asia, economists such as Justin Lin have argued that there are opportunities for African economies to attract manufacturing jobs from Asia and use these flows to industrialize, upgrade and transform their domestic economies. Second, there are demographic reasons. Populations in most regions of the world are getting older and less fertile while population growth is still increasing in many African countries. African consumer markets are becoming increasingly lucrative and ‘interesting’ to domestic and multinational business interests alike. In the past decade, astute readers will have observed the efforts of firms such as Unilever and Massmart (the international section of Walmart) and financial intermediaries such as Mastercard and Visa eying African markets, conducting research into ‘middle class’ shopping habits and seeking to develop digital payment systems, regional supply chains and distribution networks. Domestic supermarket chains within African countries like Nakumat and Priceright are also moving into regional markets and trying to claim some retail space from informal actors. In other words, it is being said that there is scope for local demand to drive industrialization and upgrading. Third, there are political reasons for hope. The examples of Asian developmental states and the ongoing economic crisis within advanced economies have provided intellectual credence to political economists calling for more interventionist policy-making from African governments. Such authority has been enforced by the physical and political presence of Asian actors on the continent as development actors, providing the funds and infrastructure for such ambitions to be realised while dulling the sting of the conditionality of older developmental actors.

Given these ‘global shifts’, the International Development department and the Africa Centre at LSE decided to organize a day-long workshop on African Industrialization on 3 May. Led by Shamel Azmeh along with Kate Meagher, Pritish Behuria and myself, we invited a number of leading economic geographers and political economists to debate and discuss whether such hope is justified or misplaced, and importantly, whom will benefit if industrial jobs do come en-masse to African shores. In my summary, I focus on three aspects of discussions.

First of all, we may all need a bit of a reality check when it comes to the economic and demographic reasons for hope. Rhys Jenkins led the assault in setting out what he believes are the key fallacies of the ‘Lin Thesis’. He argued that with the exceptions of Ethiopia and Tanzania, labour productivity is still lower and wages are still higher in African countries than in other emerging economies. Additionally, he pointed out that labour costs are not the main determinant of foreign investment. Other inputs like electricity and transports are equally important – as well levels of political stability and the presence of stable labour control regimes. For these reasons, if off-shoring does occur from China, such opportunities may either flow to lower costs sites within China or to countries such as Vietnam, Cambodia and Bangladesh (Ethiopia and Tanzania do however, provide interesting counter-examples!). Most Chinese FDI into African economies is still flowing into extractive industries, infrastructure and into market-seeking activities (not efficiency seeking). Lastly, Jenkins highlighted the risk of mechanization and indeed, China has been investing heavily into robotics in recent years. It may be that old pathways to industrialization may narrow and close if automation develops apace.

However, other avenues of industrialization are emerging. Christopher Cramer drew attention to the increasing level of sophistication and technological innovation within global agricultural value chains. For example, great effort (and work!) goes into documenting the organic and fair trade credentials of South African blueberries and in transporting them from South African farms into refrigerated trucks and planes, and then into the nicely branded punnets of Tescos. All of this sophistication opens doors of value capture for domestic firms within African economies able to put in the right kinds of laws, incentives and institutions to build up domestic businesses and enforce reciprocal benefits from multinational players. Domestic markets are also becoming promising avenues for domestic accumulation and transformation. Christina Wolf spoke of the opportunities for local manufacturing to ride on the wave of Chinese infrastructural investment in Angola. Because of the high tariff environment, she described how multinational firms are increasingly creating domestic production units to serve rising consumer demand. However, she also highlighted the fact that transformation driven by domestic demand requires maintaining broad based purchasing power. In this sense, demands for wage moderation to attract opportunities within export oriented industries may conflict with efforts to boost production from domestic consumption.

Second, we may need new paradigms. Previously, economic geographers have used frameworks such as Global Value Chains (GVC) and Global Production Networks (GPN) to understand how lead firms within Northern economies control the governance of global distributed value chains. However, given the increasingly vertically specialized nature of GVCs and the fact that lead firms are investing in their own regional supply and distribution networks within African countries, economic geographers may need new paradigms and policy-makers new kinds of industrial policy. Raphael Kaplinsky called for attention not on sectoral policies but on building cross-sectoral capabilities, and not on ‘deepening’ industrial capabilities but on thinning out and specializing.

The workshop was also interesting for bringing together economic geographers and political economists. One major criticism of economic geography approaches like GVCs and GPNs is that they tend to underplay the role of domestic political incentives and conflict in inhibiting more strategic policy choices. While the interests of ‘global capital’ undoubtedly play a role in narrowing policy space, we shouldn’t neglect business-state relations within African countries. Policy-making has to be politically viable and some industrial policy measures may simply be too politically costly if they threaten entrenched interests. A growing number of scholars has tried to move the discussion away from the problem of ‘neopatrimonial politics’ towards better understanding how particular distributions of power and the presence of particular kinds of political incentives might either motivate power-holders towards growth or make it unlikely that they will do so. Helpfully, scholars such as Mariana Mazzucato, Fred Block and Linda Weiss have also conducted research looking at the kinds of business-state relations that shape innovation and growth within the US economy. All of this research calls for more pragmatic approaches to patrimonialism and corruption within African business. Such discussions caused Kaplinsky to remark that at the end of apartheid, South Africa’s comparative advantage lay in knowledge intensive industries, and yet narrowly focusing on these would have simply been politically inviable. We must therefore ask hard questions about both how industrial policy can be framed in ways that promote economic enfranchisement as well as being clear about when targeted support for privileged actors is being received so that it can be accompanied by a frank discussion of economic redistribution.

Third, (and I am sure I don’t need to tell readers of the ROAPE blog), we need to pay very close attention to whom benefits from increased global and regional trade flows. So much research has demonstrated the very mixed record of fair trade in improving the lives of workers. So much so that Christopher Cramer suggested that fair trade and organic certification might be better described as ‘ethical rents’. Whether or not such rents go towards social upgrading and increasing the productivity and learning of domestic producers depends very much on the institutional structure of the value chain and power relations within the local political economy. Stephanie Barrientos similarly suggested that we need to disaggregate categories of workers in African economies in order to better understand the impact of specific policies or trade shifts (wage labour, ‘own account’ groups and unpaid and unfree labour). She also described the importance of looking at gender relations within employment. For example, she described how the shifting of production away from Sweet Cayenne pineapples to the Super sweetMD2 pineapples in Ghana had the effect of social upgrading for wage labourers but social downgrading for smallholders. In some ways, this was a classic Gibbon and Ponte ‘Trading Down’ story: the shift turned land-owners into wage labourers – but it also had the unexpected effect of raising the earnings of women as wage labourers (and unpaid labourers) were predominantly women. As countries like Rwanda seek to promote gender empowerment, it is necessary to think strategically about how different policies may affect women, who are often in more precarious positions than their male counterparts on farms and factory floors.

The third session of the day focused specifically on who may benefit from the deepening of globally-connected digital infrastructure within African economies. Padraig Carmody described how ICTs can promote Outward and Inward GPN couplings. He described how furniture manufacturers in Tanzania and South Africa had used ICTs to import cheaper furniture from Asian economies. In effect trade liberalization combined with digital connectivity turned manufacturing groups into trading groups – economic downgrading! In other words, we should not assume that ICTs will boost production and trade potential; they also enable opportunities for greater importation (something Jana Kleibert and I also discussed in relation to the Business Process Outsourcing (BPO) sector in Kenya). Similarly, Gianluca Iazzolino gave an ethnographic account of the roll-out of the financial ecosystem around the flower farms of Naivasha. He described how the key purpose of cashless payment system seemed to be geared towards re-orienting salaried workers away from informal retail into formal retail environments like supermarkets. In his view, ‘cash stickiness’ should be understood as a kind of agency against this formalization trend.

So in summary, the opportunities that bigger global shifts and technological developments present for African economies are not automatic but require strategic policy choices that take account of both the position of African economies within specific globally and regionally spread value chains and attention as to how such policies interface with domestic political economies and the needs of particular workers. Due to the success of the event, we may try to organize a follow-up workshop next year. Personally, I think it would be great to have a similar kind of event around the topic of domestic African capitalists. If you have ideas or suggestions, please get in touch!

Laura Mann is a member of ROAPE’s Editorial Working Group and a sociologist whose research focuses on the political economy of markets and new information and communication technologies in Africa. She is Assistant Professor in the Department of International Development at the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Featured Photograph: Sugar Refinery, Natal, South Africa 1911 

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.
We use cookies to collect and analyse information on site performance and usage, and to enhance and customise content. By clicking into any content on this site, you agree to allow cookies to be placed. To find out more see our